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She turns, and thinks; and, lost in wild amaze,
Nor can thy flute, ALONSO, now excite,
Soon from the bay the mingling crowd ascends, Kindred first met! by sacred instinct Friends! Thro' citron-groves, and fields of yellow maize, Thro' plantain-walks where not a sun-beam plays. Here blue savannas fade into the sky. There forests frown in midnight majesty; Ceiba, and Indian fig, and plane sublime, Nature's first-born, and reverenced by Time! There sits the bird that speaks! there, quivering, rise Wings that reflect the glow of evening skies! Half bird, half fly, the fairy king of flowers Reigns there, and revels thro' the fragrant hours ;
Gem full of life, and joy, and song divine,
'Twas he that sung, if ancient Fame speaks truth, “Come! follow, follow to the Fount of Youth! I quaff the ambrosial mists that round it rise, Dissolved and lost in dreams of Paradise !" For there called forth, to bless a happier hour, It met the sun in many a rainbow-shower! Murmuring delight, its living waters rolled 'Mid branching palms and amaranths of gold !
Evening—a banquet-the ghost of Cazziva. The tamarind closed her leaves; the marmoset Dreamed on his bough, and played the mimic yet. Fresh from the lake the breeze of twilight blew, And vast and deep the mountain-shadows grew; When many a fire-fly, shooting thro' the glade, Spangled the locks of many a lovely maid,