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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MILTON'S
ITALIAN POEMS TRANSLATED,
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The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | ||
203
MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS TRANSLATED,
AND ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF ITALY.
205
ADDRESS. TO SIGNOR MOZZI, OF MACERATA.
To thee, the child of classic plains,
The happier hand of Nature gave
Each grace of Fancy's finer strains,
Each Muse that mourn'd o'er Maro's grave.
The happier hand of Nature gave
Each grace of Fancy's finer strains,
Each Muse that mourn'd o'er Maro's grave.
Nor yet the harp that Horace strung
With many a charm of easy art;
Nor yet what sweet Tibullus sung,
When beauty bound him to her heart;
With many a charm of easy art;
Nor yet what sweet Tibullus sung,
When beauty bound him to her heart;
Nor all that gentle Provence knew,
Where each breeze bore a lover's sigh,
When Petrarch's sweet persuasion drew
The tender woe from Laura's eye.
Where each breeze bore a lover's sigh,
When Petrarch's sweet persuasion drew
The tender woe from Laura's eye.
Nor aught that nobler Science seeks,
What truth, what virtue must avoid,
Nor aught the voice of Nature speaks,
To thee unknown, or unenjoy'd?
What truth, what virtue must avoid,
Nor aught the voice of Nature speaks,
To thee unknown, or unenjoy'd?
206
O wise beyond each weaker aim,
That weds the soul to this low sphere,
Fond to indulge the feeble frame,
That holds awhile her prisoner here!
That weds the soul to this low sphere,
Fond to indulge the feeble frame,
That holds awhile her prisoner here!
Trust me, my friend, that soul survives,
(If e'er had Muse prophetic skill)
And when the fated hour arrives,
That all her faculties shall fill,
(If e'er had Muse prophetic skill)
And when the fated hour arrives,
That all her faculties shall fill,
Fit for some nobler frame she flies,
Afar to find a second birth,
And, flourishing in fairer skies,
Forsakes her nursery of earth.
Afar to find a second birth,
And, flourishing in fairer skies,
Forsakes her nursery of earth.
Oh! there, my Mozzi, to behold
The man that mourn'd his country's wrong,
When the poor exile left his fold,
And feebly dragg'd his goat along!
The man that mourn'd his country's wrong,
When the poor exile left his fold,
And feebly dragg'd his goat along!
On Plato's hallow'd breast to lean,
And catch that ray of heavenly fire,
Which smooth'd a tyrant's sullen mien,
And bade the cruel thought retire!
And catch that ray of heavenly fire,
Which smooth'd a tyrant's sullen mien,
And bade the cruel thought retire!
Amid those fairy-fields to dwell
Where Tasso's favour'd spirit saw
What numbers none, but his could tell,
What pencils none, but his could draw!
Where Tasso's favour'd spirit saw
What numbers none, but his could tell,
What pencils none, but his could draw!
207
And oft at eve, if eve can be
Beneath the source of glory's smile,
To range Elysian groves, and see
That Nightly Visitant—'ere while,
Beneath the source of glory's smile,
To range Elysian groves, and see
That Nightly Visitant—'ere while,
Who, when he left immortal choirs,
To mix with Milton's kindred soul,
The labours of their golden lyres
Would steal, and ‘whisper whence he stole.’
To mix with Milton's kindred soul,
The labours of their golden lyres
Would steal, and ‘whisper whence he stole.’
Ausonian bard, from my fond ear
By seas and mountains sever'd long,
If, chance, these humble strains to hear,
You leave your more melodious song,
By seas and mountains sever'd long,
If, chance, these humble strains to hear,
You leave your more melodious song,
Whether, adventurous, you explore
The wilds of Apenninus' brow,
Or, musing near Loretto's shore,
Smile piteous on the pilgrim's vow,
The wilds of Apenninus' brow,
Or, musing near Loretto's shore,
Smile piteous on the pilgrim's vow,
The Muse's gentle offering still
Your ear shall win, your love shall woo,
And these spring-flowers of Milton fill
The favour'd vales where first they grew.
Your ear shall win, your love shall woo,
And these spring-flowers of Milton fill
The favour'd vales where first they grew.
For me, depriv'd of all that's dear,
Each fair, fond partner of my life,
Left with a lonely oar to steer,
Thro' the rude storms of mortal strife;—
Each fair, fond partner of my life,
Left with a lonely oar to steer,
Thro' the rude storms of mortal strife;—
208
When Care, the felon of my days,
Expands his cold and gloomy wing,
His load when strong affliction lays
On hope, the heart's elastic spring.
