PART IV.

So fickle fortune, in a luckless hour,

Had close consigned me to a tyrant's power,

Who cut the nerves that, with elastic force,

Had borne me on in Freedom's generous course--

So I, in noble independence bred,

Free as the roebuck in the sylvan glade,

By passion lured, a voluntary slave--

My ready name to Cupid's muster gave.

And yet I saw their grief and wild despair;

I saw them blindly seek the fatal snare

Through winding paths, and many an artful maze,

Where Cupid's viewless spell the band obeys.

Here, as I turn'd my anxious eyes around,

If any shade I then could see renown'd

In old or modern times; the bard I spied

Whose unabated love pursued his bride

Down to the coast of Hades; and above

His life resign'd, the pledge of constant love,

Calling her name in death.--Alcæus near,

Who sung the joys of Love and toils severe,

Was seen with Pindar and the Teian swain,

A veteran gay among the youthful train

Of Cupid's host.--The Mantuan next I found,

Begirt with bards from age to age renown'd;

Whether they chose in lofty themes to soar,

Or sportive try the Muse's lighter lore.--

There soft Tibullus walk'd with Sulmo's bard;

And there Propertius with Catullus shared

The meed of lovesome lays: the Grecian dame

With sweeter numbers woke the amorous flame

While thus I turn'd around my wondering eyes,

I saw a noble train with new surprise,

Who seem'd of Love in choral notes to sing,

While all around them breathed Elysian spring.--

Here Alighieri, with his love I spied,

Selvaggia, Guido, Cino, side by side--

Guido, who mourn'd the lot that fix'd his name

The second of his age in lyric fame.--

Two other minstrels there I spied that bore

His name, renown'd on Arno's tuneful shore.

With them Sicilia's bards, in elder days

Match'd with the foremost in poetic praise,

Though now they rank behind.--Sennuccio nigh

With gentle Franceschino met my eye.--

But soon another tribe, of manners strange

And uncouth dialect, was seen to range

Along the flowery paths, by Arnald led;

In Cupid's lore by all the Muses bred,

And master of the theme.--Marsilia's coast

And Narbonne still his polish'd numbers boast.--

The next I saw with lighter step advance;

'Twas he that caught a flame at every glance

That met his eye, with him who shared his name.

Join'd with an Arnald of inferior fame.--

Next either Rambold in procession trod,

No easy conquest to the winged god.

The pride of Montferrat (a peerless dame)

In many a ditty sung, announced his flame;

And Genoa's bard, who left his native coast,

And on Marsilia's towers the memory lost

Of his first time, when Salem's sacred flame

Taught him a nobler heritage to claim,--

Gerard and Peter, both of Gallic blood,

And tuneful Rudel, who, in moonstruck mood,

O'er ocean by a flying image led,

In the fantastic chase his canvas spread;

And, where he thought his amorous vows to breathe,

From Cupid's bow received the shaft of Death.--

There was Cabestaing, whose unequall'd lays

From all his rivals won superior praise.--

Hugo was there, with Almeric renown'd;--

Bernard and Anselm by the Muses crown'd.--

Those and a thousand others o'er the field

Advanced; nor javelin did they want, or shield;

The Muses form'd their guard, and march'd before.

Spreading their long renown from shore to shore.--

The Latian band, with sympathising woe,

At last I spied amid the moving show:

Bologna's poet first, whose honour'd grave

His relics hold beside Messina's wave.

O fickle joys, that fleet upon the wind,

And leave the lassitude of life behind!

The youth, that every thought and movement sway'd

Of this sad heart, is now an empty shade!

What world contains thee now, my tuneful guide,

Whom nought of old could sever from my side?

What is this life?--what none but fools esteem;

A fleeting shadow, a romantic dream!--

Not far I wander'd o'er the peopled field,

Till Socrates and Lælius I beheld.

Oh, may their holy influence never cease

That soothed my heart-corroding pangs to peace!

Unequall'd friends! no bard's ecstatic lays

Nor polish'd prose your deathless name can raise

To match your genuine worth! O'er hill and dale

We pass'd, and oft I told my doleful tale,

Disclosing all my wounds, end not in vain:

Their sacred presence seem'd to soothe my pain.

Oh, may that glorious privilege be mine,

Till dust to dust the final stroke resign!

My courage they inspired to claim the wreath--

Immortal emblem of my constant faith

To her whose name the poet's garland bears!

Yet nought from her, for long devoted years,

I reap'd but cold disdain, and fruitless tears.--

But soon a sight ensued, that, like a spell,

Restrain'd at once my passion's stormy swell:

But this a loftier muse demands to sing,

The hallow'd power that pruned the daring wing

Of that blind force, by folly canonized

And in the garb of deity disguised.

Yet first the conscious muse designs to tell

How I endured and 'scaped his witching spell;

A subject that demands a muse of fire,

A glorious theme, that Phoebus might inspire--

Worthy of Homer and the Orphean lyre!

Still, as along the whirling chariot flew,

I kept the wafture of his wings in view:

Onward his snow-white steeds were seen to bound

O'er many a steepy hill and dale profound:

And, victims of his rage, the captive throng.

Chain'd to the flying wheels, were dragg'd along,

All torn and bleeding, through the thorny waste;

Nor knew I how the land and sea he pass'd,

Till to his mother's realm he came at last.

Far eastward, where the vext Ægean roars,

A little isle projects its verdant shores:

Soft is the clime, and fruitful is the ground,

No fairer spot old ocean clips around;

Nor Sol himself surveys from east to west

A sweeter scene in summer livery drest.

Full in the midst ascends a shady hill,

Where down its bowery slopes a streaming rill

In dulcet murmurs flows, and soft perfume

The senses court from many a vernal bloom,

Mingled with magic; which the senses steep

In sloth, and drug the mind in Lethe's deep,

Quenching the spark divine--the genuine boast

Of man, in Circe's wave immersed and lost.

This favour'd region of the Cyprian queen

Received its freight--a heaven-abandon'd scene.

Where Falsehood fills the throne, while Truth retires,

And vainly mourns her half-extinguish'd fires.

Vile in its origin, and viler still

By all incentives that seduce the will,

It seems Elysium to the sons of Lust,

But a foul dungeon to the good and just.

Exulting o'er his slaves, the winged God

Here in a theatre his triumphs show'd,

Ample to hold within its mighty round

His captive train, from Thule's northern bound

To far Taprobane, a countless crowd,

Who, to the archer boy, adoring, bow'd.

Sad fantoms shook above their Gorgon wings--

Fantastic longings for unreal things,

And fugitive delights, and lasting woes;

The summer's biting frost, and winter's rose;

And penitence and grief, that dragg'd along

The royal lawless pair, that poets sung.

One, by his Spartan plunder, seal'd the doom

Of hapless Troy--the other rescued Rome.

Beneath, as if in mockery of their woe,

The tumbling flood, with murmurs deep and low,

Return'd their wailings; while the birds above

With sweet aerial descant fill'd the grove.

And all beside the river's winding bed

Fresh flowers in gay confusion deck'd the mead,

Painting the sod with every scent and hue

That Flora's breath affords, or drinks the morning dew,

And many a solemn bower, with welcome shade,

Over the dusky stream a shelter made.

And when the sun withdrew his slanting ray,

And winter cool'd the fervours of the day,

Then came the genial hours, the frequent feast

And circling times of joy and balmy rest.

New day and night were poised in even scale,

And spring awoke her equinoctial gale,

And Progne now and Philomel begun

With genial toils to greet the vernal sun.

Just then--O hapless mortals! that rely

On fickle fortune's ever-changing sky--

E'en in that season, when, with sacred fire,

Dan Cupid seem'd his subjects to inspire,

That warms the heart, and kindles in the look,

And all beneath the moon obey his yoke--

I saw the sad reverse that lovers own,

I heard the slaves beneath their bondage groan;

I saw them sink beneath the deadly weight

And the long tortures that forerun their fate.

Sad disappointments there in meagre forms

Were seen, and feverish dreams, and fancied harms;

And fantoms rising from the yawning tomb

Were seen to muster in the gathering gloom

Around the car; and some were seen to climb,

While cruel fate reversed their steps sublime.

And empty notions in the port were seen,

And baffled hopes were there with cloudy mien.

There was expensive gain, and gain that lost,

And amorous schemes by fortune's favour cross'd;

And wearisome repose, and cares that slept.

There was the semblance of disgrace, that kept

The youth from dire mischance on whom it fell,

And glory darken'd on the gloom of hell;

Perfidious loyalty, and honest fraud,

And wisdom slow, and headlong thirst of blood;

The dungeon, where the flowery paths decoy;

The painful, hard escape, with long annoy.

I saw the smooth descent the foot betray,

And the steep rocky path that leads again to day.

There in the gloomy gulf confusion storm'd,

And moody rage its wildest freaks perform'd;

And settled grief was there; and solid night,

But rarely broke with fitful gleams of light

From joy's fantastic hand. Not Vulcan's forge,

When his Cyclopean caves the fumes disgorge;

Nor the deep mine of Mongibel, that throws

The fiery tempest o'er eternal snows;

Nor Lipari, whose strong sulphureous blast

O'ercanopies with flames the watery waste;

Nor Stromboli, that sweeps the glowing sky

With red combustion, with its rage could vie.--

Little he loves himself that ventures there,

For there is ceaseless woe and fell despair:

Yet, in this dolorous dungeon long confined,

Till time had grizzled o'er my locks, I pined.

There, dreaming still of liberty to come,

I spent my summers in this noisome gloom;

Yet still a dubious joy my grief controll'd,

To spy such numbers in that darksome hold.

But soon to gall my seeming transport turn'd,

And my illustrious partner's fate I mourn'd;

And often seem'd, with sympathising woe,

To melt in solvent tears like vernal snow.

I turn'd away, but, with inverted glance,

Perused the fleeting shapes that fill'd my trance;

Like him that feels a moment's short delight

When a fine picture fleets before his sight.

BOYD.

THE TRIUMPH OF CHASTITY.

_Quando ad un giogo ed in Un tempo quivi._

When to one yoke at once I saw the height

Of gods and men subdued by Cupid's might,

I took example from their cruel fate,

And by their sufferings eased my own hard state;

Since Phoebus and Leander felt like pain,

The one a god, the other but a man;

One snare caught Juno and the Carthage dame

(Her husband's death prepared her funeral flame--

'Twas not a cause that Virgil maketh one);

I need not grieve, that unprepared, alone,

Unarm'd, and young, I did receive a wound,

Or that my enemy no hurt hath found

By Love; or that she clothed him in my sight,

And took his wings, and marr'd his winding flight;

No angry lions send more hideous noise

From their beat breasts, nor clashing thunder's voice

Rends heaven, frights earth, and roareth through the air

With greater force than Love had raised, to dare

Encounter her of whom I write; and she

As quick and ready to assail as he:

Enceladus when Etna most he shakes,

Nor angry Scylla, nor Charybdis makes

So great and frightful noise, as did the shock

Of this (first doubtful) battle: none could mock

Such earnest war; all drew them to the height

To see what 'mazed their hearts and dimm'd their sight.

Victorious Love a threatening dart did show

His right hand held; the other bore a bow,

The string of which he drew just by his ear;

No leopard could chase a frighted deer

(Free, or broke loose) with quicker speed than he

Made haste to wound; fire sparkled from his eye.

I burn'd, and had a combat in my breast,

Glad t' have her company, yet 'twas not best

(Methought) to see her lost, but 'tis in vain

T' abandon goodness, and of fate complain;

Virtue her servants never will forsake,

As now 'twas seen, she could resistance make:

No fencer ever better warded blow,

Nor pilot did to shore more wisely row

To shun a shelf, than with undaunted power

She waved the stroke of this sharp conqueror.

Mine eyes and heart were watchful to attend,

In hope the victory would that way bend

It ever did; and that I might no more

Be barr'd from her; as one whose thoughts before

His tongue hath utter'd them you well may see

Writ in his looks; "Oh! if you victor be

Great sir," said I, "let her and me be bound

Both with one yoke; I may be worthy found,

And will not set her free, doubt not my faith:"

When I beheld her with disdain and wrath

So fill'd, that to relate it would demand

A better muse than mine: her virtuous hand

Had quickly quench'd those gilded fiery darts

Which, dipp'd in beauty's pleasure, poison hearts.

Neither Camilla, nor the warlike host

That cut their breasts, could so much valour boast

Nor Cæsar in Pharsalia fought so well,

As she 'gainst him who pierceth coats of mail;

All her brave virtues arm'd, attended there,

(A glorious troop!) and marched pair by pair:

Honour and blushes first in rank; the two

Religious virtues make the second row;

(By those the other women doth excel);

Prudence and Modesty, the twins that dwell

Together, both were lodgèd in her breast:

Glory and Perseverance, ever blest:

Fair Entertainment, Providence without,

Sweet Courtesy, and Pureness round about;

Respect of credit, fear of infamy;

Grave thoughts in youth; and, what not oft agree,

True Chastity and rarest Beauty; these

All came 'gainst Love, and this the heavens did please,

And every generous soul in that full height.

He had no power left to bear the weight;

A thousand famous prizes hardly gain'd

She took; and thousand glorious palms obtained.

