Some tangled thicket, desolate and drear,
Or deep wild forest, silent as the tomb,
Boasting no verdure bright, no fountain clear,
But darkly suited to my spirit's gloom?
VINCENZIO DA FILICAJA.
Italia, Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte. ITALIA! thou, by lavish Nature graced
That there, 'midst frowning rocks, alone with grief With ill-starred beauty, which to thee hath been
Entombed in life, and hopeless of relief,
In lonely freedom I may breathe my woesFor oh! since nought my sorrows can allay, There shall my sadness cloud no festal day, And days of gloom shall soothe me to repose.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 278.
Eu vivia de lagrimas isento.
EXEMPT from every grief, 'twas mine to live
In dreams so sweet, enchantments so divine,
A thousand joys propitious Love can give,
Were scarcely worth one rapturous pain of mine.
Bound by soft spells, in dear illusions blest,
I breathed no sigh for fortune or for power;
No care intruding to disturb my breast,
I dwelt entranced in Love's Elysian bower:
But Fate, such transports eager to destroy,
Soon rudely woke me from the dream of joy,
And bade the phantoms of delight begone!
Bade hope and happiness at once depart,
And left but memory to distract my heart,
Petracing every hour of bliss for ever flown.
Mi nueve y dulce querella.
No searching eye can pierce the veil
That o'er my secret love is thrown;
No outward signs reveal its tale,
But to my bosom known.
Thus, like the spark, whose vivid light,
In the dark flint is hid from sight,
It dwells within, alone.
A fatal dowry, whose effects are traced
In the deep sorrows graven on thy mien;
Oh! that more strength, or fewer charms were thine,
That those might fear thee more, or love thee less,
Who seem to worship at thy beauty's shrine,
Then leave thee to the death-pang's bitterness!
Not then the herds of Gaul would drain the tide
Of that Eridanus thy blood hath dyed;
Nor from the Alps would legions, still renewed,
Pour down; nor wouldst thou wield a foreign
brand,
Nor fight thy battles with the stranger's hand,
Still doomed to serve, subduing or subdued!
Genova mia, se con asciutto ciglio.
Ir thus thy fallen grandeur I behold,
My native Genoa! with a tearless eye,
Think not thy son's ungrateful heart is cold,
But know-I deem rebellious every sigh!
Thy glorious ruins proudly I survey,
Trophies of firm resolve, of patriot might!
And in each trace of devastation's way
Thy worth, thy courage, meet my wandering sight
Triumphs far less than suffering virtue shine!
And on the spoilers high revenge is thine,
While thy strong spirit unsubdued remains,
And lo! fair Liberty rejoicing flies,
To kiss each noble relic, while she cries,
'Hail! though in ruins, thou wert ne'er in
chains!"
METASTASIO.
Dunque si sfcga in pianto.
In tears, the heart opprest with grief
Gives language to its woes;
In tears, its fulness finds relief,
When rapture's tide o'erflows! Who then unclouded bliss would seek
On this terrestrial sphere;
When e'en Delight can only speak,
Like Sorrow-in a tear?
LET the vain courtier waste his days, Lured by the charms that wealth displays, The couch of down, the board of costly fare; Be his to kiss th' ungrateful hand, That waves the sceptre of command, And rear full many a palace in the air; Whilst I enjoy, all unconfined,
The glowing sun, the genial wind, And tranquil hours, to rustic toil assigned; And prize far more, in peace and health, Contented indigence, than joyless wealth.
Oh! now, since Fortune gilds their brightening
Let not those virtues languish and decay,
O'erwhelmed by luxury, and by wealth opprest!
IL MARCHESE CORNELIO BENTIVOGLIO.
L'anima bella, che dal vero Eliso.
THE sainted spirit, which from bliss on high
Descends like dayspring to my favoured sight
Shines in such noontide radiance of the sky,
Scarce do I know that form, intensely bright!
But with the sweetness of her well-known smile,
That smile of peace! she bids my doubts depart,
And takes my hand, and softly speaks the while,
And heaven's full glory pictures to my heart.
Beams of that heaven in her my eyes behold,
UN ASCENDING A HILL LEADING TO And now, e'en now, in thought my wings unfold
A CONVENT.
No baxes temeroso, o peregrino.
PAUSE not with lingering foot, O pilgrim, here;
Pierce the deep shadows of the mountain-side;
Firm be thy step, thy heart unknown to fear,
To brighter worlds this thorny path will guide.
Soon shall thy feet approach the calm abode,
So near the mansions of supreme delight;
Pause not-but tread this consecrated road,
T is the dark basis of the heavenly height.
Behold, to cheer thee on the toilsome way,
How many a fountain glitters down the hill!
Fure gales, inviting, softly round thee play,
Bright sunshine guides-and wilt thou linger
still?
To soar with her and mingle with the blest!
But ah! so swift her buoyant pinion flies,
That I, in vain aspiring to the skies,
Fall to my native sphere by earthly bonds deprest.
Al furor d'avversa sorte.
HE shall not dread Misfortune's angry nuen,
Nor feebly sink beneath her tempest rude,
Whose soul hath learned, through many a trying
To smile at fate, and suffer unsubdued.
