* * * * *
Mira d’intorno, Silvio,
Quanto il mondo ha di vago, e di gentile,
Opra e d’amore: * * *
* * * Amante e il cielo, Amante
La terra, Amante il mare.
Al fine, Ama ogni cosa.
_Pastor Fido._
* * * * *
Ask why the violet perfume throws
O’er all the ambient air;
Ask why so sweet the summer rose,
Ask why the lily’s fair.
If these, in words, could answer frame,
Or characters could trace,
They’d say, the frolic zephyrs came
And courted our embrace.
And we (unskill’d in that false lore
That teaches how to feign,
While days and years fly swiftly o’er,
And ne’er return again,)
A prompt obedience ready paid
To Nature’s kind command,
And meeting Zephyr in the glade,
We took his proffer’d hand.
And loving thus, we led along
In jocund mirth the hours;
The bee bestow’d her ceaseless song,
The clouds refreshing show’rs.
From out the Iris’ radiant bow
In gayest hues we drest,
And all our joy is, that we know
We have been truly blest.
Believe not in the sombre lay
Of one[432] who lov’d grief’s theme,
That “_have been blest_” is “title gay”
“Of misery’s extreme.”
Discard so woe-begone a muse
In melancholy drown’d,
And list’ a mightier bard[433] who strews
His laughing truths around.
“The rose distill’d is happier far
Than that which, with’ring on the thorn,
Lives, grows, and dies a prey to care
In single blessedness forlorn.”
Mark then the lesson, O ye fair!
The pretty flow’rets teach,
The truths they tell more precious are
Than coquetry can reach.
Or all cold prudence e’er design’d
To cloud affection’s beams,
To cross with doubts the youthful mind,
Or cheat it with fond dreams.
Leave then at once all fond delay,
Nor lose the hour of prime,
For nought can call back yesterda
Nor stop the hand of time.
And youth and beauty both have wings,
No art can make them stay,
While wisdom soft, but ceaseless sings,
“Enjoy them while you may.”