"Stiamo, Amor, a veder la gloria nostra," HERE tarry, Love, our glory to behold; Ah! see what sweetness show'rs upon that face, "L'aura serena, che fra verdi fronde," THE gentle gale that plays my face around, And then coiled up again so gracefully, M "Chi vuol veder quantunque può natura." He who would wish the fairest work to prove, By Heaven and Nature wrought, O! let him come He will behold, if he arrive in time, All noble virtues, and all loveliness, Dowered on one form in most rare symmetry: Then will he feel how feebly speaks my rhymeWeak with surprise at such unearthly grace: But if too late will ever weep with me! "Se lamentar angelli, o verdi fronde," WHERE mourn the birds, or where the green young boughs Are gently moving in the summer air, Or the clear water as it bubbling flows Is heard from flowery banks, surpassing fair : There while I sit with pensive Love, and write Of her, who lost to earth, yet lives on high, I pause, and listen if I hear aright From so far, an answer to my sigh: Yes! 'tis that well-known voice that fills mine ear, And says, "Why waste the life which dear I deemed? Why flows unceasingly that bitter tear? For me weep not-I, when Death's blow was given, Immortal grew; and when to you they seemed For ever closed, these eyes awoke in Heaven." "Quand' io veggio dal ciel scender l'Aurora," WHENE'ER with golden locks and blushing brow I see Aurora in the eastern sky, Love pales my cheek, and with a grief-born sigh, For with returning light again is brought Since she hath fled, and with her every thought, Nor aught hath left me but her verdant name. "Sento l'aura mia antica: e i dolci colli," I FEEL my ancient air, and the sweet hills That whilst Heaven pleased shone on my eager sight: Now it hath set, the tear mine eyelid fills. O fond, O faded hopes! O thoughts too vain! Parched is the mead, the rills have fled away, Empty and cold the nest wherein she lay, In which I live, who now to die am fain; By those dear eyes that held my heart in thrall And though I lavished on his altar all, The ashes strewn are all he e'er repays. Is this the nest in which my Phoenix fair Reposed her golden-tinted azure wings; 'Neath which she held my heart, and from its strings Drew forth the songs or sighs of love or care? O! source of all my joy and my despair, Where is that lovely face whose light still flings Once, lone on earth, in heaven 'tis thine to share Indeed alone, so that thy sacred tomb (By thee made such) I wet with many a tear: "L'aura, e l'odore, e 'l refrigerio, e l'ombra," THE air, the fragrance, the refreshing shade He hath destroyed, who all things doth displace. Now if awakened 'mid the chosen bands Where stainless souls their Maker's essence share; And, if I Poesy's true light have kept,— Twine my poor wreath with thy immortal hands, "Ite rime dolenti, al duro sasso," Go, plaintive verse, to the dull marble go, Which hides in earth my treasure from these eyes; There call on her who answers from yon skies, Although the mortal part dwells dark and low. Of life how I am wearied make her know, Of stemming these dread waves that round me rise. But, copying all her virtues I so prize, Her track I follow, yet my steps are slow. I sing of her, living or dead, alone: (Dead did I say? She is immortal made!) That by the world she should be loved and known. O, in my passage hence may she be near, To greet my coming that's not long delayed: And may I hold in heaven the rank herself holds there! "Volo con l'ali de' pensieri al cielo," So often on the wings of thought I fly Up to Heaven's blissful seat, that I appear As one of those whose treasure is lodged there, The rent veil of mortality thrown by. A pleasing chillness thrills my heart, while I Listen her voice, who bids me paleness wear- Preferring humble prayer, he would allow To stay some twenty, or some ten years more, |