Shook from his hands; the fall was not more strange

Of Hannibal, when Fortune pleased to change

Her mind, and on the Roman youth bestow

The favours he enjoy'd; nor was he so

Amazed who frighted the Israelitish host--

Struck by the Hebrew boy, that quit his boast;

Nor Cyrus more astonish'd at the fall

The Jewish widow gave his general:

As one that sickens suddenly, and fears

His life, or as a man ta'en unawares

In some base act, and doth the finder hate;

Just so was he, or in a worse estate:

Fear, grief, and shame, and anger, in his face

Were seen: no troubled seas more rage: the place

Where huge Typhoeus groans, nor Etna, when

Her giant sighs, were moved as he was then.

I pass by many noble things I see

(To write them were too hard a task for me),

To her and those that did attend I go:

Her armour was a robe more white than snow;

And in her hand a shield like his she bare

Who slew Medusa; a fair pillar there

Of jasp was next, and with a chain (first wet

In Lethe flood) of jewels fitly set,

Diamonds, mix'd with topazes (of old

'Twas worn by ladies, now 'tis not) first hold

She caught, then bound him fast; then such revenge

She took as might suffice. My thoughts did change

And I, who wish'd him victory before,

Was satisfied he now could hurt no more.

I cannot in my rhymes the names contain

Of blessèd maids that did make up her train;

Calliope nor Clio could suffice,

Nor all the other seven, for th' enterprise;

Yet some I will insert may justly claim

Precedency of others. Lucrece came

On her right hand; Penelope was by,

Those broke his bow, and made his arrows lie

Split on the ground, and pull'd his plumes away

From off his wings: after, Virginia,

Near her vex'd father, arm'd with wrath and hate.

Fury, and iron, and love, he freed the state

And her from slavery, with a manly blow;

Next were those barbarous women, who could show

They judged it better die than suffer wrong

To their rude chastity; the wise and strong--

The chaste Hebræan Judith follow'd these;

The Greek that saved her honour in the seas;

With these and other famous souls I see

Her triumph over him who used to be

Master of all the world: among the rest

The vestal nun I spied, who was so bless'd

As by a wonder to preserve her fame;

Next came Hersilia, the Roman dame

(Or Sabine rather), with her valorous train,

Who prove all slanders on that sex are vain.

Then, 'mongst the foreign ladies, she whose faith

T' her husband (not Æneas) caused her death;

The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,

Her safety to her chastity gave place;

Dido, I mean, whom no vain passion led

(As fame belies her); last, the virtuous maid

Retired to Arno, who no rest could find,

Her friends' constraining power forced her mind.

The Triumph thither went where salt waves wet

The Baian shore eastward; her foot she set

There on firm land, and did Avernus leave

On the one hand, on th' other Sybil's cave;

So to Linternus march'd, the village where

The noble Africane lies buried; there

The great news of her triumph did appear

As glorious to the eye as to the ear

The fame had been; and the most chaste did show

Most beautiful; it grieved Love much to go

Another's prisoner, exposed to scorn,

Who to command whole empires seemèd born.

Thus to the chiefest city all were led,

Entering the temple which Sulpicia made

Sacred; it drives all madness from the mind;

And chastity's pure temple next we find,

Which in brave souls doth modest thoughts beget,

Not by plebeians enter'd, but the great

Patrician dames; there were the spoils display'd

Of the fair victress; there her palms she laid,

And did commit them to the Tuscan youth,

Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:

With others more, whose names I fully knew,

(My guide instructed me,) that overthrew

The power of Love: 'mongst whom, of all the rest,

Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.

ANNA HUME.

THE SAME.

When gods and men I saw in Cupid's chain

Promiscuous led, a long uncounted train,

By sad example taught, I learn'd at last

Wisdom's best rule--to profit from the past

Some solace in the numbers too I found,

Of those that mourn'd, like me, the common wound

That Phoebus felt, a mortal beauty's slave,

That urged Leander through the wintry wave;

That jealous Juno with Eliza shared,

Whose more than pious hands the flame prepared;

That mix'd her ashes with her murder'd spouse.

A dire completion of her nuptial vows.

(For not the Trojan's love, as poets sing,

In her wan bosom fix'd the secret string.)

And why should I of common ills complain,

Shot by a random shaft, a thoughtless swain?

Unarm'd and unprepared to meet the foe,

My naked bosom seem'd to court the blow.

One cause, at least, to soothe my grief ensued;

When I beheld the ruthless power subdued;

And all unable now to twang the string,

Or mount the breeze on many-colour'd wing.

But never tawny monarch of the wood

His raging rival meets, athirst for blood;

Nor thunder-clouds, when winds the signal blow,

With louder shock astound the world below;

When the red flash, insufferably bright,

Heaven, earth, and sea displays in dismal light;

Could match the furious speed and fell intent

With which the wingèd son of Venus bent

His fatal yew against the dauntless fair

Who seem'd with heart of proof to meet the war;

Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of death

When, wrapp'd in flames, the giant moves beneath;

Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud reply

Of mad Charybdis, when her waters fly

And seem to lave the moon, could match the rage

Of those fierce rivals burning to engage.

Aloof the many drew with sudden fright,

And clamber'd up the hills to see the fight;

And when the tempest of the battle grew,

Each face display'd a wan and earthy hue.

The assailant now prepared his shaft to wing,

And fixed his fatal arrow on the string:

The fatal string already reach'd his ear;

Nor from the leopard flies the trembling deer

With half the haste that his ferocious wrath

Bore him impetuous on to deeds of death;

And in his stern regard the scorching fire

Was seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;

To me a fatal flame! but hope to see

My lovely tyrant forced to love like me,

And, bound in equal chain, assuaged my woe,

As, with an eager eye, I watch'd the coming blow

But virtue, as it ne'er forsakes the soul

That yields obedience to her blest control,

Proves how of her unjustly we complain,

When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vain

In vain the self-abandon'd shift the blame

Upon their stars, or fate's perverted name.

Ne'er did a gladiator shun the stroke

With nimbler turn, or more attentive look;

Never did pilot's hand the vessel steer

With more dexterity the shoals to clear

Than with evasion quick and matchless art,

By grace and virtue arm'd in head and heart,

She wafted quick the cruel shaft aside,

Woe to the lingering soul that dares the stroke abide!

I watch'd, and long with firm expectance stood

To see a mortal by a god subdued,

The usual fate of man! in hope to find

The cords of Love the beauteous captive bind

With me, a willing slave, to Cupid's car,

The fortunes of the common race to share.

As one, whose secrets in his looks we spy,

His inmost thoughts discovers in his eye

Or in his aspect, graved by nature's hand,

My gestures, ere I spoke, enforced my fond demand.

"Oh, link us to your wheels!" aloud I cried,

"If your victorious arms the fray decide:

Oh, bind us closely with your strongest chain!

I ne'er will seek for liberty again!"--

But oh! what fury seem'd his eyes to fill!

No bard that ever quaff'd Castalia's rill

Could match his frenzy, when his shafts of fire

With magic plumed, and barb'd with hot desire,

Short of their sacred aim, innoxious fell,

Extinguish'd by the pure ethereal spell.

Camilla; or the Amazons in arms

From ancient Thermodon, to fierce alarms

Inured; or Julius in Pharsalia's field,

When his dread onset forced the foe to yield--

Came not so boldly on as she, to face

The mighty victor of the human race,

Who scorns the temper'd mail and buckler's ward.

With her the Virtues came--an heavenly guard,

A sky-descended legion, clad in light

Of glorious panoply, contemning mortal might;

All weaponless they came; but hand in hand

Defied the fury of the adverse band:

Honour and maiden Shame were in the ban,

Elysian twins, beloved by God and man.

Her delegates in arms with them combined;

Prudence appear'd, the daughter of the mind;

Pure Temperance next, and Steadiness of soul,

That ever keeps in view the eternal goal;

And Gentleness and soft Address were seen,

And Courtesy, with mild inviting mien;

And Purity, and cautious Dread of blame,

With ardent love of clear unspotted fame;

And sage Discretion, seldom seen below,

Where the full veins with youthful ardour glow;

Benevolence and Harmony of soul

Were there, but rarely found from pole to pole;

And there consummate Beauty shone, combined

With all the pureness of an angel-mind.

Such was the host that to the conflict came,

Their bosoms kindling with empyreal flame

And sense of heavenly help.--The beams that broke

From each celestial file with horror struck

The bowyer god, who felt the blinding rays,

And like a mortal stood in fix'd amaze;

While on his spoils the fair assailants flew,

And plunder'd at their ease the captive crew;

And some with palmy boughs the way bestrew'd,

To show their conquest o'er the baffled god.

Sudden as Hannibal on Zama's field

Was forced to Scipio's conquering arms to yield;

Sudden as David's hand the giant sped,

When Accaron beheld his fall and fled;

Sudden as her revenge who gave the word,

When her stern guards dispatch'd the Persian lord;

Or like a man that feels a strong disease

His shivering members in a moment seize--

Such direful throes convulsed the despot's frame.

His hands, that veil'd his eyes, confess'd his shame,

And mental pangs, more agonising far,

In his sick bosom bred a civil war;

And hate and anguish, with insatiate ire,

Flash'd in his eyes with momentary fire.--

Not raging Ocean, when its billows boil;

Nor Typhon, when he lifts the trembling soil

Of Arima, his tortured limbs to ease;

Nor Etna, thundering o'er the subject seas--

Surpass'd the fury of the baffled Power,

Who stamp'd with rage, and bann'd the luckless hour

Scenes yet unsung demand my loftiest lays--

But oh! the theme transcends a mortal's praise.

A sweet but humbler subject may suffice

To muster in my song her fair allies;

But first, her arms and vesture claim my song

Before I chant the fair attendant throng:--

A robe she wore that seem'd of woven light;

The buckler of Minerva fill'd her right,

Medusa's bane; a column there was drawn

Of jasper bright; and o'er the snowy lawn

And round her beauteous neck a chain was slung,

Which glittering on her snowy bosom hung.

Diamond and topaz there, with mingled ray,

Return'd in varied hues the beam of day;

A treasure of inestimable cost,

Too long, alas! in Lethe's bosom lost:

To modern matrons scarcely known by fame,

Few, were it to be found, the prize would claim.

With this the vanquish'd god she firmly bound,

While I with joy her kind assistance own'd;

But oh! the feeble Muse attempts in vain

To celebrate in song her numerous train;

Not all the choir of Aganippe's spring

The pageant of the sisterhood could sing:

But some shall live, distinguished in my lay,

The most illustrious of the long array.--

The dexter wing the fair Lucretia led,

With her, who, faithful to her nuptial bed,

Her suitors scorn'd: and these with dauntless hand

The quiver seized, and scatter'd on the strand

The pointless arrows, and the broken bow

Of Cupid, their despoil'd and recreant foe.--

Lovely Virginia with her sire was nigh:

Paternal love and anger in his eye

Beam'd terrible, while in his hand he show'd

Aloft the dagger, tinged with virgin blood,

Which freedom on the maid and Rome at once bestow'd.--

Then the Teutonic dames, a dauntless race,

Who rush'd on death to shun a foe's embrace;--

And Judith chaste and fair, but void of dread,

Who the hot blood of Holofernes shed;--

And that fair Greek who chose a watery grave

Her threaten'd purity unstain'd to save.--

All these and others to the combat flew,

And all combined to wreak the vengeance due

On him, whose haughty hand in days of yore

From clime to clime his conquering standard bore.

Another troop the vestal virgin led,

Who bore along from Tyber's oozy bed

His liquid treasure in a sieve, to show

The falsehood of her base calumnious foe

By wondrous proof.--And there the Sabine queen

With all the matrons of her race was seen,

Renown'd in records old;--and next in fame

Was she, who dauntless met the funeral flame,

Not wrong'd in Love, but to preserve her vows

Immaculate to her Sidonian spouse.

Let others of Æneas' falsehood tell,

How by an unrequited flame she fell;

A nobler, though a self-inflicted doom,

Caused by connubial Love, dismiss'd her to the tomb.--

Picarda next I saw, who vainly tried

To pass her days on Arno's flowery side

In single purity, till force compell'd

The virgin to the marriage bond to yield.

The triumph seem'd at last to reach the shore

Where lofty Baise hears the Tuscan roar.

'Twas on a vernal morn it touch'd the land,

And 'twixt Mount Barbaro that crowns the strand

And old Avernus (once an hallow'd ground);

For the Cumæan sibyl's cell renown'd.

Linterno's sandy bounds it reach'd at last,

Great Scipio's favour'd haunt in ages past;

Famed Africanus, whose victorious blade

The slaughterous deeds of Hannibal repaid,

And to his country's heart a bloody passage made.

Here in a calm retreat his life he spent,

With rural peace and solitude content.

And here the flying rumour sped before,

And magnified the deed from shore to shore.

The pageant, when it reach'd the destined spot,

Seem'd to exceed their utmost reach of thought.

There, all distinguish'd by their deeds of arms,

Excell'd the rest in more than mortal charms.

Nor he, whom oft the steeds of conquest drew,

Disdained another's triumphs to pursue.

