TRANSLATION

OF THE PRECEDING SONNET.

In what bright mansion of the heavenly sphere
Was found a spirit of such form and grace,

That Nature should have been induced to trace

The sacred type in woman, and appear

For once on earth with heaven's benign compeer?

What fountain nymph, what goddess of the race
Of sylvan beauties, could adorn her face

With golden tresses so intensely dear?
When did so many virtues crowd the heart
As to consume its devotee with love?
The stranger to her eyes knows but in part
What sweet celestial shades repose above;

He knows not love's delight, nor feels its smart,

Whose breast her varied charms have yet to move.

Some grand design beyond a doubt,

Does this reverse of things imply:
Thus sympathies are all shut out,

Or only entertained to die.

And reason too, that seeks to bind
The fairest subject in its sway,

Leaves undisturbed your gentle mind,
To wander on as best it may.

And in this wicked world of ours,

Where thought and feeling cost so much,

You well may boast the torpid powers

That neither hope nor fear can touch.

But though to reign with stoic pride

Be worthy of your high degree,

You torture many a soul beside,

And more than all discomfort me.

For pleased to witness with what skill You prosecute a single course,

And treat alike both good and ill,

As issuing from one common source

I more than others wish to blend

My dearest interest with your own,

And try whatever art can lend

To move for once a heart of stone.

Indulge me in this pleasing hope,

And undismayed by doubt or dread,

My next design shall be to cope

Expressly with your foolish head.

A BURLESQUE ON POETIC EXTRAVAGANCE.

THE paly Moon with tremulous eye did shoot

Her slender rays athwart th' unbidden track,

Where lay the huge pale corse, whose sullen back A promontory raised :

His vision was glazed

With inexpressive look that did a scowl from caverns

dire uproot.

A rumbling murmur choked th' articulate sounds

Of passengers: death quivering danced in his filmy

shroud,

And distant yells approached with imprecations loud : A sire's frosted front

Had borne th' atrocious brunt

Of deep-scathed guilt reared in the heart where

treachery fell abounds.

The mother lay dreaming as young infants dream,
When on her body dropt the ruthless strokes

Of blood-stained limbs: her burning soul invokes
Grim retribution's wave

On the fierce son who gave

The all-subduing blows which scared the flickering morn's dim gleam.