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What cruel answer have I heard!
And yet, by heav'n, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?

Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease
Like orient pearls at random strung;
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels fay,
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.

Bedem gufti, va khursendam,
Afac alia, neku gufti,

Jawabi telkhi mizeibed

Lebi lali flicker khara.

Gazel gufti vedurr sufti, „
Bea vakhosh bukhan Hafiz,

Ke ber nazmi to asthaned
Felek ikdi suriara.




* TT E clear and sparkling streams, .*- Warm'd by the funny beams, Through whose transparent crystal Laura play'd 5 Ye boughs, that deck the grove, Where Spring her chaplets wove, While Laura lay beneath the quiv'ring shade;

Capzone 27.
Chiare, fresche, e dolci acque,
Ove le belle membra
Pose colei, che sola a me par donna;
Gentil ramo, ove piacque
(Con sospir mi rimembra)
A lei di fare al bel sianco colonna;

* M. de Voltaire has given us a beautiful paraphrase of this sirst stanza, though it is certain that he had never read the ode in the original, or at most only the


Sweet herbs, and blooming flow'rs,
That crown yon vernal bow'rs

For ever fatal, yet for ever dear:
And ye, that heard my sighs
When first she charm'd my eyes,

Sost-breathing gales, my dying accents hear.

Erba, e fior', che la gonna

Leggiadra ricoverse

Coll' angelico scno;

Aer sacro screno

Ov' Amor co' begli occhi il cor m' aperse;

Date udienza insieme

Alle dolento mie parole estreme.

three first lines of it; for he asserts that the Italian song is irregular and without rhymes, whereas the stanzas are perfectly regular, and the rhymes very exact. His design was to give Madame du Chatelet, for whom he wrote his history, an idea of Petrarch's style; but if me had only read his imitation, (he could have but an imperfect notion of the Italian, which the reader will easily perceive by comparing them.

If heav'n has six'd my doom,

That Love must quite consume
My bursting heart, and close my eyes in death;

Ah ! grant this flight request,

That here my urn may rest
When to its mansion flies my vital breath.

This pleasing hope will smooth

My anxious mind, and sooth The pangs of that inevitable hour;

My spirit will not grieve

Her mortal veil to leave
In these calm shades, and this enchanting bow'r.

S'egli e pur mio destino,

E' 1 cielo in ciò s' adopra,

Ch'amor questi occhi lagrimando chiuda,

Qualche grazia il meschino

Corpo fra voi ricopra;

E torni 1' alma al proprio albergo ignuda.

La morte sia men cruda,

Se questa speme porto

A quel dubbioso passo;

Che lo spirito lasso

Non poria mai in più riposato porto

Ne'n più tranquilla fossa

Fuggir la carne travagliata, e l'ossa.


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