At the metropolis arrived at last,

To fair Sulpicia's temples soon we pass'd,

Sacred to Chastity, to ward the pest

With which her sensual foes inflame the breast;

The patroness of noble dames alone--

Then was the fair plebeian Pole unknown,

The victress here display'd her martial spoils,

And here the laurel hung that crown'd her toils:

A guard she stationed on the temple's bound--

The Tuscan, mark'd with many a glorious wound

Suspicion in the jealous breast to cure:

With him a chosen squadron kept the door.

I heard their names, and I remember well

The youthful Greek that by his stepdame fell,

And him who, kept by Heaven's command in awe,

Refused to violate the nuptial law.

BOYD.

THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH.

PART I.

_Questa leggiadra e gloriosa Donna._

The glorious Maid, whose soul to heaven is gone

And left the rest cold earth, she who was grown

A pillar of true valour, and had gain'd

Much honour by her victory, and chain'd

That god which doth the world with terror bind,

Using no armour but her own chaste mind;

A fair aspect, coy thoughts, and words well weigh'd,

Sweet modesty to these gave friendly aid.

It was a miracle on earth to see

The bow and arrows of the deity,

And all his armour broke, who erst had slain

Such numbers, and so many captive ta'en;

The fair dame from the noble sight withdrew

With her choice company,--they were but few.

And made a little troop, true virtue's rare,--

Yet each of them did by herself appear

A theme for poems, and might well incite

The best historian: they bore a white

Unspotted ermine, in a field of green,

About whose neck a topaz chain was seen

Set in pure gold; their heavenly words and gait,

Express'd them blest were born for such a fate.

Bright stars they seem'd, she did a sun appear,

Who darken'd not the rest, but made more clear

Their splendour; honour in brave minds is found:

This troop, with violets and roses crown'd,

Cheerfully march'd, when lo, I might espy

Another ensign dreadful to mine eye--

A lady clothed in black, whose stern looks were

With horror fill'd, and did like hell appear,

Advanced, and said, "You who are proud to be

So fair and young, yet have no eyes to see

How near you are your end; behold, I am

She, whom they, fierce, and blind, and cruel name,

Who meet untimely deaths; 'twas I did make

Greece subject, and the Roman Empire shake;

My piercing sword sack'd Troy, how many rude

And barbarous people are by me subdued?

Many ambitious, vain, and amorous thought

My unwish'd presence hath to nothing brought;

Now am I come to you, while yet your state

Is happy, ere you feel a harder fate."

"On these you have no power," she then replied,

(Who had more worth than all the world beside,)

"And little over me; but there is one

Who will be deeply grieved when I am gone,

His happiness doth on my life depend,

I shall find freedom in a peaceful end."

As one who glancing with a sudden eye

Some unexpected object doth espy;

Then looks again, and doth his own haste blame

So in a doubting pause, this cruel dame

A little stay'd, and said, "The rest I call

To mind, and know I have o'ercome them all:"

Then with less fierce aspect, she said, "Thou guide

Of this fair crew, hast not my strength assay'd,

Let her advise, who may command, prevent

Decrepit age, 'tis but a punishment;

From me this honour thou alone shalt have,

Without or fear or pain, to find thy grave."

"As He shall please, who dwelleth in the heaven

And rules on earth, such portion must be given

To me, as others from thy hand receive,"

She answered then; afar we might perceive

Millions of dead heap'd on th' adjacent plain;

No verse nor prose may comprehend the slain

Did on Death's triumph wait, from India,

From Spain, and from Morocco, from Cathay,

And all the skirts of th' earth they gather'd were;

Who had most happy lived, attended there:

Popes, Emperors, nor Kings, no ensigns wore

Of their past height, but naked show'd and poor.

Where be their riches, where their precious gems,

Their mitres, sceptres, robes, and diadems?

O miserable men, whose hopes arise

From worldly joys, yet be there few so wise

As in those trifling follies not to trust;

And if they be deceived, in end 'tis just:

Ah! more than blind, what gain you by your toil?

You must return once to your mother's soil,

And after-times your names shall hardly know,

Nor any profit from your labour grow;

All those strange countries by your warlike stroke

Submitted to a tributary yoke;

The fuel erst of your ambitious fire,

What help they now? The vast and bad desire

Of wealth and power at a bloody rate

Is wicked,--better bread and water eat

With peace; a wooden dish doth seldom hold

A poison'd draught; glass is more safe than gold;

But for this theme a larger time will ask,

I must betake me to my former task.

The fatal hour of her short life drew near,

That doubtful passage which the world doth fear;

Another company, who had not been

Freed from their earthy burden there were seen,

To try if prayers could appease the wrath,

Or stay th' inexorable hand, of Death.

That beauteous crowd convened to see the end

Which all must taste; each neighbour, every friend

Stood by, when grim Death with her hand took hold,

And pull'd away one only hair of gold,

Thus from the world this fairest flower is ta'en

To make her shine more bright, not out of spleen

How many moaning plaints, what store of cries

Were utter'd there, when Fate shut those fair eyes

For which so oft I sung; whose beauty burn'd

My tortured heart so long; while others mourn'd,

She pleased, and quiet did the fruit enjoy

Of her blest life: "Farewell," without annoy,

"True saint on earth," said they; so might she be

Esteem'd, but nothing bates Death's cruelty.

What shall become of others, since so pure

A body did such heats and colds endure,

And changed so often in so little space?

Ah, worldly hopes, how blind you be, how base!

If since I bathe the ground with flowing tears

For that mild soul, who sees it, witness bears;

And thou who read'st mayst judge she fetter'd me

The sixth of April, and did set me free

On the same day and month. Oh! how the way

Of fortune is unsure; none hates the day

Of slavery, or of death, so much as I

Abhor the time which wrought my liberty,

And my too lasting life; it had been just

My greater age had first been turn'd to dust,

And paid to time, and to the world, the debt

I owed, then earth had kept her glorious state:

Now at what rate I should the sorrow prize

I know not, nor have heart that can suffice

The sad affliction to relate in verse

Of these fair dames, that wept about her hearse;

"Courtesy, Virtue, Beauty, all are lost;

What shall become of us? None else can boast

Such high perfection; no more we shall

Hear her wise words, nor the angelical

Sweet music of her voice." While thus they cried,

The parting spirit doth itself divide

With every virtue from the noble breast,

As some grave hermit seeks a lonely rest:

The heavens were clear, and all the ambient air

Without a threatening cloud; no adversaire

'Durst once appear, or her calm mind affright;

Death singly did herself conclude the fight;

After, when fear, and the extremest plaint

Were ceased, th' attentive eyes of all were bent

On that fair face, and by despair became

Secure; she who was spent, not like a flame

By force extinguish'd, but as lights decay,

And undiscerned waste themselves away:

Thus went the soul in peace; so lamps are spent,

As the oil fails which gave them nourishment;

In sum, her countenance you still might know

The same it was, not pale, but white as snow,

Which on the tops of hills in gentle flakes

Falls in a calm, or as a man that takes

Desir'ed rest, as if her lovely sight

Were closed with sweetest sleep, after the sprite

Was gone. If this be that fools call to die,

Death seem'd in her exceeding fair to be.

ANNA HUME.

[LINES 103 TO END.]

And now closed in the last hour's narrow span

Of that so glorious and so brief career,

Ere the dark pass so terrible to man!

And a fair troop of ladies gather'd there,

Still of this earth, with grace and honour crown'd,

To mark if ever Death remorseful were.

This gentle company thus throng'd around,

In her contemplating the awful end

All once must make, by law of nature bound;

Each was a neighbour, each a sorrowing friend.

Then Death stretch'd forth his hand, in that dread hour,

From her bright head a golden hair to rend,

Thus culling of this earth the fairest flower;

Nor hate impell'd the deed, but pride, to dare

Assert o'er highest excellence his power.

What tearful lamentations fill the air

The while those beauteous eyes alone are dry,

Whose sway my burning thoughts and lays declare!

And while in grief dissolved all weep and sigh,

She, in meek silence, joyous sits secure,

Gathering already virtue's guerdon high.

"Depart in peace, O mortal goddess pure!"

They said; and such she was: although it nought

'Gainst mightier Death avail'd, so stern--so sure!

Alas for others! if a few nights wrought

In her each change of suffering dust below!

Oh! Hope, how false! how blind all human thought!

Whether in earth sank deep the dews of woe

For the bright spirit that had pass'd away,

Think, ye who listen! they who witness'd know.

'Twas the first hour, of April the sixth day,

That bound me, and, alas! now sets me free:

How Fortune doth her fickleness display!

None ever grieved for loss of liberty

Or doom of death as I for freedom grieve,

And life prolong'd, who only ask to die.

Due to the world it had been her to leave,

And me, of earlier birth, to have laid low,

Nor of its pride and boast the age bereave.

How great the grief it is not mine to show,

Scarce dare I think, still less by numbers try,

Or by vain speech to ease my weight of woe.

Virtue is dead, beauty and courtesy!

The sorrowing dames her honour'd couch around

"For what are we reserved?" in anguish cry;

"Where now in woman will all grace be found?

Who with her wise and gentle words be blest,

And drink of her sweet song th' angelic sound?"

The spirit parting from that beauteous breast,

In its meek virtues wrapt, and best prepared,

Had with serenity the heavens imprest:

No power of darkness, with ill influence, dared

Within a space so holy to intrude,

Till Death his terrible triumph had declared.

Then hush'd was all lament, all fear subdued;

Each on those beauteous features gazed intent,

And from despair was arm'd with fortitude.

As a pure flame that not by force is spent,

But faint and fainter softly dies away,

Pass'd gently forth in peace the soul content:

And as a light of clear and steady ray,

When fails the source from which its brightness flows,

She to the last held on her-wonted way.

Pale, was she? no, but white as shrouding snows,

That, when the winds are lull'd, fall silently,

She seem'd as one o'erwearied to repose.

E'en as in balmy slumbers lapt to lie

(The spirit parted from the form below),

In her appear'd what th' unwise term to die;

And Death sate beauteous on her beauteous brow.

DACRE.

PART II

_La notte che seguì l' orribil caso._

The night--that follow'd the disastrous blow

Which my spent sun removed in heaven to glow,

And left me here a blind and desolate man--

Now far advanced, to spread o'er earth began

The sweet spring dew which harbingers the dawn,

When slumber's veil and visions are withdrawn;

When, crown'd with oriental gems, and bright

As newborn day, upon my tranced sight

My Lady lighted from her starry sphere:

With kind speech and soft sigh, her hand so dear.

So long desired in vain, to mine she press'd,

While heavenly sweetness instant warm'd my breast:

"Remember her, who, from the world apart,

Kept all your course since known to that young heart."

Pensive she spoke, with mild and modest air

Seating me by her, on a soft bank, where,

In greenest shade, the beech and laurel met.

"Remember? ah! how should I e'er forget?

Yet tell me, idol mine," in tears I said,

"Live you?--or dreamt I--is, is Laura dead?"

"Live I? I only live, but you indeed

Are dead, and must be, till the last best hour

Shall free you from the flesh and vile world's power.

But, our brief leisure lest desire exceed,

Turn we, ere breaks the day already nigh,

To themes of greater interest, pure and high."

Then I: "When ended the brief dream and vain

That men call life, by you now safely pass'd,

Is death indeed such punishment and pain?"

Replied she: "While on earth your lot is cast,

Slave to the world's opinions blind and hard,

True happiness shall ne'er your search reward;

Death to the good a dreary prison opes,

But to the vile and base, who all their hopes

And cares below have fix'd, is full of fear;

And this my loss, now mourn'd with many a tear,

Would seem a gain, and, knew you my delight

Boundless and pure, your joyful praise excite."

Thus spoke she, and on heaven her grateful eye

Devoutly fix'd, but while her rose-lips lie

Chain'd in cold silence, I renew'd my theme:

"Lightning and storm, red battle, age, disease,

Backs, prisons, poison, famine,--make not these

Death, even to the bravest, bitter seem?"

She answer'd: "I deny not that the strife

Is great and sore which waits on parting life,

And then of death eternal the sharp dread!

But if the soul with hope from heaven be fed,

And haply in itself the heart have grief,

What then is death? Its brief sigh brings relief:

Already I approach'd my final goal,

My strength was failing, on the wing my soul,

When thus a low sad-whisper by my side,

'O miserable! who, to vain life tied,

Counts every hour and deems each hour a day,

By land or ocean, to himself a prey,

Where'er he wanders, who one form pursues,

Indulges one desire, one dream renews,

Thought, speech, sense, feeling, there for ever bound!'

It ceased, and to the spot whence came the sound

I turn'd my languid eyes, and her beheld,

Your love who check'd, my pity who impell'd;

I recognised her by that voice and air,

So often which had chased my spirit's gloom,

Now calm and wise, as courteous then and fail.

But e'en to you when dearest, in the bloom

Of joyous youth and beauty's rosy prime.

Theme of much thought, and muse of many a rhyme,

Believe me, life to me was far less sweet

Than thus a merciful mild death to meet,

The blessed hope, to mortals rarely given:

And such joy smooth'd my path from earth to heaven,

As from long exile to sweet home I turn'd,

While but for you alone my soul with pity yearn'd."

"But tell me, lady," said I, "by that true

And loyal faith, on earth well known to you

Now better known before the Omniscient's face,

If in your breast the thought e'er found a place

Love prompted, my long martyrdom to cheer,

Though virtue follow'd still her fair emprize.

For ah! oft written in those sweetest eyes,

Dear anger, dear disdain, and pardon dear,

Long o'er my wishes doubts and shadows cast."

Scarce from my lips the venturous speech had pass'd,

When o'er her fair face its old sun-smile beam'd,

My sinking virtue which so oft redeem'd,

And with a tender sigh she answer'd: "Never

Can or did aught from you my firm heart sever:

But as, to our young fame, no other way,

Direct and plain, of mutual safety lay,

I temper'd with cold looks your raging flame:

So fondest mothers wayward children tame.

How often have I said, 'It me behoves

To act discreetly, for he burns, not loves!

Who hopes and fears, ill plays discretion's part!

He must not in my face detect my heart;'

'Twas this, which, as a rein the generous horse,

Slack'd your hot haste, and shaped your proper course.

Often, while Love my struggling heart consumed,

Has anger tinged my cheek, my eyes illumed,

For Love in me could reason ne'er subdue;

But ever if I saw you sorrow-spent,

Instant my fondest looks on you were bent,

Myself from shame, from death redeeming you;

Or, if the flame of passion blazed too high,

My greeting changed, with short speech and cold eye

My sorrow moved you or my terror shook.

That these the arts I used, the way I took,

Smiles varying scorn as sunshine follows rain,

You know, and well have sung in many a deathless strain

Again and oft, as saw I sunk in grief

Those tearful eyes, I said, 'Without relief,

Surely and swift he marches to his grave,'

And, at the thought, the fitting help I gave.'

But if I saw you wild and passion spurr'd,

Prompt with the curb, your boldness I deterr'd;

Thus cold and kind, pale, blushing, gloomy, gay,

Safe have I led you through the dangerous way,

And, as my labour, great my joy at last."

Trembling, I answer'd, and my tears flow'd fast,

"Lady, could I the blessed thought believe,

My faithful love would full reward receive."

"O man of little faith!"--her fairest cheek,

E'en as she spoke, a warm blush 'gan to streak--

"Why should I say it, were it less than true?

If you on earth were pleasant in my view

I need not ask; enough it pleased to see

The best love of that true heart fix'd on me;

Well too your genius pleased me, and the fame

Which, far and wide, it shower'd upon my name;

Your Love had blame in its excess alone,

And wanted prudence; while you sought to tell,

By act and air, what long I knew and well,

To the whole world your secret heart was shown;

Thence was the coldness which your hopes distress'd,

For such our sympathy in all the rest,

As is alone where Love keeps honour's law.

Since in your bosom first its birth I saw,

One fire our heart has equally inflamed,

Except that I conceal'd it, you proclaim'd;

And louder as your cry for mercy swell'd,

Terror and shame my silence more compell'd,

That men my great desire should little think;

But ah! concealment makes not sorrow less,

Complaint embitters not the mind's distress,

Feeling with fiction cannot swell and shrink,

But surely then at least the veil was raised,

You only present when your verse I praised,

And whispering sang, 'Love dares not more to say.'

Yours was my heart, though turn'd my eyes away;

Grieve you, as cruel, that their grace was such,

As kept the little, gave the good and much;

Yet oft and openly as they withdrew,

Far oftener furtively they dwelt on you,

For pity thus, what prudence robb'd, return'd;

And ever so their tranquil lights had burn'd,

Save that I fear'd those dear and dangerous eyes

Might then the secret of my soul surprise.

But one thing more, that, ere our parley cease,

Memory may shrine my words, as treasures sweet,

And this our parting give your spirit peace.

In all things else my fortune was complete,

In this alone some cause had I to mourn

That first I saw the light in humble earth,

And still, in sooth, it grieves that I was born

Far from the flowery nest where you had birth;

Yet fair to me the land where your love bless'd;

Haply that heart, which I alone possess'd,

Elsewhere had others loved, myself unseen,

And I, now voiced by fame, had there inglorious been."

"Ah, no!" I cried, "howe'er the spheres might roll,

Wherever born, immutable and whole,

In life, in death, my great love had been yours."

"Enough," she smiled, "its fame for aye endures,

And all my own! but pleasure has such power,

Too little have we reck'd the growing hour;

Behold! Aurora, from her golden bed,

Brings back the day to mortals, and the sun

Already from the ocean lifts his head.

Alas! he warns me that, my mission done,

We here must part. If more remain to say,

Sweet friend! in speech be brief, as must my stay."

Then I: "This kindest converse makes to me

All sense of my long suffering light and sweet:

But lady! for that now my life must be

Hateful and heavy, tell me, I entreat,

When, late or early, we again shall meet?"

"If right I read the future, long must you

Without me walk the earth."

She spoke, and pass'd from view.

MACGREGOR.

THE TRIUMPH OF FAME.

PART I.

_Da poi che Morte trionfò nel volto._

When cruel Death his paly ensign spread

Over that face, which oft in triumph led

My subject thoughts; and beauty's sovereign light,

Retiring, left the world immersed in night;

The Phantom, with a frown that chill'd the heart,

Seem'd with his gloomy pageant to depart,

Exulting in his formidable arms,

And proud of conquest o'er seraphic charms.

When, turning round, I saw the Power advance

That breaks the gloomy grave's eternal trance,

And bids the disembodied spirit claim

The glorious guerdon of immortal Fame.

Like Phosphor, in the sullen rear of night,

Before the golden wheels of orient light

He came. But who the tendant pomp can tell,

What mighty master of the corded shell

Can sing how heaven above accordant smiled,

And what bright pageantry the prospect fill'd.

I look'd, but all in vain: the potent ray

Flash'd on my sight intolerable day

At first; but to the splendour soon inured,

My eyes perused the pomp with sight assured.

True dignity in every face was seen,

As on they march'd with more than mortal mien;

And some I saw whom Love had link'd before,

Ennobled now by Virtue's lofty lore.

Cæsar and Scipio on the dexter hand

Of the bright goddess led the laurell'd band.

One, like a planet by the lord of day,

Seem'd o'er-illumined by her splendid ray,

By brightness hid; for he, to virtue true,

His mind from Love's soft bondage nobly drew.

The other, half a slave to female charms,

Parted his homage to the god of arms

And Love's seductive power: but, close and deep,

Like files that climb'd the Capitolian steep

In years of yore, along the sacred way

A martial squadron came in long array.

In ranges as they moved distinct and bright,

On every burganet that met the light,

Some name of long renown, distinctly read,

O'er each majestic brow a glory shed.

Still on the noble pair my eyes I bent,

And watch'd their progress up the steep ascent.

The second Scipio next in line was seen,

And he that seem'd the lure of Egypt's queen;

With many a mighty chief I there beheld,

Whose valorous hand the battle's storm repell'd.

Two fathers of the great Cornelian name,

With their three noble sons who shared their fame,

One singly march'd before, and, hand in hand,

His two heroic partners trod the strand.

The last was first in fame; but brighter beams

His follower flung around in solar streams.

Metaurus' champion, whom the moon beheld,

When his resistless spears the current swell'd

With Libya's hated gore, in arms renown'd

Was he, nor less with Wisdom's olive crown'd.

Quick was his thought and ready was his hand,

His power accomplish'd what his reason plann'd;

He seem'd, with eagle eye and eagle wing,

Sudden on his predestined game to spring.

But he that follow'd next with step sedate

Drew round his foe the viewless snare of fate;

While, with consummate art, he kept at bay

The raging foe, and conquer'd by delay.

Another Fabius join'd the stoic pair,

The Pauli and Marcelli famed in war;

With them the victor in the friendly strife,

Whose public virtue quench'd his love of life.

With either Brutus ancient Curius came;

Fabricius, too, I spied, a nobler name

(With his plain russet gown and simple board)

Than either Lydian with her golden hoard.

Then came the great dictator from the plough;

And old Serranus show'd his laurell'd brow.

Marching with equal step. Camillus near,

Who, fresh and vigorous in the bright career

Of honour, sped, and never slack'd his pace,

Till Death o'ertook him in the noble race,

And placed him in a sphere of fame so high,

That other patriots fill'd a lower sky.

Even those ungrateful lands that seal'd his doom

Recall'd the hanish'd man to rescue Rome.

Torquains nigh, a sterner spectre stood,

His fasces all besmear'd with filial blood:

He childless to the shades resolved to go,

Rather than Rome a moment should forego

That dreadful discipline, whose rigid lore

Had spread their triumphs round from shore to shore.

Then the two Decii came, by Heaven inspired,

Divinely bold, as when the foe retired

Before their Heaven-directed march, amazed,

When on the self-devoted men they gazed,

Till they provoked their fate. And Curtius nigh,

As when to heaven he cast his upward eye,

And all on fire with glory's opening charms,

Plunged to the Shades below with clanging arms,

Lævinus, Mummius, with Flaminius show'd,

Like meaner lights along the heavenly road;

And he who conquer'd Greece from sea to sea,

Then mildly bade th' afflicted race be free.

Next came the dauntless envoy, with his wand,

Whose more than magic circle on the sand

The frenzy of the Syrian king confined:

O'er-awed he stood, and at his fate repined.

Great Manlius, too, who drove the hostile throng

Prone from the steep on which his members hung,

(A sad reverse) the hungry vultures' food,

When Roman justice claim'd his forfeit blood.

Then Cocles came, who took his dreadful stand

Where the wide arch the foaming torrent spann'd,

Stemming the tide of war with matchless might,

And turn'd the heady current of the fight.

And he that, stung with fierce vindictive ire,

Consumed his erring hand with hostile fire.

Duillius next and Catulus were seen,

Whose daring navies plough'd the billowy green

That laves Pelorus and the Sardian shore,

And dyed the rolling waves with Punic gore.

Great Appius next advanced in sterner mood,

Who with patrician loftiness withstood

The clamours of the crowd. But, close behind,

Of gentler manners and more equal mind,

Came one, perhaps the first in martial might,

Yet his dim glory cast a waning light;

But neither Bacchus, nor Alcmena's son

Such trophies yet by east or west have won;

Nor he that in the arms of conquest died,

As he, when Rome's stern foes his valour tried

Yet he survived his fame. But luckier far

Was one that follow'd next, whose golden star

To better fortune led, and mark'd his name

Among the first in deeds of martial fame:

But cruel was his rage, and dipp'd in gore

By civil slaughter was the wreath he wore.

A less-ensanguined laurel graced the head

Of him that next advanced with lofty tread,

In martial conduct and in active might

Of equal honour in the fields of fight.

Then great Volumnius, who expell'd the pest

Whose spreading ills the Romans long distress'd.

Rutilius Cassus, Philo next in sight

Appear'd, like twinkling stars that gild the night.

Three men I saw advancing up the vale,

Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and mail;

Dentatus, long in standing fight renown'd,

Sergius and Scæva oft with conquest crown'd;

The triple terror of the hostile train,

On whom the storm of battle broke in vain.

Another Sergius near with deep disgrace

Marr'd the long glories of his ancient race,

Marius, then, the Cimbrians who repell'd

From fearful Rome, and Lybia's tyrant quell'd.

And Fulvius, who Campania's traitors slew,

And paid ingratitude with vengeance due.

Another nobler Fulvius next appear'd;

And there the Father of the Gracchi rear'd

A solitary crest. The following form

Was he that often raised the factious storm--

Bold Catulus, and he whom fortune's ray

Illumined still with beams of cloudless day;

Yet fail'd to chase the darkness of the mind,

That brooded still on loftier hopes behind.

From him a nobler line in two degrees

Reduced Numidia to reluctant peace.

Crete, Spain, and Macedonia's conquer'd lord

Adorn'd their triumphs and their treasures stored.

Vespasian, with his son, I next survey'd,

An angel soul in angel form array'd;

Nor less his brother seem'd in outward grace,

But hell within belied a beauteous face.

Then Nerva, who retrieved the falling throne,

And Trajan, by his conquering eagles known.

Adrian, and Antonine the just and good,

He, with his son, the golden age renew'd;

And ere they ruled the world, themselves subdued.

Then, as I turn'd my roving eyes around,

Quirinus I beheld with laurel crown'd,

And five succeeding kings. The sixth was lost,

By vice degraded from his regal post;

A sentence just, whatever pride may claim,

For virtue only finds eternal Fame.

BOYD.

PART II.

_Pien d' infinita e nobil maraviglia._

Full of ecstatic wonder at the sight,

I view'd Bellona's minions, famed in fight;

A brotherhood, to whom the circling sun

No rivals yet beheld, since time begun.--

But ah! the Muse despairs to mount their fame

Above the plaudits of historic Fame.

But now a foreign band the strain recalls--

Stern Hannibal, that shook the Roman walls;

Achilles, famed in Homer's lasting lay,

The Trojan pair that kept their foes at bay;

Susa's proud rulers, a distinguish'd pair,

And he that pour'd the living storm of war

On the fallen thrones of Asia, till the main,

With awful voice, repell'd the conquering train.

Another chief appear'd, alike in name,

But short was his career of martial fame;

For generous valour oft to fortune yields,

Too oft the arbitress of fighting fields.

