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ANTISTROPHE,

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd
Whether by treach`ry lost,

Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,
From all thy kindred books,

To some dark ce.l, or cave forlorn,

Where thou endur'st, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,
Be comforted-

For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape

The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III.

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains
That, though by promise his,

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,
Ile, therefore, guardian vigilant

Of that unperishing wealth,

Calls thee to the interiour shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son
Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born)
In the resplendent temple of his God,
Tripods of gold and Delphick gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,
The Muses' fav'rite haunt :

Resumo thy station in Apollo's dome

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Dearer to him

Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill!

Exulting go,

Since now a splendid lot is also thine,
And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read

With authors of exalted note,

The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome.

EPODE.

Ye then, my works, no longer vain,
And worthless deem'd by me!

Whate'er this sterile genius has produc'd,
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,

Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend,
Where never flippant tongue profane
Shall entrance find,

And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude
Shall babble far remote.

Perhaps some future distant age,

Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught,
Shall furnish minds of pew`r
To judge more equally.

Then, malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts,

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
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,
Bene e colui d'ogni valore scarco,
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora;
Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora

De sui atti soavi gianımai parco,

Fi don,' che son d'amor saette ed arco,

La onde lalta tua virtu s'infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti,

Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi
L'entrata, chi di tre si truova indegno ;
Grazia sola di su gli vaglia, innanti
Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

SONNET.

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
Borne from its native genial airs away,
That scarcely can its tender bud display :

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,
L'avvezza giovinetta pastorella

Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e nella,
Che mal si spande a disusata spera,
Fuor di sua natia alma primavera ;
Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te vezzosamente altera,

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso.

El bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno,
Amor lo volse, ed io a l' altrui peso,
Seppi, ch'Amor cosa mai volse indarno,
Deh! fos' il mio cuor lento, e'l duro seno,
A chi pianta dal ciel, si buon terreno !

CANZONE.

They mock my toil-the nymphs and am'rous swains
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st?
How dar'st thou risk to sing these foreign strains?
Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd;
And that thy fairest flowers, here fade and die ?
Then with pretence of admiration high-
Thee other shores expect, and other tides,
Rivers, on whose grassy sides

Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ;
Why then this burthen, better far declin'd?
Speak, Muse! for me.-The fair one said, who guides
My willing heart, and all my faney's flights,
"This is the language, in which Love delights"

CANZONE.

RIDONSI donne, e giovani amorosi
M'accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d' amor, e come t'osi?
Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana,
E de pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi;
Cosi mi var burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t'aspettan, ed altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde

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