Have expiated at length the guilty sloth

Of her degen'rate sons)

Shall terminate our impious feuds,

And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recall?
Recall the Muses too,

Driv'n from their ancient seats

In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phoebean shafts

Piercing th' unseemly birds,

Whose talons menace us,

Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar.

ANTISTROPHE.

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,
Whether by treach❜ry lost,

Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,

From all thy kindred books,

To some dark cell, or cave forlorn,

Where thou endur'st, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor❜d hand,
Be comforted-

For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape

The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III.

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains

That, though by promise his,

Thou yet appear'st not in thy place

Among the literary noble stores,

Giv'n to his care,

But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete.
He, therefore, guardian vigilant

Of that unperishing wealth,

Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Iön kept (Iön, Erectheus son
Illustrious, of the fair Creüsa born)
In the resplendant temple of his God,
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' fav'rite haunt; Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,

Dearer to him

Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill!

Exulting go,

Since now a splendid lot is also thine,

And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read

With authors of exalted note,

The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome..

EPODE.

Ye, then, my works, no longer vain,
And worthless deem'd by me!
Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,

Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend,
Where never flippant tongue profane
Shall entrance find,

And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude Shall babble far remote.

Perhaps some future distant age,

Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught, Shall furnish minds of pow'r

To judge more equally.

Then, malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts,

Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise

I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.

TRANSLATIONS

OF

THE ITALIAN POEMS.

=

SONNET.

FAIR Lady, whose harmonious name the Rhine,
Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear,
Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear
To love a spirit elegant as thine,

That manifests a sweetness all divine,

Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine.

When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay,
Such strains, as might the senseless forest move,
Ah then-turn each his eyes, and ears, away,
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love!
Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart
Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.

SONETTO.

DONNA leggiadra, il cui bel nome honora
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,
Bene è colui d'ogni valore scarco,
Qual tuo spirto gentil non inna mora;
Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora

De sui atti soavi giamai parco,

E i don,' che son d'amor saette ed arco,
La onde l' alta tua virtu s'infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti,
Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi
L'entrata, chi di te si truova indegno;

Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inanti
Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

SONNET.

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
Borne from its native genial airs away,
That scarcely can its tender bud display;
So, on my tongue these accents, new,
Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there,
While thus, O sweetly scornful! I essay

and rare

Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain; So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and steril breast might be, To Him, who plants from Heav'n, a soil as free!

SONETTO.

QUAL in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera

L'avezza giovinetta pastorella