The Poetical Works of John Langhorne ... To which are prefixed, Memoirs of the Author by his Son the Rev. J. T. Langhorne ... In Two Volumes |
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| TRANSLATIONS
FROM
PETRARCH.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Langhorne |  |
193
TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH.
1765.
195
SONNET CLXXIX.
Tho' nobly born, to humble life resign'd;The purest heart, the most enlighten'd mind;
A vernal flower that bears the fruits of age!
A chearful spirit, with an aspect sage,—
The power that rules the planetary train
To her has given, nor shall his gifts be vain.
But on her worth, her various praise to dwell,
The truth, the merits of her life to tell,
The Muse herself would own the task too hard,
Too great the labour for the happiest bard.
Dress that derives from native beauty grace,
And love that holds with honesty his place;
Action that speaks—and eyes whose piercing ray
Might kindle darkness, or obscure the day!
[OMITTED]
197
SONNET CCLXXIX.
Fall'n the fair column, blasted is the bay,That shaded once my solitary shore!
I've lost what hope can never give me more,
Tho' sought from Indus to the closing day.
My twofold treasure death has snatch'd away,
My pride, my pleasure left me to deplore;
What fields far-cultur'd, nor imperial sway,
Nor orient gold, nor jewels can restore.
O destiny severe of human kind!
What portion have we unbedew'd with tears?
The downcast visage, and the pensive mind
Thro' the thin veil of smiling life appears;
And in one moment vanish into wind
The hard-earn'd fruits of long, laborious years.
199
SONNET CCLVII.
Where is that face, whose slightest air could moveMy trembling heart, and strike the springs of love?
That Heaven, where two fair stars, with genial ray,
Shed their kind influence on my life's dim way?
Where are that science, sense and worth confest,
That speech by virtue, by the graces drest?
Where are those beauties, where those charms combin'd,
That caus'd this long captivity of mind?
Where the dear shade of all that once was fair,
The source, the solace of each amorous care;
My heart's sole sovereign, Nature's only boast?
—Lost to the world, to me for ever lost!
201
SONNET CCXXXVIII.
Wail'd the sweet warbler to the lonely shade;Trembled the green leaf to the summer gale;
Fell the fair stream in murmurs down the dale,
Its banks, its flow'ry banks with verdure spread,
Where, by the charm of pensive Fancy led,
All as I fram'd the love-lamenting tale,
Came the dear object whom I still bewail,
Came from the regions of the chearless dead:
And why, she cried, untimely wilt thou die?
Ah why, for pity, shall those mournful tears,
Start in wild sorrow from that languid eye?
Cherish no more those visionary fears,
For me, who range yon light-invested sky!
For me, who triumph in eternal years!
| The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | |