C'est posir ce bonheur légitime Content with all a farm woui. j.ciu, Thus Sidon's monarch liv'd unknown, For the long glories of a throne- There once more happy and more free, Sur le trône éclatant des ayeux de Didon. Than raok'd with Dido's ancestry. C'est pas ces vertus pacifiques, With these pacific virtues blest, These charms of philosophic ease, You pass, dear your useful days, Où le Cher de son onde claire Where Thames your silent vallies lares, Should life's more public scenes engage Your time that thus consistent flows, Chaque soleil te voit occuper tes loisirs ; And following still these maxims sage Dans le brillant fracas du monde, For ever brings the same repose; Ton nom, ta probité profonde 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, Ed in alto intelletto un puro core; Frutto senile in sul giovenil fiori, E'n aspetto pensoso anima lieta, Anzi'l re delle stelle ; e'l vero onore, Ch'è da stancar ogni divin poeta. Con beltà naturale abito adorno; Ed un atto, che parla con silenzio ; Può far chiara la notte, oscuro il giorno, TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH. 1765. SONNET CLXXIX. f SONETTO CCLXXIX. SONNET CCLXXIX. Che facean ombra al mio stanco pensero: That shaded once my solitary shore ! I've lost what hope can never give me more. Dal Borea all’ Austro, O dal Mar Indo al Tho' sought from Indus to the closing day. Mauro, My twofold treasure death has snatch'd away, Tolto m'hai, morte, il mio doppio tesauro, My pride, my pleasure left me to deplore; Che mi fea viver lieto, e gire altero; What fields far-culturd, nor imperial sway, E ristorar nol pud terra, nè impero, Nor orient gold, nor jewels can restore, Nè gemma oriental, nè forza d'auro, destiny severe of human kind! Ma se consentimento è di destino; What portior. have we unbedew'd with tears! Che poss' io più, se no aver l'alma trista; The downcast visage, and the pensive mind Umidi gli occhi sempre, e 'l viso chino ? Thro' the thin veil of smiling life appears ; O nostra vita, ch' é si bella in vista; And in one moment vanish into wind Com' per de agevolmente in un mattino The hard-earn'd fruits of long, laborious Quel, che 'n molt' anni a gran pena s'aquista! years. SONNET CCLVIL SONETTO CCLVII. Ov' è la fronte' che con picciol cenno Volgea 'l mio core in questa parte, e' n quella? Ore'l bel ciglio, e l'una, e l'altra stella Ch' al corso di mia viver lume demo? move My trembling heart, and strike the springsoflove! ray, Ovè 'l valor, la conoscenza, e 'l senno, L'aecorta, onesta, umil, dolce farella? Ove son le bellezze accolte in ella, Che gran tempo di me lor voglio fenno ? Ovè l'ombra gentil del viso humano; Ch'ora e riposo dava all'alma stanca, E là, 've i miei pensier scritti eran tutti? Quanto al misero mondo, e quanto manca Where are that science, sense and worth confest, That speech by virtue, by the graces drest? Where are those beauties, where those charms combin'd, That caus'd this long captivity of mind! Where the dear shade of all that once was fair, The source, the solace of each amorous care; My heart's sole sovereign, Nature's only boast ? --Lost to the world, to me for ever lost ! SONETTO CCXXXVIII. Mover soavemente all aura estiva, S'ode d' una fiorita e fresca riva; Lei che'l ciel ne mostro, terra n'asconde, Di sì lontano a' sospir miei rispond Deh, perchè innanzi tempo ti consume ? Mi dice con pietate : “a che pur versi Degli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume? Morendo, eterni, e nell'eterno lume, Quando mostrai pi chiuder gli occhi apersi." SONNET CCXXXVIII. Wail'd the sweet warbler to the lonely shade; Trembled the green leaf to the summer gale; Fell the fair stream in murmurs down the dale, Ils banks, its flow'ry banks with verdure spread, Where, by the charm of pensive Fancy led, All as I fram'd the love-lamenting tale, 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, 1776 p. AND ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF ITALY. ADDRESS TO SIGNOR MOZZI, OP 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 ; Not yet what sweet Tibullus sung, When Beauty bound him to her heart; Nor all that gentle Provence knew, Where each breeze bore a lover's sigh, When Petrarch's sweet persuasion drew The tender woe from Laura's eye ; Nor aught that nobler Science seeks, What truth, what virtue must avoid, Nor aught the voice of Nature speaks, To thee unknown, or unenjoy'd ? O wise beyond each weaker aim, That weds the soul to this low sphere, Fond to indulge the feeble frame, That holds awhile her prisoner here ! Trust me, my friend, that soul survives, (If e'er had Muse prophetic skill) And when the fated hour arrives, That all her faculties shall fill, Fit for some nobler frame she flies, Afar to find a second birth, And, flourishing in fairer skies, Forsakes her nursery of Earth. Oh! there, my Mozzi, to behold The man that mour'd his country's wrong, When the poor exile left his fold, And feebly dragg'd his goat along'! On Plato's hallow'd breast to lean, And catch that ray of heavenly fire, Which smooth'd