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Rejoice not, if this earth display
The wealth and wonder of her day;
Her gay delights of sound and scene-
The vocal grove, the vernal green.
Rejoice that to the meek are given
The golden palaces of Heaven.


"UPON his departure we weighed anchor, and saw the shores of Rhodes fade from our sight, under the youngest crescent of the new moon. Mr. Newton comes with us as far as the island of Calimno, whither I believe he is bound rather more on antiquarian than on strictly consular business. It is a happy circumstance that our public servants should be able to employ any leisure from their official duties in pursuits which are likely not to be without direct benefit to the national stock of knowledge and taste. I trust I do not leave this fair island and hospitable roof-tree, without fervent gratitude for all the mercies received there, of many of which my good friend has been empowered to be so active an instrument.

"In a lighter strain, I may remark that it would have appeared somewhat ungrateful in this island to have given me a grave; in proof of which I append two paraphrases that I made very many years ago, of the beautiful legend of the birth of Rhodes in Pindar, Ol. 7."-Diary of Travel in Turkish and Greek Waters.

"CUM fati imperio, primâ sub origine mundi,
Eligerent propriam Dîque Deæque larem,
Tum sibi Junonem dites cepere Mycenæ,

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Cepit in umbrosis saltibus Ida Jovem ;

Tum Venus est sortita Paphon, tum celsa Cythera ;

Tum juga Cecropii casta Minerva soli ;

At Phœbo, rutili dextrâ dum fræna diei

Tenderet, haud Phœbo contigit ulla domus ;

Ille autem, liquidi mersam sub marmore ponti
Vidit adhuc parvam delituisse Rhodon,

Jamdudum e pelago crescentem, aurasque petentem

Vidit, et in cano prata virere salo;

Hanc, Pater, hanc concede domum, tuque insula,' clamat,

Ocyùs e vitreis exoriare vadis,

Exoriare, potens armis, atque ubere felix,

Magna parens ovium, magna futura virûm ;

Do tibi, tranquillo facilem parere colono,

Do tibi, nativis imperitare fretis.""

"WHEN at Creation's radiant dawn uncurled,
Rolled the grey vapours from a new-made world,
Each bright Immortal chose a home below,

Which most his presence and his name should know.
Then Jove first trod his Ida's forest bower,
Then Juno reared Mycena's royal tower;
Minerva sat on Sunium's rocky throne,
And claimed the Attic olive for her own;
While Venus shed the lustre of her smile
Round high Cithera, and her Paphian isle :—
No Deity but owned some honoured hill,
Some solemn grove, or consecrated rill.
Phœbus alone, as on th' ethereal way
He sped the flaming coursers of the day,
Amid the conclave of the clouds forgot,
Upon the earth he gladdens found no lot :
When lo! far down beneath the glassy tide
One hidden shore he viewed, then joyful cried:
'Change not for me th' allotments of the sky,
Nought can escape Apollo's piercing eye;
See, in the folds of Ocean's azure vest,

A brighter, greener bower than all the rest.
Rise, lovely Island, from the crystal flood,

Rise, clothed with harvest, vintage, lawn, and wood;
Rhodes be thy name! With shoot elastic, rise,
Spurn the salt depths, and bask beneath the skies;
From thy moist surface heave the silvery spray,
Spread thy young bosom to my golden ray;
On thee through all the year shall breathe and gleam
My balmiest zephyr, and my brightest beam;
Cities and harbours shall adorn thy coast,
War, commerce, art, shall be alike thy boast,
Thy maids all beautiful, thy sons all brave,
And thou, the mistress of thy natal wave.'"


My slight and slender Jessamine tree,
That bloomest on my Border tow'r,
Thou art more dearly lov'd by me,
Than all the wreaths of fairy bow'r;
I ask not while I near thee dwell,
Arabia's spice or Syria's rose;
Thy light festoons more freshly smell,
Thy virgin white more purely glows.

My wild and winsome Jessamine tree,
That climbest up the dark grey wall;
Thy tiny flow'rets seem in glee

Like silver spray drops down to fall:
Say did they from their leaves thus peep,
When mail'd moss troopers rode the hill:
When helmed warders paced the keep,
And bugles blew for Belted Will?

My free and feathery Jessamine tree,
Within the fragrance of thy breath,

Yon dungeon grated to its key,

And the chained captive sigh'd for death:

On border fray, on feudal crime,

I dream not, while I gaze on thee:

The chieftains of that stern old time

Could ne'er have lov'd a Jessamine tree.


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That shadowy consciousness will steal
O'er every scene of fond desire;
Linger in laughter's gayest peal;
And close each cadence of the Lyre.

In the most radiant landscape round,
Lurk the dim haunts of crime and care;
Man's toil must plough the teeming ground,
His sigh must load the perfum'd air.

Oh! for the suns that never part,

The fields with hues unfading dress'd;
Th' unfalt'ring strain-th' unbounded heart,
The joy!—the triumph!—and the rest.


THERE's nothing great or bright, thou glorious Fall,
Thou may'st not to the fancy's sense recall:
The thunder-riven cloud, the lightning's leap,
The stirring of the chambers of the deep;
Earth's emerald green, and many tinted dyes,
The fleecy whiteness of the upper skies;
The tread of armies, thick'ning as they come,
The boom of cannon and the beat of drum;
The brow of beauty and the form of grace,
The passion and the prowess of our race:
song of Homer in its loftiest hour,
The unresisted sweep of Roman power;
Britannia's trident on the azure sea;
America's young shout of liberty!


Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deeps,

There spend their rage, nor climb the encircling steeps,

And till the conflict of thy surges cease,

The nations on thy banks repose in peace.


"Bright, soft day, along the Syrian coast. I must make this a rhymed entry." Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters.

BLOW, gentle airs! but on your balmy wing

I ask no flowery tribute of the spring,
No spicy buds in Antioch's vale that bloom,
No silken stores from rich Aleppo's loom,
Nor all the wealth that down Orontes' tide
With Syrian softness hardier climes supplied.*
Blow, gentle airs! on this fair eastern eve,
With breath as holy as the land ye leave;
From Lebanon's peaks, from blue Gennesareth's shore,
On the worn heart divine refreshment pour ;

From Nazareth's slope, from high Capernaum's crest,
Shed heavenly healing on the sinful breast;
And in the calm and brightness mirror'd here,
Waft the blest presage of a purer sphere.



JANUARY, 1855.


POOR tree, a gentle mistress plac'd thee here,
To be the glory of the glade around;
Thy life has not surviv'd one fleeting year,
And she, too, sleeps beneath another mound.

"Syrus in Tiberim defluxit Orontes."-Juv. III. 62.

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