Repose of all the peopled earth; To thee, in Lethe's shades, gave birth Thy wings of shadowy gloom diffuse All own thy bounteous gifts-all but my drooping fair! ROSCOE. EPIGRAM. FROM THE ITALIAN OF PANANTI. Is beauty to thine outward form denied? G. M. CANZONETS, BY VALLONI, FROM THE SICILIAN DIALECT. SWEET is the peach's purple bloom, But in the midst a stone there lies, I DREAMT, my fair, that thou and I Thou punish'd for thy cold disdain. ROSCOE. SONG. FROM THE SPANISH. FAIR eyes! be not so proudly gay My love, thou knowest not, thou art How heavy on a lover's heart His love's unkindness lies. Soon will thy coldness waste away And thou, when I have pass'd away, Thou art so strong in loveliness, So bright with beauty's arms, Yet think, ere death at rest shall lay Thy mirthful mood shall change when thou Of thy too faithful lover. Then shall the cold disdain give way, Fair eyes! although in smiles ye slay, More deep, more bitter grows my care, My sighs are scatter'd on the air, And can thy cheek be calmly gay While mine such sadness wears? And canst thou bid me die to day, To wail that death with tears? ANONYMOUS. ODE. FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS DE LEON. WHILE on bright Tago's banks reclined, And all to love's soft joys resign'd, Rodrigo panted on fair Caba's breast, * Sudden, a seer of future woes, The river's awful god arose, And thus with boding groans the fearless chief address'd 'In vain, while horrors round thee rise, And wrest Iberia's throne from Odin's race divine. 'On Calpe's rocks with threatening hand All torn his beard, and rent his hoary hair : Now hails aloud the turban'd host, And waves his purple flag of vengeance in the air. Don Rodrigo, the last of the Gothic kings of Spain, having offered violence to Caba, the daughter of Count Julian, that nobleman brought over the Saracens from Africa, who defeated Rodrigo in battle, and made themselves masters of his king. dom. VOL. VI. TT With oars, that sparkle to the sun, Swift o'er the level waves they run, Their broad sails whiten on the crowded main; [plain. Loud neigh the fiery steeds, and paw the rattling 'With Ceuta's race, renown'd in fight, Fierce Barca's swarthy sons unite; Tunis her mooned ensigns wide displays; With flaming scimitar and shield Morocco's squadrons shake the field, On Alla's name they call, and shout the prophet's praise. 'O'er her rich meads with lifted lance Fair Betis sees their ranks advance, Proud Seville hears, Granada shakes with dread, And Douro listens to the roar, Ill fated Minho foams with gore, [dead. And distant Ebro groans with mountains of the To arms, great chief, to arms with speed! Let the sword rage, the battle bleed! [far? Kenn'st thou not yet the' approaching storm from Bid, bid thy knights their falchions wave, Nor thou be slow the day to save, But like a comet blaze in the dark van of war! That crush'd stern Afric with his iron yoke : Laughs at the javelin's hiss, and mocks the sabre's stroke. |