C'est pour ce bonheur légitime C'est pas ces vertus pacifiques, Que tu scais, cher R***, remplir d'utiles jours, Où le Cher de son onde claire Vient à l'aimable Loire associer le cours. Fidèle à ce sage sistême, Là, dans l'étude de toi-même, Chaque soleil te voit occupertes loisirs; Dans le brillant fracas du monde, Ton nom, ta probité profonde Content with all a farm woul. j.cm, For the long glories of a throne- These charms of philosophic ease, Wrapt in your Richmond's tranquil rest, You pass, dear C, your useful days, Where Thames your silent vallies laves, Proud of his yet untainted waves. Should life's more public scenes engage Your time that thus consistent flows, And following still these maxims sage For ever brings the same repose; Your worth may greater fame procure, T'eut donné plus d'éclat, mais moins de vrais But hope not happiness so pure. plaisirs. SONETTO CLXXIX. IN nobil sangue vita umile e queta, TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH. 1765. SONNET CLXXIX. THо' nobly born, to humble life resign'd; * SONETTO CCLXXIX. ROTTA è l' alta colonna, e 'l verde lauro, Che facean ombra al mio stanco pensero: Perdut' ho quel, che ritrovar non spero SONNET CCLXXIX. FALL'N the fair column, blasted is the bay, Dal Borea all' Austro, O dal Mar Indo al Tho' sought from Indus to the closing day. Mauro, Tolto m'hai, morte, il mio doppio tesauro, Che poss' io più, se no aver l' alma trista; O nostra vita, ch' é si bella in vista; Com' per de agevolmente in un mattino SONETTO CCLVII. Ov'è la fronte' che con picciol cenno My twofold treasure death has snatch'd away, My pride, my pleasure left me to deplore; What fields far-cultur'd, nor imperial sway, Nor orient gold, nor jewels can restore. O destiny severe of human kind! What portion have we unbedew'd with tears! The downcast visage, and the pensive mind Thro' the thin veil of smiling life appears; And in one moment vanish into wind The hard-earn'd fruits of long, laborious years. Ov'è 'l valor, la conoscenza, e 'l senno, L'accorta, onesta, umil, dolce favella? Ch' ora e riposo dava all' alma stanca, Quanto al misero mondo, e quanto manca SONETTO CCXXXVIII. Lei che'l ciel ne mostrò, terra n' asconde, Mi dice con pietate : 66 a che pur versi Degli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume? Di me non pianger tu, che miei dè fersi, Morendo, eterni, e nell 'eterno lume, Quando mostrai pi chiuder gli occhi apersi." Where are that science, sense and worth confest, That caus'd this long captivity of mind! SONNET CCXXXVIII. WAIL'D the Sweet warbler to the lonely shade; Came the dear object whom I still bewail, Came from the regions of the cheerless dead: "And why," she cried, "untimely wilt thou die? Ah why, for pity, shall those mournful tears, Start in wild sorrow from that languid eye? Cherish no more those visionary fears, For me, who range yon light-invested sky! For me, who triumph in eternal years!" MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS TRANSLATED, AND ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF ITALY. ADDRESS TO SIGNOR MOZZI, OF MACERATA. To thee, the child of classic plains, The happier hand of Nature gave Each grace of Fancy's finer strains, Each Muse that mourn'd o'er Maro's grave. Nor yet the harp that Horace strung With many a charm of easy art ; Where each breeze bore a lover's sigh, That weds the soul to this low sphere, That holds awhile her prisoner here! 1776 p. Fit for some nobler frame she flies, The man that mourn'd his country's wrong, And feebly dragg'd his goat along!! Where Tasso's favour'd spirit saw Beneath the source of glory's smile, To range Elysian groves, and see That nightly visitantere while, Who, when he left immortal choirs, To mix with Milton's kindred soul, The labours of their golden lyres Would steal, and "whisper whence he stole." Ausonian bard, from my fond ear By seas and mountains sever'd long, Your ear shall win, your love shall woo, Each fair, fond partner of my life, Left with a lonely oar to steer, -Thro' the rude storms of mortal strife ;When Care, the felon of my days, Expands his cold and gloomy wing, His load when strong affliction lays On hope, the heart's elastic spring: For me what solace yet remains, Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre; If, chance, the felon Care, retire? Blagdon-House, June 26, 1776. SON. I. O LADY fair, whose honour'd name is borne By that soft vale where Rhyne so loves to stray, And sees the tall arch crown his wat'ry way! Sure, happy he, tho' much the Muse's scorn, Too dull to die beneath thy beauty's ray, Who never felt that spirit's charmed sway, Which gentle smiles, and gentle deeds adorn, Tho' in those smiles are all love's arrows worn, Each radiant virtue tho' those deeds display! Sure, happy he who that sweet voice should hear Mould the soft speech, or swell the tuneful strain, [vain, And, conscious that his humble vows were Shut fond attention from his closed ear; Who, piteous of himself, should timely part, Ere love had held long empire in his heart! SON. II. As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light 2 Within a few miles of Macerata. This stranger tongue to cultivate with care, And tune my lays in language little try'd SON. III. CHARLES, must I say, what strange it seems to say, This rebel heart that Love hath held as naught, Or, haply, in his cuuning mazes caught, Would laugh, and let his captive steal away; This simple heart hath now become his prey. Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught, Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day : Oh! no-'twas Beauty's most celestial ray, With charms divine of sov'reign sweetness fraught! The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air, The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye, The voice that, breathing melody so rare, Might lead the toil'd Moon from the middle sky! Charles, when such mischief arm'd this foreign fair, Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly. SON. IV. In truth I feel my sun in those fair eyes, SON. V. Ax artless youth, who, simple in his love, Of manners that to gentle deeds comply, And courteous will, that never asketh why; Yet mild, as is the never wrathful dove, Firmness it hath, and fortitude to bear The wrecks of nature, or the wrongs of fate, From envy far, and low-designing care, And hopes and fears that vulgar minds await, With the sweet Muse, and sounding lyre elate, And only weak, when love had entrance there. The concetti of the Italian in the conclusion of this Sonnet were so obstinate, that it seemed scarce possible to reduce them into any reputable form of translation. Such trifling liberties as the translator shall appear to have taken with these poems, must be imputed to a desire of getting over blemishes of the same kind Thy lays of love adventurous to recite In unknown numbers and a foreign tongue? Shepherd,if Hope hath ever wrought thee wrong, Afar from her and Fancy's fairy light Retire"-So they to sport with me delight; And "other shores," they say, "and other streams Thy presence wait; and sweetest flowers that blow, Their ripening blooms reserve for thy fair brow, Where glory soon shall bear her brightest beams:" Thus they, and yet their soothing little seems; If she, for whom I breathe the tender vow, Sing the soft lays, and ask the mutual song, This is thy language, Love, and I to thee belong! TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. LESBIA, live to love and pleasure, Careless what the grave may say: When each moment is a treasure, Why should lovers lose a day? Setting suns shall rise in glory, But when little life is o'er, There's an end of all the story: We shall sleep; and wake no more. Give me then a thousand kisses, Twice ten thousand more bestow, Till the sum of boundless blisses Neither we nor envy know. |