SONNET. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day Oh that this hard and steril breast might be To Him, who plants from heaven, a soil as free! CANZONE. THEY mock my toil-the nymphs and amorous swains"And whence this fond attempt to write," they cry, 66 66 Love-songs in language that thou little knowest ? "How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains? 66 Thee other shores expect, and other tides ; "Rivers, on whose grassy sides "Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind 66 66 Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides; I Why then this burthen, better far declined?” Speak, Muse! for me.-The fair one said, who guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, 66 This is the language in which Love delights." SONNET. TO CHARLES DIODATA. CHARLES-and I say it wondering-thou must know That I, who once assumed a scornful air, And scoffed at Love, am fallen in his snare ; (Full many an upright man has fallen so.) Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow A mien majestic, with dark brows that show Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, And song, whose fascinating power might bind, And from her sphere draw down, the labouring moon ; With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. SONNET. LADY! it cannot be but that thine eyes But deem them, in the lover's language-sighs. Whence my sad nights in showers are ever drowned, SONNET. ENAMOURED, artless, young, on foreign ground, To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky, As safe from envy, and from outrage rude, From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse, Of the resounding lyre, and every muse. COMPLIMENTARY POEMS TO MILTON. FROM THE LATIN AND ITALIAN. THE NEAPOLITAN, JOHN BAPTIST MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA, TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON. WHAT features, form, mien, manners, with a mind Were but thy piety from fault as free, Thou wouldest no Angle but an Angel be. AN EPIGRAM, ADDRESSED TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON, A POET WORTHY OF MELES* and Mincio,+ both, your urns depress ! TO JOHN MILTON. GREECE, sound thy Homer's, Rome, thy Virgil's name, SELVAGGI. AN ODE, ADDRESSED TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS ENGLISHMAN, MR. JOHN MILTON, BY SIGNOR ANTONIO FRANCINI, GENTLEMAN, OF FLORENCE. EXALT me, Clio, to the skies, That I may form a starry crown, In laureate garlands of renown; To nobler worth be brighter glory given, And to a heavenly mind a recompense from heaven. * Meles is a river of Ionia, in the neighbourhood of Smyrna, whence Homer is called Melesigenes. The Mincio watered the city of Mantua, famous as the birthplace of Virgil. Sebetus is now the Fiume della Maddalena; it runs through Naples. Time's wasteful hunger cannot prey Its record graven on the heart; Lodge but an arrow, Virtue, on the bow That binds my lyre, and death shall be a vanquished foe. In Ocean's blazing flood enshrined, Whose vassal tide around her swells, Albion, from other climes disjoined, The prowess of the world excels; She teems with heroes that to glory rise, With more than human force in our astonished eyes. To Virtue, driven from other lands, Confirm my record, Milton, generous youth! And by true virtue prove thy virtue's praise a truth. Zeuxis, all energy and flame, Set ardent forth in his career; Urged to his task by Helen's fame Resounding ever in his ear; To make his image to her beauty true, From the collected fair each sovereign charm he drew. The bee, with subtlest skill endued. Thus toils to earn her precious juice From all the flowery myriads strewed O'er meadow and parterre profuse ; Confederate voices one sweet air compound, And various chords consent in one harmonious sound. An artist of celestial aim, Thy genius, caught by moral grace, With ardent emulation's flame The steps of Virtue toiled to trace, Observed in every land who brightest shone, And, blending all their best, made perfect good thy own. From all in Florence born, or taught Whose works, with learned labour wrought, Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore, That not even Tuscan bards can boast a richer store. Babel confused, and with her towers Since not alone thy England's purest phrase But every polished realm thy various speech displays. The secret things of heaven and earth Thou knowest them clearly, and thy views attain Let Time no more his wing display, His injuries may cease to fear; Since all events that claim remembrance find Give me, that I may praise thy song, Thy lyre, by which alone I can, Which, placing thee the stars among, Already proves thee more than man; And Thames shall seem Permessus, while his stream, Graced with a swan like thee, shall be my favourite theme. I who beside the Arno strain To match thy merit with my lays, Learn, after many an effort vain, To admire thee rather than to praise, And that by mute astonishment alone, Not by the faltering tongue, thy worth may best be shown. TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S POEM ON MILTON. TRES tria, sed longè distantia, sæcula vates Græcia sublimem, cum majestate disertum July, 1780. |