The three illustrious Thebans join'd the train,

Whose noble names adorn a former strain;

Great Ajax with Tydides next appear'd,

And he that o'er the sea's broad bosom steer'd

In search of shores unknown with daring prow,

And ancient Nestor, with his looks of snow,

Who thrice beheld the race of man decline,

And hail'd as oft a new heroic line:

Then Agamemnon, with the Spartan's shade,

One by his spouse forsaken, one betray'd:

And now another Spartan met my view,

Who, cheerly, call'd his self-devoted crew

To banquet with the ghostly train below,

And with unfading laurels deck'd the brow;

Though from a bounded stage a softer strain

Was his, who next appear'd to cross the plain:

Famed Alcibiades, whose siren spell

Could raise the tide of passion, or repel

With more than magic sounds, when Athens stood

By his superior eloquence subdued.

The Marathonian chief, with conquest crown'd,

With Cimon came, for filial love renown'd;

Who chose the dungeon's gloom and galling chain

His captive father's liberty to gain;

Themistocles and Theseus met my eye;

And he that with the first of Rome could vie

In self-denial; yet their native soil,

Insensate to their long illustrious toil,

To each denied the honours of a tomb,

But deathless fame reversed the rigid doom,

And show'd their worth in more conspicuous light

Through the surrounding shades of envious night.

Great Phocion next, who mourn'd an equal fate,

Expell'd and exiled from his parent state;

A foul reward! by party rage decreed,

For acts that well might claim a nobler meed:

There Pyrrhus, with Numidia's king behind,

Ever in faithful league with Rome combined,

The bulwark of his state. Another nigh,

Of Syracuse, I saw, a firm ally

To Italy, like him. But deadly hate,

Repulsive frowns, and love of stern debate,

Hamilcar mark'd, who at a distance stood,

And eyed the friendly pair in hostile mood.

The royal Lydian, with distracted mien,

Just as he 'scaped the vengeful flame, was seen

And Syphax, who deplored an equal doom,

Who paid with life his enmity of Rome;

And Brennus, famed for sacrilegious spoil,

That, overwhelm'd beneath the rocky pile,

Atoned the carnage of his cruel hand,

Join'd the long pageant of the martial band;

Who march'd in foreign or barbarian guise

From every realm and clime beneath the skies

But different far in habit from the rest,

One tribe with reverent awe my heart impress'd:

There he that entertain'd the grand design

To build a temple to the Power Divine;

With him, to whom the oracles of Heaven

The task to raise the sacred pile had given:

The task he soon fulfill'd by Heaven assign'd,--

But let the nobler temple of the mind

To ruin fall, by Love's alluring sway

Seduced from duty's hallow'd path astray;

Then he that on the flaming hill survived

That sight no mortal else beheld, and lived--

The Eternal One, and heard, with awe profound,

That awful voice that shakes the globe around;

With him who check'd the sun in mid career,

And stopp'd the burning wheels that mark the sphere,

(As a well-managed steed his lord obeys,

And at the straiten'd rein his course delays,)

And still the flying war the tide of day

Pursued, and show'd their bands in wild dismay.--

Victorious faith! to thee belongs the prize;

In earth thy power is felt, and in the circling skies.--

The father next, who erst by Heaven's command

Forsook his home, and sought the promised land;

The hallow'd scene of wide-redeeming grace:

And to the care of Heaven consign'd his race.

Then Jacob, cheated in his amorous vows,

Who led in either hand a Syrian spouse;

And youthful Joseph, famed for self-command,

Was seen, conspicuous midst his kindred band.

Then stretching far my sight amid the train

That hid, in countless crowds, the shaded plain,

Good Hezekiah met my raptured sight,

And Manoah's son, a prey to female sleight;

And he, whose eye foresaw the coming flood,

With mighty Nimrod nigh, a man of blood;

Whose pride the heaven-defying tower design'd,

But sin the rising fabric undermined.

Great Maccabeus next my notice claim'd,

By Love to Zion's broken laws inflamed;

Who rush'd to arms to save a sinking state,

Scorning the menace of impending Fate

Now satiate with the view, my languid sight

Had fail'd, but soon perceived with new delight

A train, like Heaven's descending powers, appear,

Whose radiance seem'd my cherish'd sight to clear

There march'd in rank the dames of ancient days,

Antiope, renown'd for martial praise;

Orithya near, in glittering armour shone,

And fair Hippolyta that wept her son;

The sisters whom Alcides met of yore

In arms on Thermodon's distinguish'd shore;

When he and Theseus foil'd the warlike pair,

By force compell'd the nuptial rite to share.

The widow'd queen, who seem'd with tranquil smile

To view her son upon the funeral pile;

But brooding vengeance rankled deep within,

So Cyrus fell within the fatal gin:

Misconduct, which from age to age convey'd,

O'er her long glories cast a funeral shade.

I saw the Amazon whom Ilion mourn'd,

And her for whom the flames of discord burn'd,

Betwixt the Trojan and Rutulian train

When her affianced lover press'd the plain;

And her, that with dishevell'd tresses flew,

Half-arm'd, half-clad, her rebels to subdue.

Her partner too in lawless love I spied,

A Roman harlot, an incestuous bride.

But Tadmor's queen, with nobler fires inflamed,

The pristine glory of the sex reclaim'd,

Who in the spring of life, in beauty's bloom,

Her heart devoted to her husband's tomb;

True to his dust, aspiring to the crown

Of virtue, in such years but seldom known:

With temper'd mail she hid her snowy breast,

And with Bellona's helm and nodding crest

Despising Cupid's lore, her charms conceal'd,

And led the foes of Latium to the field.

The shock at ancient Rome was felt afar,

And Tyber trembled at the distant war

Of foes she held in scorn: but soon she found

That Mars his native tribes with conquest crown'd

And by her haughty foes in triumph led,

The last warm tears of indignation shed.

O fair Bethulian! can my vagrant song

O'erpass thy virtues in the nameless throng,

When he that sought to lure thee to thy shame

Paid with his sever'd head his frantic flame?

Can Ninus be forgot, whose ancient name

Begins the long roll of imperial fame?

And he whose pride, by Heaven's imperial doom,

Reduced among the grazing herd to roam?

Belus, who first beheld the nations sway

To idols, from the Heaven-directed way,

Though he was blameless? Where does he reside

Who first the dangerous art of magic tried?

O Crassus! much I mourn the baleful star

That o'er Euphrates led the storm of war.

Thy troops, by Parthian snares encircled round,

Mark'd with Hesperia's shame the bloody ground;

And Mithridates, Rome's incessant foe,

Who fled through burning plains and tracts of snow

Their fell pursuit. But now, the parting strain

Must pass, with slight survey, the coming train:

There British Arthur seeks his share of fame,

And three Cæsarian victors join their claim;

One from the race of Libya, one from Spain,

And last, not least, the pride of fair Lorraine,

With his twelve noble peers. Goffredo's powers

Direct their march to Salem's sacred towers;

And plant his throne beneath the Asian skies,

A sacred seat that now neglected lies.

Ye lords of Christendom! eternal shame

For ever will pursue each royal name,

And tell your wolfish rage for kindred blood,

While Paynim hounds profane the seat of God!

With him the Christian glory seem'd to fall,

The rest was hid behind oblivion's pall;

Save a few honour'd names, inferior far

In peace to guide, or point the storm of war.

Yet e'en among the stranger tribes were found

A few selected names, in song renown'd.

First, mighty Saladin, his country's boast,

The scourge and terror of the baptized host.

Noradin, and Lancaster fierce in arms,

Who vex'd the Gallic coast with long alarms.

I look'd around with painful search to spy

If any martial form should meet my eye

Familiar to my sight in worlds above,

The willing objects of respect or love;

And soon a well-known face my notice drew,

Sicilia's king, to whose sagacious view

The scenes of deep futurity display'd

Their birth, through coming Time's disclosing shade.

There my Colonna, too, with glad surprise,

'Mid the pale group, assail'd my startled eyes.

His noble soul was all alive to fame,

Yet holy friendship mix'd her softer claim,

Which in his bosom fix'd her lasting throne,

With Charity, that makes the wants of all her own.

BOYD.

PART III.

_Io non sapea da tal vista levarme._

Still on the warrior band I fix'd my view,

But now a different troop my notice drew:

The sage Palladian tribe, a nobler train,

Whose toils deserve a more exalted strain.

Plato majestic in the front appear'd,

Where wisdom's sacred hand her ensign rear'd.

Celestial blazonry! by heaven bestow'd,

Which, waving high, before the vaward glow'd:

Then came the Stagyrite, whose mental ray

Pierced through all nature like the shafts of day;

And he that, by the unambitious name,

Lover of wisdom, chose to bound his fame.

Then Socrates and Xenophon were seen;

With them a bard of more than earthly mien,

Whom every muse of Jove's immortal choir

Bless'd with a portion of celestial fire:

From ancient Argos to the Phrygian bound

His never-dying strains were borne around

On inspiration's wing, and hill and dale

Echoed the notes of Ilion's mournful tale.

The woes of Thetis, and Ulysses' toils,

His mighty mind recover'd from the spoils

Of envious time, and placed in lasting light

The trophies ransom'd from oblivion's night

The Mantuan bard, responsive to his song,

Co-rival of his glory, walk'd along.

The next with new surprise my notice drew,

Where'er he pass'd spontaneous flowerets grew,

Fit emblems of his style; and close behind

The great Athenian at his lot repined;

Which doom'd him, like a secondary star,

To yield precedence in the wordy war;

Though like the bolts of Jove that shake the spheres,

He lighten'd in their eyes, and thunder'd in their ears.

The assembly felt the shock, the immortal sound,

His Attic rival's fainter accents drown'd.

But now so many candidates for fame

In countless crowds and gay confusion came,

That Memory seem'd her province to resign,

Perplex'd and lost amid the lengthen'd line.

Yet Solon there I spied, for laws renown'd,

Salubrious plants in clean and cultured ground;

But noxious, if malignant hands infuse

In their transmuted stems a baneful juice

Amongst the Romans, Varro next I spied,

The light of linguists, and our country's pride;

Still nearer as he moved, the eye could trace

A new attraction and a nameless grace.

Livy I saw, with dark invidious frown

Listening with pain to Sallust's loud renown;

And Pliny there, profuse of life I found,

Whom love of knowledge to the burning bound

Led unawares; and there Plotinus' shade,

Who dark Platonic truths in fuller light display'd:

He, flying far to 'scape the coming pest,

Was, when he seem'd secure, by death oppressed;

That, fix'd by fate, before he saw the sun,

The careful sophist strove in vain to shun.

Hortensius, Crassus, Galba, next appear'd,

Calvus and Antony, by Rome revered,

The first with Pollio join'd, whose tongue profane

Assail'd the fame of Cicero in vain.

Thucydides, who mark'd distinct and clear

The tardy round of many a bloody year,

And, with a master's graphic skill, pourtray'd

The fields, "whose summer dust with blood was laid;"

And near Herodotus his ninefold roll display'd,

Father of history; and Euclid's vest

The heaven-taught symbols of that art express'd

That measures matter, form, and empty space,

And calculates the planets' heavenly race;

And Porphyry, whose proud obdurate heart

Was proof to mighty Truth's celestial dart;

With sophistry assail'd the cause of God,

And stood in arms against the heavenly code.

Hippocrates, for healing arts renown'd,

And half obscured within the dark profound;

The pair, whom ignorance in ancient days

Adorn'd like deities, with borrow'd rays.

Galen was near, of Pergamus the boast,

Whose skill retrieved the art so nearly lost.

Then Anaxarchus came, who conquer'd pain;

And he, whom pleasures strove to lure in vain

From duty's path. And first in mournful mood

The mighty soul of Archimedes stood;

And sage Democritus I there beheld,

Whose daring hand the light of vision quell'd,

To shun the soul-seducing forms, that play

On the rapt fancy in the beam of day:

The gifts of fortune, too, he flung aside,

By wisdom's wealth, a nobler store, supplied.

There Hippias, too, I saw, who dared to claim

For general science an unequall'd name.

And him, whose doubtful mind and roving eye

No certainty in truth itself could spy;

With him who in a deep mysterious guise

Her heavenly charms conceal'd from vulgar eyes.

The frontless cynic next in rank I saw,

Sworn foe to decency and nature's modest law.

With him the sage, that mark'd, with dark disdain,

His wealth consumed by rapine's lawless train;

And glad that nothing now remain'd behind,

To foster envy in a rival's mind,

That treasure bought, which nothing can destroy,

"The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy."

Then curious Dicaearchus met my view,

Who studied nature with sagacious view.

Quintilian next, and Seneca were seen,

And Chaeronea's sage, of placid mien;

All various in their taste and studious toils,

But each adorn'd with Learning's splendid spoils.

There, too, I saw, in universal jar,

The tribes that spend their time in wordy war;

And o'er the vast interminable deep

Of knowledge, like conflicting tempests, sweep.

For truth they never toil, but feed their pride

With fuel by eternal strife supplied:

No dragon of the wild with equal rage,

Nor lions in nocturnal war, engage

With hate so deadly, as the learn'd and wise,

Who scan their own desert with partial eyes.

Carneades, renown'd for logic skill,

Who right or wrong, and true and false, at will

Could turn and change, employ'd his fruitless pain

To reconcile the fierce, contending train:

But, ever as he toil'd, the raging pest

Of pride, as knowledge grew, with equal speed increased.

