Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o'er By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air! Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies, And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, Pythius, or Pæan, or what name divine Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine! Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt! If aught salubrious in your confines grow, Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's wo, That, render'd to the Muse he loves, again He may enchant the meadows with his strain. Numa, reclin'd in everlasting ease, Amid the shade of dark embow'ring trees, Viewing with eyes of unabated fire His lov'd Ægeria, shall that strain admire :. 'So sooth'd, the tumid Tiber shall revere The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year, Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein, And guide them harmless, till they meet the main: ΤΟ GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA. MILTON'S ACCOUNT OF MANSO. Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian nobleman of the highest estimation among his countrymen, for genius, literature, and military accomplishments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among the other princes of his country, in his poem entitled, Gerusalemme Conquistata, book xx. Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, During the Author's stay at Naples, he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand kind offices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before his departure from that city. THESE verses also to thy praise the Nine, Oh Manso happy in that theme, design, For, Gallus, and Mæcenas gone, they see None such besides, or whom they love as thee; And, if my verse may give the meed of fame, Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. Already such, it shines in Tasso's page (For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, And, next, the Muse consign'd (not unaware How high the charge) Marino to thy care, Who, singing to the nymphs, Adonis' praise, Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. To thee alone the poet would entrust His latest vows, to thee alone his dust; And thou with punctual piety hast paid, In labour'd brass, thy tribute to his shade. Nor this contented thee-but lest the grave Should aught absorb of their's which thou could'st save, All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come Chill'd by rude blasts, that freeze my Northern home. Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim, And thine, for Phœbus' sake, a deathless name. We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves Yes-dreary as we own our Northern clime, E'en we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme, We too serve Phoebus; Phoebus has receiv'd (If legends old may claim to be believ'd) No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear, The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, The fragrant crocus, and to grace his fane, Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train; Druids, our native bards in ancient time, Who gods and heroes prais'd in hallow'd rhyme ! Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, They name the virgins who arriv'd of yore, With British off'rings, on the Delian shore, Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung, And Hecaerge, with the golden hair, All deck'd with Pictish hues,and all with bosoms bare: Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime From rustic clamours loud, the god retir'd. The upland elms descended to the plain, And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at the strain. Well may we think, O dear to all above! Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove, And that Apollo shed his kindliest pow'r, And Maia's son, on that propitious hour, |