COMPOSED WHILE SWIMMING.

DELIGHTING toil! with arm of conscious pride,
And breast high-soaring on its destined course,

I dash away the waves, whose envious force
But aids me onward as I proudly glide.
But when I turn, and in the sullen tide
Would view the triumphs of my past career,
The waves have swept it o'er, with rush severe,
And all is lost in one oblivion wide.

Then wheresoe'er my future course shall lay,
Along the dark, tempestuous sea of life,
With angry billows rude, with sorrows rife,

O let not thus my course be swept away.
No! I would soar o'er all its waves sublime,

Aye leave a deathless track along the tide of time!

ON THE PAVILION AT BRIGHTON.

IMPERIAL Palace, that art seen to smile

In Eastern splendour, on our English land,
As if, from China's shore, or Egypt's strand,
Some pow'r unknown had borne thy magic pile!
O! I would roam around thy turrets, while

They bask in moonlight beauty, while Romance
Wakes the high visions of her holiest trance,
And bids her fairest forms the night beguile.

Then shall mine erring fancy rove anew
O'er themes all wild and wond'rous, that belong
To Arab story, or to Persian song,

And deem awhile their false enchantments true,
Like gentlest dreams to sleeping suff'rers borne,

That charm thro'out the night, and vanish with the morn!

TRANSLATIONS.