Then Epicurus, of sinister fame,

Rebellious to the lord of nature, came;

Who studied to deprive the soaring soul

Of her bright world of hope beyond the pole;

A mole-ey'd race their hapless guide pursued,

And blindly still the vain assault renew'd.

Dark Metrodorus next sustain'd the cause,

With Aristippus, true to Pleasure's laws.

Chrysippus next his subtle web disposed:

Zeno alternate spread his hand, and closed;

To show how eloquence expands the soul,

And logic boasts a close and nervous whole.

And there Cleanthes drew the mighty line

That led his pupils on, with heart divine,

Through time's fallacious joys, by Virtue's road,

To the bright palace of the sovereign good.--

But here the weary Muse forsakes the throng,

Too numerous for the bounds of mortal song.

BOYD.

THE TRIUMPH OF TIME.

_Dell' aureo albergo con l' Aurora innanzi._

Behind Aurora's wheels the rising sun

His voyage from his golden shrine begun,

With such ethereal speed, as if the Hours

Had caught him slumb'ring in her rosy bowers.

With lordly eye, that reach'd the world's extreme,

Methought he look'd, when, gliding on his beam,

That wingèd power approach'd that wheels his car

In its wide annual range from star to star,

Measuring vicissitude; till, now more near,

Methought these thrilling accents met my ear:--

"New laws must be observed if mortals claim,

Spite of the lapse of time, eternal fame.

Those laws have lost their force that Heaven decreed,

And I my circle run with fruitless speed;

If fame's loud breath the slumb'ring dust inspire,

And bid to live with never-dying fire,

My power, that measures mortal things, is cross'd,

And my long glories in oblivion lost.

If mortals on yon planet's shadowy face,

Can match the tenor of my heavenly race,

I strive with fruitless speed from year to year

To keep precedence o'er a lower sphere.

In vain yon flaming coursers I prepare,

In vain the watery world and ambient air

Their vigour feeds, if thus, with angels' flight

A mortal can o'ertake the race of light!

Were you a lesser planet, doom'd to run

A shorter journey round a nobler sun;

Ranging among yon dusky orbs below,

A more degrading doom I could not know:

Now spread your swiftest wings, my steeds of flame,

We must not yield to man's ambitious aim.

With emulation's noblest fires I glow,

And soon that reptile race that boast below

Bright Fame's conducting lamp, that seems to vie

With my incessant journeys round the sky,

And gains, or seems to gain, increasing light,

Yet shall its glories sink in gradual night.

But I am still the same; my course began

Before that dusky orb, the seat of man,

Was built in ambient air: with constant sway

I lead the grateful change of night and day,

To one ethereal track for ever bound,

And ever treading one eternal round."--

And now, methought, with more than mortal ire,

He seem'd to lash along his steeds of fire;

And shot along the air with glancing ray,

Swift as a falcon darting on its prey;

No planet's swift career could match his speed,

That seem'd the power of fancy to exceed.

The courier of the sky I mark'd with dread,

As by degrees the baseless fabric fled

That human power had built, while high disdain

I felt within to see the toiling train

Striving to seize each transitory thing

That fleets away on dissolution's wing;

And soonest from the firmest grasp recede,

Like airy forms, with tantalizing speed.

O mortals! ere the vital powers decay,

Or palsied eld obscures the mental ray,

Raise your affections to the things above,

Which time or fickle chance can never move.

Had you but seen what I despair to sing,

How fast his courser plied the flaming wing

With unremitted speed, the soaring mind

Had left his low terrestrial cares behind.

But what an awful change of earth and sky

All in a moment pass'd before my eye!

Now rigid winter stretch'd her brumal reign

With frown Gorgonean over land and main;

And Flora now her gaudy mantle spread,

And many a blushing rose adorn'd her bed:

The momentary seasons seem'd to fleet

From bright solstitial dews to winter's driving sleet.

In circle multiform, and swift career:

A wondrous tale, untold to mortal ear

Before: yet reason's calm unbiass'd view

Must soon pronounce the seeming fable true,

When deep remorse for many a wasted spring

Still haunts the frighted soul on demon wing.

Fond hope allured me on with meteor flight,

And Love my fancy fed with vain delight,

Chasing through fairy fields her pageants gay.

But now, at last, a clear and steady ray,

From reason's mirror sent, my folly shows,

And on my sight the hideous image throws

Of what I am--a mind eclipsed and lost,

By vice degraded from its noble post

But yet, e'en yet, the mind's elastic spring

Buoys up my powers on resolution's wing,

While on the flight of time, with rueful gaze

Intent, I try to thread the backward maze,

And husband what remains, a scanty space.

Few fleeting hours, alas! have pass'd away,

Since a weak infant in the lap I lay;

For what is human life but one uncertain day!

Now hid by flying vapours, dark and cold,

And brighten'd now with gleams of sunny gold,

That mock the gazer's eye with gaudy show,

And leave the victim to substantial woe:

Yet hope can live beneath the stormy sky,

And empty pleasures have their pinions ply;

And frantic pride exalts the lofty brow,

Nor marks the snares of death that lurk below.

Uncertain, whether now the shaft of fate

Sings on the wind, or heaven prolongs my date.

I see my hours run on with cruel speed,

And in my doom the fate of all I read;

A certain doom, which nature's self must feel

When the dread sentence checks the mundane wheel.

Go! court the smiles of Hope, ye thoughtless crew!

Her fairy scenes disclose an ample view

To brainless men. But Wisdom o'er the field

Casts her keen glance, and lifts her beamy shield

To meet the point of Fate, that flies afar,

And with stern vigilance expects the war.

Perhaps in vain my admonitions fall,

Yet still the Muse repeats the solemn call;

Nor can she see unmoved your senses drown'd

By Circe's deadly spells in sleep profound.

She cannot see the flying seasons roll

In dread succession to the final goal,

And sweep the tribes of men so fast away,

To Stygian darkness or eternal day,

With unconcern.--Oh! yet the doom repeal

Before your callous hearts forget to feel;

E'er Penitence foregoes her fruitless toil,

Or hell's black regent claims his human spoil

Oh, haste! before the fatal arrows fly

That send you headlong to the nether sky

When down the gulf the sons of folly go

In sad procession to the seat of woe!

Thus deeply musing on the rapid round

Of planetary speed, in thought profound

I stood, and long bewail'd my wasted hours,

My vain afflictions, and my squander'd powers:

When, in deliberate march, a train was seen

In silent order moving o'er the green;

A band that seem'd to hold in high disdain

The desolating power of Time's resistless reign:

Their names were hallow'd in the Muse's song,

Wafted by fame from age to age along,

High o'er oblivion's deep, devouring wave,

Where millions find an unrefunding grave.

With envious glance the changeful power beheld

The glorious phalanx which his power repell'd,

And faster now the fiery chariot flew,

While Fame appear'd the rapid flight to rue,

And labour'd some to save. But, close behind,

I heard a voice, which, like the western wind,

That whispers softly through the summer shade,

These solemn accents to mine ear convey'd:--

"Man is a falling flower; and Fame in vain

Strives to protract his momentaneous reign

Beyond his bounds, to match the rolling tide,

On whose dread waves the long olympiads ride,

Till, fed by time, the deep procession grows,

And in long centuries continuous flows;

For what the power of ages can oppose?

Though Tempe's rolling flood, or Hebrus claim

Renown, they soon shall live an empty name.

Where are their heroes now, and those who led

The files of war by Xanthus' gory bed?

Or Tuscan Tyber's more illustrious band,

Whose conquering eagles flew o'er sea and land?

What is renown?--a gleam of transient light,

That soon an envious cloud involves in night,

While passing Time's malignant hands diffuse

On many a noble name pernicious dews.

Thus our terrestrial glories fade away,

Our triumphs pass the pageants of a day;

Our fields exchange their lords, our kingdoms fall,

And thrones are wrapt in Hades' funeral pall

Yet virtue seldom gains what vice had lost,

And oft the hopes of good desert are cross'd.

Not wealth alone, but mental stores decay,

And, like the gifts of Mammon, pass away;

Nor wisdom, wealth, nor fortune can withstand

His desolating march by sea and land;

Nor prayers, nor regal power his wheels restrain,

Till he has ground us down to dust again.

Though various are the titles men can plead,

Some for a time enjoy the glorious meed

That merit claims; yet unrelenting fate

On all the doom pronounces soon or late;

And whatsoe'er the vulgar think or say,

Were not your lives thus shorten'd to a day,

Your eyes would see the consummating power

His countless millions at a meal devour."

And reason's voice my stubborn mind subdued;

Conviction soon the solemn words pursued;

I saw all mortal glory pass away,

Like vernal snows beneath the rising ray;

And wealth, and power, and honour, strive in vain

To 'scape the laws of Time's despotic reign.

Though still to vulgar eyes they seem to claim

A lot conspicuous in the lists of Fame,

Transient as human joys; to feeble age

They love to linger on this earthly stage,

And think it cruel to be call'd away

On the faint morn of life's disastrous day.

Yet ah! how many infants on the breast

By Heaven's indulgence sink to endless rest!

And oft decrepid age his lot bewails,

Whom every ill of lengthen'd life assails.

Hence sick despondence thinks the human lot

A gift of fleeting breath too dearly bought:

But should the voice of Fame's obstreperous blast

From ages on to future ages last,

E'en to the trump of doom,--how poor the prize

Whose worth depends upon the changing skies!

What time bestows and claims (the fleeting breath

Of Fame) is but, at best, a second death--

A death that none of mortal race can shun,

That wastes the brood of time, and triumphs o'er the sun.

BOYD.

THE TRIUMPH OF ETERNITY.

_Da poi che sotto 'l ciel cosa non vidi._

When all beneath the ample cope of heaven

I saw, like clouds before the tempest driven,

In sad vicissitude's eternal round,

Awhile I stood in holy horror bound;

And thus at last with self-exploring mind,

Musing, I ask'd, "What basis I could find

To fix my trust?" An inward voice replied,

"Trust to the Almighty: He thy steps shall guide;

He never fails to hear the faithful prayer,

But worldly hope must end in dark despair."

Now, what I am, and what I was, I know;

I see the seasons in procession go

With still increasing speed; while things to come,

Unknown, unthought, amid the growing gloom

Of long futurity, perplex my soul,

While life is posting to its final goal.

Mine is the crime, who ought with clearer light

To watch the winged years' incessant flight;

And not to slumber on in dull delay

Till circling seasons bring the doomful day.

But grace is never slow in that, I trust,

To wake the mind, before I sink to dust,

With those strong energies that lift the soul

To scenes unhoped, unthought, above the pole.

While thus I ponder'd, soon my working thought

Once more that ever-changing picture brought

Of sublunary things before my view,

And thus I question'd with myself anew:--

"What is the end of this incessant flight

Of life and death, alternate day and night?

When will the motion on these orbs impress'd

Sink on the bosom of eternal rest?"

At once, as if obsequious to my will,

Another prospect shone, unmoved and still;

Eternal as the heavens that glow'd above,

A wide resplendent scene of light and love.

The wheels of Phoebus from the zodiac turn'd;

No more the nightly constellations burn'd;

Green earth and undulating ocean roll'd

Away, by some resistless power controll'd;

Immensity conceived, and brought to birth

A grander firmament, and more luxuriant earth.

What wonder seized my soul when first I view'd

How motionless the restless racer stood,

Whose flying feet, with winged speed before,

Still mark'd with sad mutation sea and shore.

No more he sway'd the future and the past,

But on the moveless present fix'd at last;

As at a goal reposing from his toils,

Like earth unclothed of all its vernal foils.

Unvaried scene! where neither change nor fate,

Nor care, nor sorrow, can our joys abate;

Nor finds the light of thought resistance here,

More than the sunbeams in a crystal sphere.

But no material things can match their flight,

In speed excelling far the race of light.

Oh! what a glorious lot shall then be mine

If Heaven to me these nameless joys assign!

For there the sovereign good for ever reigns,

Nor evil yet to come, nor present pains;

No baleful birth of time its inmates fear,

That comes, the burthen of the passing year;

No solar chariot circles through the signs,

And now too near, and now too distant, shines;

To wretched man and earth's devoted soil

Dispensing sad variety of toil.

Oh! happy are the blessed souls that sing

Loud hallelujahs in eternal ring!

Thrice happy he, who late, at last shall find

A lot in the celestial climes assign'd!

He, led by grace, the auspicious ford explores,

Where, cross the plains, the wintry torrent roars;

That troublous tide, where, with incessant strife,

Weak mortals struggle through, and call it life.

In love with Vanity, oh, doubly blind

Are they that final consolation find

In things that fleet on dissolution's wing,

Or dance away upon the transient ring

Of seasons, as they roll. No sound they hear

From that still voice that Wisdom's sons revere;

No vestment they procure to keep them warm

Against the menace of the wintry storm;

But all exposed, in naked nature lie,

A shivering crowd beneath the inclement sky,

Of reason void, by every foe subdued,

Self-ruin'd, self-deprived of sovereign good;

Reckless of Him, whose universal sway,

Matter, and all its various forms, obey;

Whether they mix in elemental strife,

Or meet in married calm, and foster life.

