University of Virginia Library

MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS TRANSLATED,

AND ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF ITALY.

ADDRESS. TO SIGNOR MOZZI, OF MACERATA.

SON. I.

[O lady fair, whose honour'd name is borne]

O lady fair, whose honour'd name is borne
By 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!

SON. II.

[As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light]

As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light
Of 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

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.

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.

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.

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!