Expands his cold and gloomy wing,
His load when strong affliction lays
On hope, the heart's elastic spring.
For me what solace yet remains,
Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre;
Sooth'd by the magic of her strains,
If, chance, the felon, Care, retire?
Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre;
Sooth'd by the magic of her strains,
If, chance, the felon, Care, retire?
Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre,
For me no solace now remains!
Yet shall the felon, Care, retire;
Sooth'd by the magic of her strains.
For me no solace now remains!
Yet shall the felon, Care, retire;
Sooth'd by the magic of her strains.
Blagdon-House,
June 26, 1776.
209
SON. I.
[O lady fair, whose honour'd name is borne]
O lady fair, whose honour'd name is borneBy that soft vale where Rhyne so loves to stray,
And sees the tall arch crown his wat'ry way!
Sure, happy he, tho' much the Muse's scorn,
Too dull to die beneath thy beauty's ray,
Who never felt that spirit's charmed sway,
Which gentle smiles, and gentle deeds adorn,
Tho' in those smiles are all love's arrows worn,
Each radiant virtue tho' those deeds display!
Sure, happy he who that sweet voice should hear
Mould the soft speech, or swell the tuneful strain,
And, conscious that his humble vows were vain,
Shut fond Attention from his closed ear;
Who, piteous of himself, should timely part,
Ere love had held long empire in his heart!
210
SON. II.
[As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light]
As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner lightOf evening falls, the village-maiden hies
To foster some fair plant with kind supplies,
Some stranger plant, that, yet in tender plight,
But feebly buds, ere Spring has open'd quite
The soft affections of serener skies.
So I, with such like gentle thought devise
This stranger tongue to cultivate with care,
All for the sake of lovely lady fair,
And tune my lays in language little try'd
By such as wont to Tamis' banks repair,
Tamis' forsook for Arno's flow'ry side,
So wrought love's will that ever ruleth wide
211
SON. III.
[Charles, must I say, what strange it seems to say]
Charles, must I say, what strange it seems to say,This rebel heart that Love hath held as naught,
Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught,
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away;
This simple heart hath now become his prey.
Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught,
Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day:
Oh! no—'twas Beauty's most celestial ray,
With charms divine of sov'reign sweetness fraught!
The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air,
The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye,
The voice that, breathing melody so rare,
Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky!
Charles, when such mischief arm'd this foreign fair,
Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly.
212
SON. IV.
[In truth I feel my sun in those fair eyes]
In truth I feel my sun in those fair eyes,So strongly strike they, like that powerful ray,
Which falls with all the violence of day
On Lybia's sands—and oft, as there, arise
Hot wasting vapours from the source where lies
My secret pain; yet, haply, those may say,
Who talk love's language, these are only sighs,
That the soft ardors of the soul betray.
The concetti of the Italian in the conclusion of this Sonnet were so obstinate, that it seemed scarce possible to reduce them into any reputable form of translation. Such trifling liberties as the translator shall appear to have taken with these Poems, must be imputed to a desire of getting over blemishes of the same kind.
213
SON. V.
[An artless youth, who, simple in his love]
An artless youth, who, simple in his love,Seem'd little hopeful from his heart to fly,
To thee that heart, O lady, nor deny
The votive gift, he brings; since that shall prove
All change and fear and falsity above,
Of manners that to gentle deeds comply,
And courteous will, that never asketh why;
Yet, mild as is the never wrathful dove,
Firmness it hath, and fortitude to bear
The wrecks of nature, or the wrongs of fate,
From envy far, and low-designing care,
And hopes and fears that vulgar minds await,
With the sweet Muse, and sounding lyre elate,
And only weak, when love had entrance there.
214
CANZON.
Gay youths and frolic damsels round me throng,And smiling say, Why, shepherd, wilt thou write
Thy lays of love adventurous to recite
In unknown numbers and a foreign tongue?
Shepherd, if Hope hath ever wrought thee wrong,
Afar from her and Fancy's fairy light
Retire—So they to sport with me delight;
And other shores, they say, and other streams
Thy presence wait; and sweetest flowers that blow,
Their ripening blooms reserve for thy fair brow,
Where glory soon shall bear her brightest beams;
Thus they, and yet their soothing little seems;
If she, for whom I breathe the tender vow,
Sing these soft lays, and ask the mutual song,
This is thy language, Love, and I to thee belong!
The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | ||