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A solitary woman ! and she went 4o
Singing and gathering flower after flower,
With which her way was painted and besprent.

Bright lady, who, if looks had ever power
To hear true witness of the heart within,
Dost bask under the beams of love, come lower

Towards this bank. I prithee let me win
This much of thee, to come, that I may hear
Thy song: like Proserpine, in Enna’s glen,

Thou seemest to my fancy, singing here 49 And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when She lost the spring, and Ceres her more dear.

FRAGMENT.1

ADAPTED FROM THE VITA NUOVA 0F DANTE.

WHAT Mary is when she a little smiles
I cannot even tell or call to mind,
It is a miracle, so new, so rare.

SONNET.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF
CAVALCANTI.

Gurno CAVALCANTI To DANTE Amonmnf,”

RETURNING from its daily quest, my Spirit \

Changed thoughts and vile in thee doth weep tdfind:

1 These lines are said to have been scratched by I ‘ Shelley on a window-pane.—-ED. \

2 The rejection of this sonnet from the Alastor a

It grieves me that thy mild and gentle mind
Those ample virtues which it did inherit
Has lost. Once thou didst loath the multitude
Of blind and madding men—I then loved
thee—
I loved thy lofty songs and that sweet mood
When thou wert faithful to thyself and me.
I dare not now through thy degraded state
Own the delight thy strains inspire—in vain
I seek what once thou wert—we cannot meet
As we were wont. Again and yet again
Ponder my words: so the false Spirit shall fly
And leave to thee thy true integrity.

SCENES FROM THE MAGICO
PRODIGIOSO.

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON.

SCENE I.

Enter CYPRIAN, dressed as a Student; CLARIN and Moscon as poor Scholars, with books.

CYPRIAN. IN the sweet solitude of this calm place, This intricate wild wilderness of trees And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants, Leave me; the books you brought out of the

house

To me are ever best society.
And while with glorious festival and song

volume, where a translation of a sonnet of Dante's to Cavalcanti appears, is perhaps attributable to the similarity of the subject to that of Shelley's sonnet to Wordsworth in that volume.—ED.

Antioch now celebrates the consecration

Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,

And bears his image in loud jubilee

To its new shrine, I would consume what still

Lives of the dying day, in studious thought, 11

Far from the throng and turmoil. You, my friends,

Go, and enjoy the festival; it will

Be worth your pains. You may return for me

When the sun seeks its grave among the billows,

Hid among dim grey clouds on the horizon,

Which dance like plumes upon a hearse ;—and here

I shall expect you.

Moscon.
I cannot bring my mind,

Great as my haste to see the festival
Certainly is, to leave you, Sir, without 20
Just saying some three or four thousand Words.
How is it possible that, on a day
Of such festivity, you can be content
To come forth to a solitary country
With three or four old books, and turn your back
On all this mirth?

CLARINMy master’s in the right; There is not anything more tiresome

Than a procession day, with troops, and priests, And dances, and all that.

MOSCON. From first to last, Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer ; 30 You praise not what you feel but what he does ;—Toad-eater !

[graphic]

CLARIN.
You lie—under a mistake-
For this is the most civil sort of lie

That can be given to a man’s face I now
Say what I think.

CYPEIAN. Enough, you foolish fellows! Pufied up with your own doting ignorance, You always take the two sides of one question. Now go; and, as I said, return for me When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide This glorious fabric of the universe. 40

MOBCON.
How happens it, although you can maintain
The folly of enjoying festivals,
That yet you go there?

CLARIN.
Nay, the consequence

Is clear :—who ever did what he advises
Others to do I’

MOSCON.

Would that my feet were wings,

So would I fly to Livia. CLARIN.

To speak truth, Livia is she who has surprised my heart; But he is more than half way there.—Soho! Livia, I come; good sport, Livia, Soho! [Exit

OYPRIAN. Now, since I am alone, let me examine 50 The question which has long disturbed my mind With doubt, since first I read in Plinius

The words of mystic import and deep sense

In which he defines God. My intellect

Can find no God with whom these marks and

signs Fitly agree. It is a hidden truth Which I must fathom. (CYPRLAN reads; the DAEMON, dressed in a

Court dress, enters.)

DAEMON. Search even as thou wilt, But thou shalt never find what I can hide.

CYPRLAN. What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves? What art thou?— DAEMON.

'Tis a foreign gentleman. 60 Even from this morning I have lost my way In this wild place; and my poor horse at last, Quite overcome, has stretched himself upon The enamelled tapestry of this mossy mountain, And feeds and rests at the same time. I was Upon my way to Antioch upon business Of some importance, but wrapped up in cares (Who is exempt from this inheritance?) I parted from my company, and lost 69 My way, and lost my servants and my comrades.

CYPRIAN. 'Tis singular that even within the sight Of the high towers of Antioch you could lose Your way. Of all the avenues and green paths Of this wild wood there is not one but leads, As to its centre, to the walls of Antioch; Take which you will you cannot miss your road.

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