In the rough school of billows, clouds, and storms,
Nursed and matured, the pilot learns his art:
Thus Fate's dread ire, by many a conflict forms
Oh! enter there, where, freed from human strife, The lofty spirit and enduring heart!
Hope is reality, and time is life.
Questi palazzi, e queste logge or colte.
THESE marble domes, by wealth and genius graced
With sculptured forms, bright hues, and Parian
stone,
Were once rude cabins 'midst a lonely waste,
Wild shores of solitude, and isles unknown.
Pure from each vice, 't was here a virtuous train,
Fearless in fragile barks explored the sea;
Not theirs a wish to conquer or to reign,
They sought these island-precincts-to be free.
Ne'er in their souls ambition's flame arose,
No dream of avarice broke their calm repose;
Fraud, more than death abhorred each artless
breast:
THE torrent-wave, that breaks with force
Impetuous down the Alpine height,
Complains and struggles in its course,
But sparkles, as the diamond bright.
The stream in shadowy valley deep
May slumber in its narrow bed;
But silent in unbroken sleep,
Its lustre and its life are fled.
Leggiadra rosa, le cui pure foglie.
SWEET rose! whose tender foliage to expand,
Her fostering dews the morning lightly shed,
Whilst gales of balmly breath thy blossoms fanned,
And o'er thy leaves the soft suffusion spread;
That hand whose care withdrew thee from the ground,
To brighter worlds thy favoured charms hath borne;
Thy fairest buds, with grace perennial crowned, There breathe and bloom, released from every thorn.
Thus, far removed, and now, transplanted flower!
Exposed no more to blast or tempest rude,
Sheltered with tenderest care from frost or shower,
And each rough season's chill vicissitude,
Now may thy form in bowers of peace assume
Immortal fragrance, and unwithering bloom.
Che speri, instabil Dea, di sassi e spine. FORTUNE! why thus, where'er my footsteps tread, Obstruct each path with thorns and rocks like these?
Think'st thou that I thy threatening mien shall dread,
Or toil and pant thy waving locks to seize?
Reserve the frown severe, the menace rude,
For vassal-spirits that confess thy sway!
My constant soul could triumph unsubdued,
Were the wide universe destruction's prey.
Am I to conflicts new, in toils untried;
No! I have long thine utmost power defied,
And drawn fresh energies from every fight.
Thus from rude strokes of hammers and the wheel,
With each successive shock the tempered steel
More keenly piercing proves, more dazzling bright.
METASTASIO.
Parlagli d' un periglio.
WOULDST thou to Love of danger speak?—
Veiled are his eyes, to perils blind!
Wouldst thou from Love a reason scek?—
He is a child of wayward mind!
But with a doubt, a jealous fear,
Inspire him once-the task is o'er;
His mind is keen, his sight is clear,
No more an infant, blind no more.
Sprezza il furor del vento. UNBENDING 'midst the wintry skies, Rears the firm oak his vigorous form, And stern in rugged strength, defies
The rushing of the storm;
Tu, que la dulce vida en tiernos anos.
THOU, who hast fled from life's enchanted bowers, In youth's gay spring, in beauty's glowing morn, Leaving thy bright array, thy path of flowers, For the rude convent-garb, and couch of thorn;
Thou that, escaping from a world of cares,
Hast found thy haven in devotion's fane,
As to the port the fearful bark repairs,
To shun the midnight perils of the main;
Now the glad hymn, the strain of rapture pour,
While on thy soul the beams of glory rise!
For if the pilot hail the welcome shore,
With shouts of triumph swelling to the skies;
Oh! how shouldst thou the exulting pæan raise,
Now heaven's bright harbour opens on thy gaze.
Negli anni acerbi tuoi, purpurea rosa.
THOU in thy morn wert like a glowing rose,
To the mild sunshine only half displayed,
That shunned us bashful graces to disclose,
And in its vale of verdure sought a shade;
Or like Aurora did thy charms appear,
(Since mortal form ne'er vied with aught so bright,)
Aurora, smiling from her tranquil sphere,
O'er vale and mountain shedding dew and light;
Now riper years have doomed no grace to fade,
Nor youthful charms, in all their pride arrayed,
Excel, or equal thy neglected form.
Thus, full expanded, lovelier is the flower,
And the bright day-star, in its noontide hour,
More brilliant shines, in genial radiance warm.
Quest' ombra che giammai non vide il sole.
THIS green recess, where through the bowery gloom
Ne'er e'en at noontide hours the sunbeam played,
Where violet beds in soft luxuriance bloom,
'Midst the cool freshness of the myrtle-shade;
Where through the grass a sparkling fountain
steals,
Whose murmuring wave, transparent as it flows,
No more its bed of yellow sand conceals,
Than the pure crystal hides the glowing rose;
This bower of peace, thou soother of our care,
God of soft slumbers, and of visions fair!
A. owly shepherd consecrates to thee!
Then breathe around some spell of deep repose,
And charm his eyes in balmy dew to close,
Those eyes, fatigued with grief, from tear-drops
never free.
Chi vuol veder quamunque può natura.
