ANTISTROPHE, But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, To some dark ce.l, or cave forlorn, Where thou endur'st, perhaps, For lo! again the splendid hope appears The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings STROPHE III. Since Rouse desires thee, and complains Thou yet appear'st not in thy place Among the literary noble stores Giv'n to his care, But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete, Of that unperishing wealth, Calls thee to the interiour shrine, his charge, ANTISTROPHE. Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, Resumo thy station in Apollo's dome Dearer to him Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill! Exulting go, Since now a splendid lot is also thine, With authors of exalted note, The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. EPODE. Ye then, my works, no longer vain, Whate'er this sterile genius has produc'd, Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend, And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude Perhaps some future distant age, Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught, Then, malice silenced in the tomb, Thanks to Rouse, if aaght of praise I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim TRANSLATIONS OF THE ITALIAN POEMS. SONNET. FAIR Lady, whose harmonious name the Rhine, Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all divine, Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine. When gracefully thou speak'st or singest gay, Such strains, as might the senseless forest move, Ah then-turn each his eyes, and ears, away, Who feels himself unworthy of thy love! Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. SONETTO. DONNA leggiadra, il cui bel nome honora De sui atti soavi gianımai parco, Fi don,' che son d'amor saette ed arco, La onde lalta tua virtu s'infiora. Che mover possa duro alpestre legno, SONNET. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day So, on my tongue these accents, new, and rare, Are flow'rs exotick, which Love waters there, While thus, O sweetly scornful! I essay Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; So love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown, That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and sterile breast might be, To Him, who plants from Heav'n, a soil as free! SONETTO. QUAL in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera, Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e nella, Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso. El bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno, CANZONE. They mock my toil-the nymphs and am'rous swains Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind CANZONE. RIDONSI donne, e giovani amorosi |