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“ Lasso a me," &c.

Alas! for me, whene'er my footsteps trace

Those precincts where eternal beauty reigns,
The sanguine current from a thousand veins

Flows round my heart, and pallid grows my face : But when I mark that smile of heavenly grace,

Its wonted powers my drooping soul regains ; Whilst Love, that in her eyes his state maintains,

Points to my wandering heart its resting place ; And stooping from his beamy mansion, swears,

“ By all that forms my powers and points my dart,

The living lustre of those radiant eyes,
I still will guide thy way; dismiss thy fears ;

True are those looks of love.” My trusting heart
Believes th' insidious vow-and from me flies.

" Cerchi chi vuol," &c.

Seek he who will in grandeur to be blest,

Place in proud halls, and splendid courts his joy;

For pleasure, or for gold, his arts employ,
Whilst all his hours unnumbered cares molest.

-A little field in native flow'rets drest,
A rivulet in soft murmurs gliding by,
A bird whose love-sick notes salute the sky,

With sweeter magic lull my cares to rest.
And shadowy woods, and rocks, and towering hills,

And caves obscure, and nature's free-born train,

And some lone nymph that timorous speeds along, Each in my mind some gentle thought instils

Of those bright eyes that absence shrouds in vain ;Ah, gentle thoughts! soon lost the city cares among.

“Oimè, che belle lagrime," &c.

Ah! pearly drops, that pouring from those eyes,

Spoke the dissolving cloud of soft desire,
What time cold sorrow chilled the genial fire,

“ Struck the fair urns and bade the waters rise." Soft down those cheeks, where native crimson vies

With ivory whiteness, see the crystals throng;

As some clear river winds its stream along, Bathing the flowers of pale and purple dyes. Whilst Love, rejoicing in the amorous shower,

Stands like some bird, that after sultry heats, Enjoys the drops, and shakes his glittering wings; his bolt, and conscious of his

power, 'Midst those bright orbs assumes his wonted seat, And through the lucid shower his living lightning flings.

Then grasps

“ Non di verdi giardin," &c.
Not from the verdant garden's cultured bound,

That breathes of Pæstum's aromatic gale,
We sprung; but nurslings of the lonely vale,

'Midst-woods obscure, and native glooms, were found. 'Midst woods and glooms, whose tangled brakes around

Once Venus sorrowing traced, as all forlorn
She sought Adonis, when a lurking thorn

Deep on her foot impressed an impious wound.
Then prone to earth we bowed our pallid flowers,

And caught the drops divine; the purple dyes

Tinging the lustre of our native hue :
Nor summer gales, nor art-conducted showers

Have nursed our slender forms, but lovers' sighs
Have been our gales, and lovers' tears our dew.



Dear are those bonds my willing heart that bind,
Formed of three chords, in mystic union twined;
The first by beauty's rosy fingers wove,
The next by pity, and the third by love.
---The hour that gave this wondrous texture birth,
Saw in sweet union, heaven, and air, and earth;
Serene and soft all ether breathed delight,
The sun diffused a mild and tempered light;
New leaves the trees, sweet flowers adorned the mead,
And sparkling rivers gushed along the glade.
Reposed on Jove's own breast, his favorite child,
The Cyprian queen, beheld the scene and smiled;
Then with both hands, from her ambrosial head,
And amorous breast, a shower of roses shed;
The heavenly shower, descending soft and slow,
Poured all its fragrance on my fair below;
Whilst all benign the ruler of the spheres
To sounds celestial opened mortal ears.

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Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed ;
For if of our affections none find grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit? Better plea
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
Who such Divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and make pure all gentle hearts.
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

No mortal object did these eyes behold
When first they met the placid light of thine ;
And my Soul felt her destiny divine,
And hope of endless peace

me grew

bold : Heaven-born, the Soul a heavenward course must hold; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek (For what delights the scene is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes : nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, That kills the soul : love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.


The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed :
Of good and pious works Thou art the seed,
That quickens only where Thou sayest it may:
Unless Thou shew to us thine own true way
No man can find it :-Father! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
By which such virtue may in me be bred,
That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of Thee,
And sound Thy praises everlastingly.

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