THOU that wouldst mark, in form of human birth,
All heaven and nature's perfect skill combined,
Come gaze on her, the day-star of the earth,
Dazzling not me alone, but all mankind:
And haste! for death, who spares the guilty long,
First calls the brightest and the best away;
And to her home, amidst the cherub-throng
The angelic mortal flies, and will not stay!
Haste! and each outward charm, each menta
grace,
In one consummate form thine eye shall trace,
Model of loveliness, for earth too fair!
Then thou shalt own, how faint my votive lays,
My spirit dazzled by perfection's blaze-
But if thou still delay, for long regret prepare.
Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde.
IF to the sighing breeze of summer-hours
Bend the green leaves; if mourns a plaintive bird
Or from some fount's cool margin, fringed with
flowers,
The soothing murmur of the wave is heard;
Her, whom the heavens reveal, the earth denies,
I see and hear: though dwelling far above,
Her spirit, still responsive to my sighs,
Visits the lone retreat of pensive love.
"Why thus in grief consume each fruitless day,"
(Her gentle accents thus divinely say,)
"While from thine eyes the tear unceasing flows?
Weep not for me, who, hastening on my flight,
Died, to be deathless; and on heavenly light
Whose eyes but opened, when they seemed to
close!"
VERSI SPAGNUOLI DI PIETRO BEMBO. O Muerte! que sueles ser. THOU, the stern monarch of dismay; Whom nature trembles to survey, Oh Death! to me, the child of grief, Thy welcome power would bring relief, Changing to peaceful slumber many a care And though thy stroke may thrill with pan. Each throbbing pulse, each quivering vein;
The pangs that bid existence close, Ah! sure are far less keen than those, Which cloud its lingering moments with despair.
And whisper, when her eyes unveil, That I, since morning's earliest call, Have sighed her name to every gale, By the lone waterfall.
O Zefiretto, che movendo vai.
SYLPH of the breeze! whose dewy pinions light
Wave gently round the tree I planted here,
Sacred to her, whose soul hath winged its flight
To the pure ether of her lofty sphere;
Be it thy care, soft spirit of the gale!
To fan its leaves in summer's noontide hour;
Be it thy care, that wintry tempests fail
To rend its honours from the sylvan bower.
Then shall it spread, and rear th' aspiring form,
Pride of the wood, secure from every storm,
Graced with her name, a consecrated tree!
So may thy lord, the monarch of the wind,
Ne'er with rude chains thy tender pinions bind,
But grant thee still to rove, a wanderer wild and
free!
Wilkommen, fruhe morgensonn.
HAIL! morning sun, thus early bright;
Welcome, sweet dawn! thou younger day!
Through the dark woods that fringe the height
Beams forth, e'en now, thy ray.
Bright on the dew, it sparkles clear,
Bright on the water's glittering fall,
And life, and joy, and health appear,
Sweet morning! at thy call.
Now thy fresh breezes lightly spring
From beds of fragrance, where they lay,
And roving wild on dewy wing,
Drive slumber far away.
Fantastic dreams, in swift retreat,
Now from each mind withdraw their spell,
While the young loves delighted meet,
On Rosa's cheek to dwell.
Speed zephyr! kiss each opening flower, Its fragrant spirit make thine own; Then wing thy way to Rosa's bower,
Ere her light sleep is flown.
There, o'er her downy pillow, fly,
Wake the sweet maid to life and day;
Breathe on her balmy lip a sigh.
And o'er her bosom play;
GERMAN SONG.
Madchen, lernet Amor kennen.
LISTEN, fair maid, my song shall tell
How Love may still be known full well,
His looks the traitor prove:
Dost thou not see that absent smile,
That fiery glance replete with guile?
Oh! doubt not then-'t is Love.
When varying still the sly disguise,
Child of caprice, he laughs and cries,
Or with complaint would move;
To day is bold, to-morrow shy,
Changing each hour, he knows not why,
Oh! doubt not then-'t is Love.
There's magic in his every wile,
His lips, well practised to beguile,
Breathe roses when they move;
See, now with sudden rage he burns,
Disdains, implores, commands, by turns;
Oh! doubt not then-'t is Love.
He comes, without the bow and dart,
That spare not e'en the purest heart;
His looks the traitor prove;
That glance is fire, that mien is guile,
Deceit is lurking in that smile,
Oh! trust him not-'t is Love!
Grotte, d'ou sort se clair ruisseau. THOU grot, whence flows this limpid spring, Its margin fringed with moss and flowers, Still bid its voice of murmurs bring
Peace to thy musing hours. Sweet Fontenay! where first for me The day-spring of existence rose, Soon shall my dust return to thee,
And 'midst my sires repose.
Muses, that watched my childhood's morn,
'Midst these wild haunts, with guardian eye,
Fair trees, that here beheld me born,
Soon shall ye see me die.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. Coged de vuestra alegre primavera. ENJOY the Sweets of life's luxuriant May, Ere envious Age is hastening on his way, With snowy wreaths to crown the beauteous brow The rose will fade when storms assail the year, And Time, who changeth not his swift career Constant in this, will change all else below'
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