His nature baffles all created mind,

In earth or heaven, to fathom, or to find.

One glimpse of glory on the saints bestow'd,

With eager longings fills the courts of God

For deeper views, in that abyss of light,

While mortals slumber here, content with night:

Though nought, we find, below the moon, can fill

The boundless cravings of the human will.

And yet, what fierce desire the fancy wings

To gain a grasp of perishable things;

Although one fleeting hour may scatter far

The fruit of many a year's corroding care;

Those spacious regions where our fancies roam,

Pain'd by the past, expecting ills to come,

In some dread moment, by the fates assign'd,

Shall pass away, nor leave a rack behind;

And Time's revolving wheels shall lose at last

The speed that spins the future and the past;

And, sovereign of an undisputed throne,

Awful eternity shall reign alone.

Then every darksome veil shall fleet away

That hides the prospects of eternal day:

Those cloud-born objects of our hopes and fears,

Whose air-drawn forms deluded memory bears

As of substantial things, away so fast

Shall fleet, that mortals, at their speed aghast,

Watching the change of all beneath the moon,

Shall ask, what once they were, and will be soon?

The time will come when every change shall cease,

This quick revolving wheel shall rest in peace:

No summer then shall glow, nor winter freeze;

Nothing shall be to come, and nothing past,

But an eternal now shall ever last.

Though time shall be no more, yet space shall give

A nobler theatre to love and live

The wingèd courier then no more shall claim

The power to sink or raise the notes of Fame,

Or give its glories to the noontide ray:

True merit then, in everlasting day,

Shall shine for ever, as at first it shone

At once to God and man and angels known.

Happy are they who in this changing sphere

Already have begun the bright career

That reaches to the goal which, all in vain,

The Muse would blazon in her feeble strain:

But blest above all other blest is he

Who from the trammels of mortality,

Ere half the vital thread ran out, was free,

Mature for Heaven; where now the matchless fair

Preserves those features, that seraphic air,

And all those mental charms that raised my mind,

To judge of heaven while yet on earth confined.

That soft attractive glance that won my heart

When first my bosom felt unusual smart,

Now beams, now glories, in the realms above,

Fed by the eternal source of light and love.

Then shall I see her as I first beheld,

But lovelier far, and by herself excell'd;

And I distinguish'd in the bands above

Shall hear this plaudit in the choirs of love:--

"Lo! this is he who sung in mournful strains

For many years a lover's doubts and pains;

Yet in this soul-expanding, sweet employ,

A sacred transport felt above all vulgar joy."

She too shall wonder at herself to hear

Her praises ring around the radiant sphere:

But of that hour it is not mine to know;

To her, perhaps, the period of my woe

Is manifest; for she my fate may find

In the pure mirror of the eternal mind.

To me it seems at hand a sure presage,

Denotes my rise from this terrestrial stage;

Then what I gain'd and lost below shall lie

Suspended in the balance of the sky,

And all our anxious sublunary cares

Shall seem one tissue of Arachne's snares;

And all the lying vanities of life,

The sordid source of envy, hate, and strife,

Ignoble as they are, shall then appear

Before the searching beam of truth severe;

Then souls, from sense refined, shall see the fraud

That led them from the living way of God.

From the dark dungeon of the human breast

All direful secrets then shall rise confess'd,

In honour multiplied--a dreadful show

To hierarchies above, and saints below.

Eternal reason then shall give her doom;

And, sever'd wide, the tenants of the tomb

Shall seek their portions with instinctive haste,

Quick as the savage speeds along the waste.

Then shall the golden hoard its trust betray,

And they, that, mindless of that dreadful day,

Boasted their wealth, its vanity shall know

In the dread avenue of endless woe:

While they whom moderation's wholesome rule

Kept still unstain'd in Virtue's heavenly school,

Who the calm sunshine of the soul beneath

Enjoy'd, will share the triumph of the Faith.

These pageants five the world and I beheld,

The sixth and last, I hope, in heaven reveal'd

(If Heaven so will), when Time with speedy hand

The scene despoils, and Death's funereal wand

The triumph leads. But soon they both shall fall

Under that mighty hand that governs all,

While they who toil for true renown below,

Whom envious Time and Death, a mightier foe,

Relentless plunged in dark oblivion's womb,

When virtue seem'd to seek the silent tomb,

Spoil'd of her heavenly charms once more shall rise,

Regain their beauty, and assert the skies;

Leaving the dark sojourn of time beneath,

And the wide desolated realms of Death.

But she will early seek these glorious bounds,

Whose long-lamented fall the world resounds

In unison with me. And heaven will view

That awful day her heavenly charms renew,

When soul with body joins. Gebenna's strand

Saw me enroll'd in Love's devoted band,

And mark'd my toils through many hard campaigns

And wounds, whose scars my memory yet retains.

Blest is the pile that marks the hallow'd dust!--

There, at the resurrection of the just,

When the last trumpet with earth-shaking sound

Shall wake her sleepers from their couch profound;

Then, when that spotless and immortal mind

In a material mould once more enshrined,

With wonted charms shall wake seraphic love,

How will the beatific sight improve

Her heavenly beauties in the climes above!

BOYD.

[LINES 82-99.]

Happy those souls who now are on their way,

Or shall hereafter, to attain that end,

Theme of my argument, come when it will;

And, 'midst the other fair, and fraught with grace,

Most happy she whom Death has snatch'd away,

On this side far the natural bound of life.

The angel manners then will clearly shine,

The meet and pure discourse, the chasten'd thought,

Which nature planted in her youthful breast.

Unnumber'd beauties, worn by time and death,

Shall then return to their best state of bloom;

And how thou hast bound me, love, will then be seen,

Whence I by every finger shall be shown!--

Behold who ever wept, and in his tears

Was happier far than others in their smiles!

And she, of whom I yet lamenting sing,

Shall wonder at her own transcendant charms,

Seeing herself far above all admired.

CHARLEMONT.

SONNET FOUND IN LAURA'S TOMB.

_Qui reposan quei caste e felice ossa._

Here peaceful sleeps the chaste, the happy shade

Of that pure spirit, which adorn'd this earth:

Pure fame, true beauty, and transcendent worth,

Rude stone! beneath thy rugged breast are laid.

Death sudden snatch'd the dear lamented maid!

Who first to all my tender woes gave birth,

Woes! that estranged my sorrowing soul to mirth,

While full four lustres time completely made.

Sweet plant! that nursed on Avignon's sweet soil,

There bloom'd, there died; when soon the weeping Muse

Threw by the lute, forsook her wonted toil.

Bright spark of beauty, that still fires my breast!

What pitying mortal shall a prayer refuse,

That Heaven may number thee amid the blest?

ANON. 1777.

Here rest the chaste, the dear, the blest remains

Of her most lovely; peerless while on earth:

What late was beauty, spotless honour, worth,

Stern marble, here thy chill embrace retains.

The freshness of the laurel Death disdains;

And hath its root thus wither'd.--Such the dearth

O'ertakes me. Here I bury ease and mirth,

And hope from twenty years of cares and pains.

This happy plant Avignon lonely fed

With Life, and saw it die.--And with it lies

My pen, my verse, my reason;--useless, dead.

O graceful form!--Fire, which consuming flies

Through all my frame!--For blessings on thy head

Oh, may continual prayers to heaven rise!

CAPEL LOFFT.

Here now repose those chaste, those blest remains

Of that most gentle spirit, sole in earth!

Harsh monumental stone, that here confinest

True honour, fame, and beauty, all o'erthrown!

Death has destroy'd that Laurel green, and torn

Its tender roots; and all the noble meed

Of my long warfare, passing (if aright

My melancholy reckoning holds) four lustres.

O happy plant! Avignon's favour'd soil

Has seen thee spring and die;--and here with thee

Thy poet's pen, and muse, and genius lies.

O lovely, beauteous limbs! O vivid fire,

That even in death hast power to melt the soul!

Heaven be thy portion, peace with God on high!

WOODHOUSELEE.

INDEX.

SONNETS, CANZONI, &c.