a tyrant's sullen mien, And bade the cruel thought retire! Amid those fairy-fields to dwell Where Tasso's favour'd spirit saw What numbers none but his could tell, What pencils none but his could draw! And oft at eve, if eve can be Beneath the source of glory's smile, To range Elysian groves, and see That nightly visitantWere 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 be stole." Ausonian bard, from my fond ear This stranger tongue to cultivate with care, By seas and mountains sever'd long, All for the sake of lovely lady fair, If, chance, these humble strains to hear, And tune my lays in language little try'd You leave your more melodious song, By such as wont to Tamis' banks repair, Whether, adventurous, you explore Tamis' forsook for Arno's flow'ry side, The wilds of Apenninus' brow, So wrought Love's will that erer ruleth wide!. Or musing near Loretto's 2 shore, Smile piteous on the pilgrim's vow; The Muse's gentle offering still SON. III. Your ear shall win, your love shall woo, Cuartes, must I say, what strange it seems to And these spring-flowers of Milton fill say, The favour'd vales where first they grew. This rebel heart that Love hath held as naught, For me, depriv'd of all that's dear, Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught, Each fair, fond partner of my life, Would laugh, and let his captive steal avay; Left with a lonely oar to steer, This simple heart bath now become his prey. - Thro' the rude storms of mortal strife ; Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught, Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day : When Care, the felon of my days, Oh! no--'twas Beauty's most celestial ray, Expands bis cold and gloomy wing, With charms divine of sor'reign sweetness His load when strong affliction lays fraught! On hope, the beart's elastic spring : The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air, For me what solace yet remains, The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye, Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre; The voice that, breathing melody so rare, Sooth'd by the magic of her strains, Might lead the toil'd Moon from the middle sky! If, chance, the felon Care, retire? Charles, when such mischief arm'd this foreigo fair, Sare the sweet Muse's tender lyre, Small chance had I to hope this simple heart For me no solace now remains ! Yet shall the felon, Care, retire; should fly. Sooth'd by the magic of her strains. Blagdon-House, SON. IV. June 26, 1776. In truth I feel my sun in those fair eyes, So strongly strike they, like that powerful ray, Which falls with all the violence of day On Lybia's sands--and oft, as there, arise Hot wasting vapours from the source where lies By that soft vale where Rhyne so loves to My secret pain ; yet, haply, those may say, Who talk love's language, these are only sighs, stray, And sees the tall arch crown his wat'ry way! That the soft ardours of the soul betray'. Too dull to die beneath thy beauty's ray, SON. V. Ax artless youth, who, simple in his love, Seem'd little hopeful from his heart to fly, Sure, happy he who that sweet voice should hear To thee that heart, O lady, nor deny Mould the soft speech, or swell the tuneful The votive gift, he brings ; since that shall prore strain, (vain, All change and fear and falsity above, And, conscious that his bumble vows were Of manners that to gentle deeds comply, Shut fond attention from his closed ear; And courteous will, that never asketh why; Who, piteous of himself, should timely part, Yet mild, as is the never wrathful dove, Firmness it bath, and fortitude to bear From envy far, and low-designing care, And hopes and fears that vulgar minds await, SON. II. With the sweet Muse, and sounding lyre elate, As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light And only weak, when love had entrance there. Of evening falls, the village maiden hies To foster some fair plant with kind supplies, " The concetti of the Italian in the conclusion Some stranger plant, that, yet in tender plight, of this Sonnet were so obstinate, that it seemed But seebly buds, ere Spring has open'd quite scarce possible to reduce them into any reputaThe soft affections of serener skies: ble form of translation. Such trifling liberties So I, with such like gentle thought devise as the translator shall appear to have taken with these poems, must be imputed to a desire of 2 Within a few miles of Macerata. getting over blemishes of the same kindh CANZON. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. Gay youths and frolic damsels round me throng, And smiling say, “Why, shepherd, wilt thou Lesbia, live to love and pleasure, write Careless what the grave may say: Thy lays of love adventurous to recite When each moment is a treasure, But when little life is o'er, We shall sleep; and wake no more. Give me then a thousand kisses, Their ripening blooms reserve for thy fair brow, Twice ten thousand more bestow, If she, for whom I breathe the tender vow, |
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