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S O T
S Ο Ν Ε Τ Τ Ο

Di FRANCESCO PETRARCA.

STIAMO,

I AMO, amor, a veder la gloria nostra,

Cose sopra natura altere, e nove;
Vedi ben, quanta in lei dolcezza piove :

Vedi lume, che 'l cielo in terra mostra:
Vedi, quant' arte dora, e’mperla, e ’noftra

L'abito eletto, e mai non visto altrove;
Che dolcemente i piedi, e gli occhi move

Per questa di bei colli ombrosa chiostra!
L'erbetta verde, e i fior di color mille

Sparsi sotto quell' elce antiqua, e negra,

Pregan pur, che 'l bel piè li prema, o tocchi ; E'l ciel di vaghe, e lucide faville

S'accende intorno, e 'n vista fi rallegra
D'esser fatto seren da sì begli occhi.

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A S O N N E T.

By FRANCIS PETRARCA.

PAUSE,

AUSE, Cupid, pause; and on our glory gaze !

; Charms paffing nature ; charms sublimely new : What show'rs of sweets her melting form bedew!

What Angel-radiance heav'n on earth displays !
What magic hand o'er her fair veil has laid

That gold, those vermeil, alabastrian dyes!
How glance her fairy feet, her living eyes,

In those deep-bosum'd hills' romantic stade!
The verdant turf, and ev'ry flow'r that blows

Beneath yon Oak's time-honour'd majesty,

Her foot's sweet pressure courts, or pafling kiss.
The heav'n around with liquid sapphire glows;

Sees ev'ry cloud the bright'ning æther fly;
And calm'd by eyes so fair, breathes universal bliss.

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O DE

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ODE TO PLEASURE.

By PETER METASTASIO,

Y

E thoughtless fouls, betray'd to strife,

Who plough the faithless fea of life;
Your port behold, behold the nelt,
Where, safe in undisturbed rest,

Perpetual Pleasures reign :

Here each pursues, without restraint;
The bliss his fondest with can paint ;
While, plung’d in Lethe's peaceful stream,
The mind is free from ev'ry theme

Of forrow, or of pain.

Let no desire of empty praise
Your fight beguile with dazzling rays ;
Nor lose in honour's vain career,
The prime of youth's delightful year,

While yet its pow'rs remain :

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