Come, sober eve, thy magic wand apply,
And wrap my soul in blissful reverie;
O let me visit those bright scenes I love,
The Delphic fountain and the Attic grove!
O let me listen to the Pythian strain,
Or seek for wisdom at Minerva's fane,
Or see, in Tempe's bright and verdant glow,
The bloom of Eden still preserved below;
While the pure loves that bless Arcadian plains,
Swell in my bosom, and inspire my strains!

Spirit of serious thought, I know 'tis thou
That bring'st the past before my vision now!
Bright in my view a glorious temple stands;
Raised by the peerless skill of Grecian hands,
When art and genius, in their youthful prime,
Put forth their powers t'adorn their native clime.
Sacred to Jove the beauteous fabric rose,
Whose awful power th' obedient thunder knows.
Hail, holy shrine! pride of Egina's shore!
Where come her sons to worship and adore;
Thy lofty columns art's perfection show,
Thy spacious courts with sacred radiance glow,
Thy altars shine with costly sacrifice,

And prayers and praise from suppliant hearts arise.
Sincere the worship and the fervour high,

Though wrong the mode and false the deity;
Yet is it pleasing in th' indulgent view

Of Him who knows and loves the heart that's true.

แ

And thou, Arantha, whom the bards declare
Brightest and noblest of Egina's fair,
Thine was the true devotion of a maid,
By pride and coyness into grief betray'd.
Evander loved thee, and thy heart return'd
The faithful flame that in his bosom burn'd;
But secret still thy fond desires were kept,
Ev'n when, for pity, at thy feet he wept :
Proud of thy power, long didst thou mock his pain,
Exulting in thy beauty's tyrant reign,

Till, in despair, he fled thy cruel scorn,

And left thee, in repentant tears, to mourn.

Impell'd by the resistless power of love,
To worship Venus at the shrine of Jove,
To yonder altar now thou dost repair,
And rich the sacrifice thou offer'st there:
To love's bright goddess warm thy prayers arise,
And starting tears bedew thy radiant eyes.

Forgive, O Venus," thus thy bosom pray'd,
"That to Diana long my vows were paid;
Forgive that I suppress'd the flame divine
Which Cupid kindled in this breast of mine:
Though, goddess, I denied, I felt thy sway,
And loved the youth I rashly drove away!
O hear me, while with anguish I implore,
If yet he lives, thou wilt that youth restore;

Then shall no rites of thine unpaid remain,
Nor rival power usurp thy place again!"

She scarce had ceased, when moved the altar's screen, And full in view Evander's self is seen;

Close to his heart the blushing maid is press'd,

And thus he pours the transports of his breast:

"Here, where love's goddess now my wishes crowns, I sought a holy refuge from thy frowns;

A constant suppliant at her shrine, I bent,

In prayers that she would teach thee to relent:
My prayers are heard; I strain thee to my breast;
Then let us kneel to Hymen, and be blest!"

She gave assent: the priest of Hymen there
Perform'd the rites, and blest the enamour'd pair:
Indulgent smiled the power of love divine,
And crown'd their joys at bright Egina's shrine.

THE GHOST.

BY J. K. PAULDING.

SOMETIME in the year 1800 or 1801, I am not certain which, a man of the name of William Morgan-I don't mean the person whose 'abduction' has made so much noise in the world-enlisted on board the United States frigate for a three years cruize in the Mediterranean. He was an awful looking person, six feet four inches high; a long pale visage deeply furrowed with wrinkles; sunken eyes far up towards his forehead; black exuberant hair standing on end as if he was always frightened at something; a sharp chin of a length proportioned to his height; teeth white but very irregular; and the colour of his eyes what the writers on supernatural affairs call very singular and mysterious. Besides this, his voice was hollow and sepulchral; on his right arm were engraved certain mysterious devices, surmounted with the letters E. M.; and his tobacco-box was of iron. His every day dress was a canvass hat with a black rib

bon band, a blue jacket, white trowsers, and leather shoes. On Sundays he wore a white beaver, which, among sailors, bespoke something extraordinary, and on rainy days a pea-jacket too short by half a yard. It is worthy of remark that Morgan entered on Friday; that the frigate was launched on Friday; that the master carpenter who built her was born on Friday; and that the squadron went to sea on Friday. All these singular coincidences, combined with his mysterious appearance, caused the sailors to look upon Morgan with some little degree of wonder.

During the voyage to Gibraltar, Morgan's conduct served to increase the impression his appearance had made on the crew. He sometimes went without eating for several days together, at least no one ever saw him eat; and, if he ever slept at all, it was without shutting his eyes or lying down, for his messmates, one and all, swore that, wake at what time of the night they would, Morgan was seen sitting upright in his hammock, with his eyes glaring wide open. When his turn came to take his watch upon deck, his conduct was equally strange. He would stand stock still in one place, gazing at the stars, or the ocean, apparently unconscious of his situation; and when roused by his companions, fall flat on the deck in a swoon. When he revived, he would fall to preaching the most strange and incomprehensible rhapsodies that ever were heard. In their idle hours