PAGE

Ahi bella libertà, come tu m' hai 93

Al cader d' una pianta che si svelse 273

Alla dolce ombra de le belle frondi 140

Alma felice, che sovente torni 246

Almo Sol, quella fronde ch' io sola amo 171

Amor che meco al buon tempo ti stavi 262

Amor che 'ncende 'l cor d' ardente zelo 167

Amor che nel pensier mio vive e regna 138

Amor, che vedi ogni pensiero aperto 155

Amor con la man destra il lato manco 203

Amor con sue promesse lusingando 79

Amor ed io si pien di maraviglia 153

Amor, Fortuna, e la mia mente schiva 113

Amor fra l' erbe una leggiadra rete 166

Amor, io fallo e veggio il mio fallire 207

Amor m' ha posto come segno a strale 131

Amor mi manda quel dolce pensero 159

Amor mi sprona in un tempo ed affrena 165

Amor, Natura, e la bell' alma umile 168

Amor piangeva, ed io con lui talvolta 25

Amor, quando fioria 279

Amor, se vuoi ch' i' torni al giogo antico 236

Anima bella, da quel nodo sciolta 263

Anima, che diverse cose tante 182

Anzi tre dì creata era alma in parte 193

A piè de' colli ove la bella vesta 7

Apollo, s' ancor vive il bel desio 37

A qualunque animale alberga in terra 18

Arbor vittoriosa e trionfale 226

Aspro core e selvaggio, e cruda voglia 230

Aura, che quelle chiome bionde e crespe 202

Avventuroso più d' altro terreno 102

Beato in sogno, e di languir contento 192

Benedetto sia 'l giorno e 'l mese e l' anno 61

Ben mi credea passar mio tempo omai 186

Ben sapev' io che natural consiglio 66

Cantai, or piango; e non men di dolcezza 203

Cara la vita, e dopo lei mi pare 225

Cereato ho sempre selitaria vita 223

Cesare, poi che 'l traditor d' Egitto 97

Che debb' io far? che mi consigli, Amore 233

Che fai, alma? che pensi? avrem mai pace 146

Che fai? che pensi? che pur dietro guardi 240

Chiare, fresche e dolci acque 116

Chi è fermato di menar sua vita 82

Chi vuol veder quantunque può Natura 216

Come 'l candido piè per l' erba fresca 157

Come talora al caldo tempo suole 139

Come va 'l mondo! or mi diletta e piace 251

Conobbi, quanto il ciel gli occhi m' aperse 296

Così potess' io ben chiuder in versi 92

Da' più begli occhi e dal più chiaro viso 302

Datemi pace, o duri mici pensieri 240

Deh porgi mano all' affannato ingeguo 317

Deh qual pietà, qual angel fu sì presto 297

Del cibo onde 'l signor mio sempre abbonda 298

Dell' empia Babilonia, ond' è fuggita 105

Del mar Tirreno alla sinistra riva 65

Dicemi spesso il mio fidato speglio 312

Dicesett' anni ha già rivolto il cielo 112

Di dì in dì vo cangiando il viso e 'l pelo 176

Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte 127

Discolorato hai, Morte, il più bel volto 246

Di tempo in tempo mi si fa men dura 145

Dodici donne onestamente lasse 201

Dolce mio, caro e prezioso pegno 297

Dolci durezze e placide repulse 315

Dolci ire, dolci sdegni e dolci paci 182

Donna che lieta col Principio nostro 302

Due gran nemiche insieme erano aggiunte 257

Due rose fresehe, e colte in paradiso 215

D' un bel, chiaro, polito e vivo ghiaccio 181

E' mi par d' or in ora udire il messo 303

E questo 'l nido in che la mia Fenice 275

Era 'l giorno ch' al sol si scoloraro 3

Erano i capei d' oro all' aura sparsi 88

Far potess' io vendetta di colei 222

Fera stella (se 'l cielo ha forza in noi) 162

Fiamma dal ciel su le tue treccie piova 135

Fontana di dolore, albergo d' ira 137

Fresco, ombroso, fiorito e verde colle 213

Fu forse un tempo dolce cosa amore 299

Fuggendo la prigione ov' Amor m' ebbe 88

Gentil mia donna, i' veggio 74

Geri, quando talor meco s' adira 165

Già desiai con sì giusta querela 195

Già fiammeggiava l' amorosa stella 36

Giovane donna sott'un verde lauro 34

Giunto Alessandro alla famosa tomba 170

Giunto m' ha Amor fra belle e crude braccia 161

Gli angeli eletti e l' anime beate 301

Gli occhi di ch' io parlai si caldamente 253

Gloriosa Colonna, in cui s' appoggia 9

Grazie ch' a pochi 'l ciel largo destina 192

I begli occhi, ond' i' fui percosso in guisa 78

I dì miei più leggier che nessun cervo 274

I dolci colli ov' io lasciai me stesso 190

I' ho pien di sospir quest' aer tutto 250

I' ho pregato Amor, e nel riprego 212

Il cantar novo e 'l pianger degli augelli 197

Il figliuol di Latona avea già nove 45

Il mal mi preme, e mi spaventa il peggio 214

Il mio avversario, in cui veder solete 46

Il successor di Carlo, che la chioma 26

I' mi soglio accusare, ed or mi scuso 257

I' mi vivea di mia sorte contento 204

In dubbio di mio stato, or piango, or canto 219

In mezzo di duo amanti onesta altera 106

In nobil sangue vita umile e queta 194

In qual parte del cielo, in quale idea 153

In quel bel viso, ch' i' sospiro e bramo 222

In quella parte dov' Amor mi sprona 121

In tale stella duo begli occhi vidi 224

Io amai sempre, ed amo forte ancora 86

Io avrò sempre in odio la fenestra 86

Io canterei d' Amor sì novamente 130

Io mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passo 12

Io non fu' d' amar voi lassato unquanco 84

Io pensava assai destro esser sull' ale 265

Io sentia dentr' al cor già venir meno 48

Io son dell' aspettar omai sì vinto 93

Io son già stanco di pensar siccome 78

Io son sì stanco sotto 'l fascio antico 83

Io temo sì de' begli occhi l' assalto 43

I' piansi, or canto; che 'l celeste lume 204

I' pur ascolto, e non odo novella 221

Italia mia, benchè 'l parlar sia indarno 124

Ite, caldì sospiri, al freddo core 148

Ite, rime dolenti, al duro sasso 290

I' vidi in terra angelici costumi 150

I' vo pensando, e nel pensier m' assale 226

I' vo piangendo i miei passati tempi 314

La bella donna che cotanto amavi 89

La donna che 'l mio cor nel viso porta 104

L' aere gravato, e l' importuna nebbia 64

La gola, e 'l sonno, e l' oziose piume 6

La guancia che fu già piangendo stanca 59

L' alma mia fiamma oltra le belle bella 250

L' alto e novo miracol ch' a di nostri 266

L' alto signor, dinanzi a cui non vale 212

L' arbor gentil ohe forte amai molt' anni 61

L' ardente nodo ov' io fui, d' ora in ora 239

Lasciato hai, Morte, senza sole il mondo 295

La sera desiar, odiar l' aurora 221

L' aspettata virtù che 'n voi fioriva 98

L' aspetto sacro della terra vostra 66

Lassare il velo o per sole, o per ombra 9

Lasso! Amor mi trasporta ov' io non voglio 206

Lasso! ben so, che dolorose prede 96

Lasso, che mal accorto fui da prima 64

Lasso, ch' i' ardo, ed altri non mel crede 181

Lasso me, ch' i' non so in qual parte pieghi 67

Lasso! quante fiate Amor m' assale 103

L' aura celeste che 'n quel verde Lauro 178

L' aura, che 'l verde Lauro e l' aureo crine 215

L' aura e l' odore e 'l refrigerio e l' ombra 284

L' aura gentil che rasserena i poggi 175

L' aura mia sacra al mio stanco riposo 304

L' aura serena che fra verdi fronde 177

L' aura soave ch' al sol spiega e vibra 178

L' avara Babilonia ha colmo 'l sacco 136

Là ver l' aurora, che sì dolce l' aura 210

La vita fugge, e non s' arresta un' ora 239

Le stelle e 'l cielo e gli elementi a prova 149

Levommi il mio pensier in parte ov' era 261

Liete e pensose, accompagnate e sole 199

Lieti fiori e felici, e ben nate erbe 154

L' oro e le perle, e i fior vermigli, e i bianchi 47

L' ultimo, lasso! de' miei giorni allegri 284

Mai non fu' in parte ove sì chiar' vedessi 244

Mai non vedranno le mie luci asciutte 276

Mai non vo' pin cantar, com' io soleva 99

Ma poi che 'l dolce riso umile e piano 45

Mente mia che presaga de' tuoi danni 270

Mentre che 'l cor dagli amorosi vermi 263

Mia benigna fortuna e 'l viver licto 288

Mia ventura ed Amor m' avean si adorno 180

Mie venture al venir son tarde e pigre 58

Mille fiate, o dolce mia guerrera 17

Mille piagge in un giorno e mille rivi 164

Mirando 'l sol de' begli occhi sereno 162

Mira quel colle, o stanco mio cor vago 213

Morte ha spento quel Sol eh' abbagliar suolmi 313

Movesi 'l vecohierel canuto e bianco 13

Nè così bello il sol giammai levarsi 141

Nel dolce tempo della prima etade 20

Nella stagion che 'l ciel rapido inchina 50

Nell' età sua più bella e più fiorita 243

Nè mai pietosa madre al caro figlio 248

Nè per sereno cielo ir vaghe stelle 269

Non al suo amante più Diana piacque 54

Non dall' Ispano Ibero all' Indo Idaspe 190

Non d' atra e tempestosa onda marina 147

Non fur mai Giove e Cesare sì mossi 150

Non ha tanti animali il mar fra l' onde 207

Non può far morte il dolce viso amaro 305

Non pur quell' una bella ignuda mano 180

Non Tesin, Po, Varo, Arno, Adige e Tebro 145

Non veggio ove scampar mi possa omai 102

Nova angeletta sovra l' ale accorta 101

O aspettata in ciel, beata e bella 26

O bella man, che mi distringi 'l core 179

O cameretta che già fosti un porto 206

Occhi miei lassi, mentre ch' io vi giro 12

Occhi miei, oscurato è 'l nostro sole 241

Occhi, piangete; accompagnate il core 85

O d' ardente virtute ornata e calda 143

O dolci sguardi, o parolette accorte 220

O giorno, o ora, o ultimo momento 285

Ogni giorno mi par più di mill' anni 304

Oimè il bel viso! oimè il soave sguardo 232

O invidia, nemica di virtute 161

O misera ed orribil visione 219

Onde tolse Amor l' oro e di qual vena 198

O passi sparsi, o pensier vaghi e pronti 154

Or che 'l ciel e la terra e 'l vento tace 156

Or hai fatto 'l estremo di tua possa 283

Orso, al vostro destrier si può ben porre 94

Orso, e' non furon mai fiumi nè stagni 43

Or vedi, Amor, che giovinetta donna 111

O tempo, o ciel volubil che fuggendo 294

Ove ch' i' posi gli occhi lassi o giri 152

Ov' è la fronte che con picciol cenno 259

Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra 132

Padre del ciel, dopo i perduti giorni 62

Parrà forse ad alcun, che 'n lodar quella 216

Pasco la mente d' un sì nobil cibo 175

Passa la nave mia colma d' oblio 172

Passato è 'l tempo omai, lasso! che tanto 270

Passer mai solitario in alcun tetto 201

Perchè al viso d' Amor portava insegna 57

Perchè la vita è breve 68

Perchè quel che mi trasse ad amar prima 60

Perch' io t' abbia guardato di menzogna 49

Per far una leggiadra sua vendetta 2

Per mezzo i boschi inospiti e selvaggi 163

Per mirar Policleto a prova fiso 80

Perseguendomi Amor al luogo usato 103

Piangete, donne, e con voi pianga Amore 90

Pien di quella ineffabile dolcezza 107

Pien d' un vago pensier, che me desvia 159

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso 14

Più di me lieta non si vede a terra 25

Più volte Amor m' avea già detto: scrivi 91

Più volte già dal bel sembiante umano 160

Po, ben puo' tu portartene la scorza 166

Poco era ad appressarsi agli occhi miei 53

Poichè la vista angelica serena 242

Poi che 'l cammin m' è chiuso di mercede 129

Poi che mia speme è lunga a venir troppo 87

Poichè per mio destino 76

Poi che voi ed io più volte abbiam provato 94

Pommi ove 'l sol occide i fiori e l' erba 142

Qual donna attende a gloriosa fama 225

Qual mio destin, qual forza o qual inganno 198

Qual paura ho, quando mi torna a mente 217

Qual più diversa e nova 133

Qual ventura mi fu, quando dall' uno 205

Quand' io mi volgo indietro a mirar gli anni 258

Quand' io movo i sospiri a chiamar voi 5

Quand' io son tutto volto in quella parte 15

Quand' io veggio dal ciel scender l' Aurora 252

Quand' io v' odo parlar si dolcemente 141

Quando Amor i begli occhi a terra inchina 158

Quando dal proprio sito si rimove 44

Quando fra l' altre donne ad ora ad ora 11

Quando giugne per gli occhi al cor profondo 92

Quando giunse a Simon l' alto concetto 81

Quando il soave mio fido conforto 305

Quando 'l pianeta che distingue l' ore 8

Quando 'l sol bagna in mar l' aurato carro 199

Quando 'l voler, che con duo sproni ardenti 144

Quando mi vene innanzi il tempo e 'l loco 163

Quanta invidia ti porto, avara terra 259

Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto 245

Quanto più disiose l' ali spando 138

Quanto più m' avvicino al giorno estremo 35

Quel, che d' odore e di color vincea 295

Quel ch' infinita providenza ed arte 4

Quel che 'n Tessaglia ebbe le man sì pronte 46

Quel foco, ch' io pensai che fosse spento 57

Quella fenestra, ove l' un sol si vede 95

Quell' antiquo mio dolce empio signore 307

Quella per cui con Sorga ho cangiat' Arno 265

Quelle pietose rime, in ch' io m' accorsi 111

Quel rosignuol che sì soave piagne 268

Quel sempre acerbo ed onorato giorno 151

Quel sol che mi mostrava il cammin destro 264

Quel vago, dolce, caro, onesto sguardo 286

Quel vago impallidir che 'l dolce riso 113

Questa Fenice dell' aurata piuma 169

Quest' anima gentil che si diparte 35

Questa umil fera, un cor di tigre o d' orsa 148

Questro nostro caduco e fragil bene 293

Qui dove mezzo son, Sennuccio mio 105

Rapido fiume che d' alpestra vena 189

Real natura, angelico intelletto 211

Rimansi addietro il sestodecim' anno 108

Ripensando a quel ch' oggi il ciel onora 298

Rotta è l' alta Colonna e 'l verde Lauro 235

S' Amore o Morte non dà qualche stroppio 44

S' Amor non è, che dunque è quel ch' i' sento 130

S' Amor novo consiglio non n' apporta 242

Se al principio risponde il fine e 'l mezzo 81

Se bianche non son prima ambe le tempie 85

Se col cieco desir che 'l cor distrugge 57

Se lamentar angelli, o verdi fronde 243

Se la mia vita dall' aspro tormento 10

Se 'l dolce sguardo di costei m' ancide 168

Se 'l onorata fronde, che prescrive 24

Se 'l pensier che mi strugge 114

Se 'l sasso ond' è più chiusa questa valle 107

Se mai foco per foco non si spense 49

Sennuccio, i' vo' che sappi in qual maniera 104

Sennuccio mio, benchè doglioso e solo 249

Sento l' aura mia antica, e i dolci colli 274

Se quell' aura soave de' sospiri 249

Se Virgilio ed Omero avessin visto 170

Se voi poteste per turbati segni 63

Si breve è 'l tempo e 'l pensier sì veloce 247

Siccome eterna vita è veder Dio 173

Si è debile il filo a cui s' attene 40

Signor mio caro, ogni pensier mi tira 231

S' il dissi mai, ch' i' venga in odio a quella 183

S' io avessi pensato che sì care 254

S' io credessi per morte essere scarce 39

S' io fossi stato fermo alia spelunca 157

Si tosto come avvien che l' arco scocchi 87

Si traviato è 'l folle mio desio 5

Solea dalla fontana di mia vita 287

Solea lontana in sonno consolarme 218

Soleano i miei pensier soavemente 250

Soleasi nel mio cor star bella e viva 255

Solo e pensoso i più deserti campi 38

Son animali al mondo di sì altera 16

S' onesto amor può meritar mercede 291

Spinse amor e dolor ore ir non debbe 300

Spirto felice, che sì dolcemente 316

Spirto gentil che quelle membra reggi 54

Standomi un giorno solo alia finestra 277

Stiamo, Amor, a veder la gloria nostra 174

S' una fede amorosa, un cor non finto 200

Tacer non posso, e temo non adopre 280

Tempo era omai da trovar pace o tregua 272

Tennemi Amor anni ventuno ardendo 314

Tornami a mente, anzi v' è dentro quella 293

Tranquillo porto avea mostrato Amore 273

Tra quantunque leggiadre donne e belle 196

Tutta la mia fiorita e verde etade 271

Tutto 'l dì piango; e poi la notte, quando 195

Una candida cerva sopra l' erba 172

Una donna più bella assai che 'l sole 108

Vago augelletto che cantando vai 317

Valle che de' lamenti miei se' piena 260

Verdi panni, sanguigni, oscuri o persi 32

Vergine bella che di sol vestita 318

Vergognando talor ch' ancor si taccia 16

Vidi fra mille donne una già tale 292

Vincitore Alessandro l' ira vinse 205

Vinse Annibal, e non seppe usar poi 98

Vive faville uscian de' duo bei lumi 223

Voglia mi sprona; Amor mi guida e scorge 191

Voi, ch' ascoltate in rime sparse il suono 1

Volgendo gli occhi al mio novo colore 63

Volo con l' ali de' pensieri al cielo 313

Zefiro torna, e 'l bel tempo rimena 266

TRIUMPHS.

Triumph of Chastity 361

---- Death 371

---- Eternity 400

---- Fame 381

---- Love 322

---- Time 394

SONNET FOUND IN LAURA'S TOMB 406

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LONDON: PRINTED BY WM. CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED

STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.