Haply the guilty maid

Through yon accuftom'd glade

To my fad tomb will take her lonely way,

Where first her beauty's light

O'erpow'r'd my dazzled fight,

When Love on this fair border bade me stray :

There forr'wing shall she fee,

Beneath an aged tree,

Her true but hapless lover's lowly bier;

Too late her tender fighs

Shall melt the pitying skies,

And her foft veil shall hide the gushing tear.

Tempo verra ancor forfe

Ch' all' ufato foggiorno

Torni la fera bella e manfueta;

E la, ov' ella mi scorse

Nel benedetto giorno

Volga la vifta defiofa e lieta,

Cercandomi, ed, o pieta,

Gia terra infra le pietre

Vedendo, Amor l' infpiri
In guifa che fofpiri

Si dolcemente che merce m' impetre,
E faccia forza al cielo

Afciugandofi gli occhi col bel velo.

O!

O! well-remember'd day,

When on yon bank she lay,

Meek in her pride, and in her rigour mild;
The young and blooming flow'rs,

Falling in fragrant show'rs,

Shone on her neck, and on her bofom fmil'd:

Some on her mantle hung,

Some in her locks were ftrung,

Like orient gems in rings of flaming gold;

Some in a spicy cloud

Defcending, call'd aloud,

"Here Love and Youth the reins of empire hold."

Da' bei rami fcendea

Dolce nella memoria

Una pioggia di fior fovra 'l fuo grembo;

Ed ella fi fedea

Humile in tanta gloria

Coverta gia dell' amorofo nembo:

Qual fior' cadea ful lembo,

Qual fulle treccie bionde,

Ch'oro forbito e perle

Eran quel di a vederle,

Qual fi pofava in terra, e qual full' onde;
Qual con un vago errore

Girando parea dir, " Qui regna Amore."

I view'd the heav'nly maid,

And, rapt in wonder, faid

"The groves of Eden gave this angel birth;"

Her look, her voice, her smile,

That might all heav'n beguile,

Wafted

my foul above the realms of earth:

The ftar-befpangled skies

Were open'd to my eyes;

Sighing I said, "Whence rose this glittʼring scene?”

Since that aufpicious hour,

This bank, and od❜rous bow'r,

My morning couch, and ev'ning haunt have been.

Well mayst thou blush, my song,

To leave the rural throng,

And fly thus artlefs to my Laura's ear;

But were thy poet's fire

Ardent as his defire,

Thou wert a fong that heav'n might stoop to hear.

Se tu aveffi ornamenti quant' ai voglia,

Potrefti arditamente

Ufcir del bofco, e gir' infra la gente.