Read Byron's life;--defend me from my friends! Rose tolerably late; after breakfast, took a walk on deck--lay and slept under our sea-tent; read on until lunch-time--dined on deck. After dinner walked about with H---- and the captain; we had seated ourselves on the ship's side, but he being called away, we rushed off to the forecastle to enjoy the starlight by ourselves. We sat for a little time, but were soon found out; Mr. ---- and Mr. ---- joined us, and we sat till near twelve o'clock, singing and rocking under the stars. Venus--"The star of love, all stars above,"--threw a silver column down the sea, like the younger sister of the moon's reflection. By the by, I saw to-day, and with delight, an American sunset. The glorious god strode down heaven's hill, without a cloud to dim his downward path;--as his golden disk touched the panting sea, I turned my head away, and in less than a minute he had fallen beneath the horizon--leapt down into the warm waves, and left one glow of amber round half the sky; upon whose verge, where the violet curtain of twilight came spreading down to meet its golden fringe, "The maiden, With white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon," stood, with her silver lamp in her hand, and her pale misty robes casting their wan lustre faintly around her. Oh me, how glorious it was! how sad, how very very sad I was! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Dear, yet forbidden thoughts, that from my soul, While shines the weary sun, with stern control I drive away; why, when my spirits lie Shrouded in the cold sleep of misery, Do ye return, to mock me with false dreaming, Where love, and all life's happiness is beaming? Oh visions fair! that one by one have gone Down, 'neath the dark horizon of my days, Let not your pale reflection linger on In the bleak sky, where live no more your rays. Night! silent nurse, that with thy solemn eyes Hang'st o'er the rocking cradle of the world, Oh! be thou darker to my dreaming eyes, Nor, in my slumbers, be the past unfurl'd. Haunt me no more with whisperings from the dead. The dead in heart, the changed, the withered: Bring me no more sweet blossoms from my spring, Which round my soul their early fragrance fling, And, when the morning, with chill icy start, Wakes me, hang blighted round my aching heart: Oh night, and slumber, be ye visionless, Dark as the grave, deep as forgetfulness! * * * * * * * * * *