Obrazy na stronie

And sing, in self-command a very child,

Her whom my fancy, blind to threaten'd harms, Sees, with her comrades fair, supreme in charms. The firs and beeches, by its force beguiled,

I think her train; I hear her, when I hear The branches rustle, the fond birds complain, And rapid rivulets murmur through the mead. Grateful with gloom and silence might appear These lonely woods, and soothing to my pain, Did I not now my Sun's glad presence need.


THE loneliest fields, a pensive wanderer grown,
I tread, with solitary steps and slow,

And round my anxious eyes, inquiring, throw,
The tracks of men to avoid, wherever shewn.
No surer means are to Invention known
From looks too curious to conceal my woe,
For in my secret breast what passions glow
Each gesture tells, and what I still bemoan.

Thus mountains now, methinks, and silent plains,
Thus woods, thus rivers, learn that rueful state,
Which I from every living witness hide:
Yet neither wild nor rugged path restrains
Intrusive Love, that, sent by cruel Fate,
Still walks, and still discourses, by my





Now was the star of Venus in the east

Seen high, and that which could so jealous make
Imperial Juno, view'd its place to take

Among the northern fires, admired not least.
The industrious housewise, timely slumber ceased,
Her dress scarce huddled on, was bent to rake
The smother'd embers; nor less soon awake,

The Lover on his pleasing pain to feast;
When my fair mistress, in her sad estate,

Enter'd my thoughts; not by the accustom'd way, Which Sleep kept closed, as Sorrow had bedew'd; (How changed, alas, her looks!) and seem'd to say, "Take heart, be hopeful of a better fate:

"These eyes by you will, as they wont, be view'd."



HEROIC spirit, that thy seat on high

Hast left, to animate terrestrial clay,

And form a mortal, prudent, bold, and wise; Since thou hast now attain'd the sovereign sway, And canst in Rome the arts of empire try,

To bid it to its ancient honour rise,

On thee, I call; for, save in thee, my eyes

*Before the publication of the Memoires de Petrarque, it was supposed most generally to be addressed to Rienzi, the famous tribune.

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Perceive not Virtue (which from earth seems flown)

Nor even the very shame that Vice inspires.
Howe'er now Italy a change desires,

Or seeks, her state seems to herself unknown,
Decrepit, dull, and torpid grown.

Is she in everlasting slumber bound?

O might my vigour lift her from the ground!

No; she will never, from her slumber deep,
Grasp'd by her hair, at such a warning voice,
Be roused: such heaviness ensures her doom!
But doubtless 'tis by Heaven's peculiar choice
That thou, whose efforts can dispel her sleep,
Hast, in thy care, her head, our honour'd Rome.
Firm in those venerable locks presume

To plant thy hand, that now dishevell❜d* trail,

Till the raised sluggard on her feet be set.
I, that her sufferings day and night regret,
Hope only by thy labours to prevail.
If Mars's people do not fail

This alludes to the disunited state of Rome.

Their elevated aims revived to sec,

That high advantage will be due to thee.

Those ancient walls, the pilgrim yet beholds

With pleasure and with dread, when times long


And many splendid triumphs be revolves;

With tombs of those, whose actions will outlast

Even what man's perishable dust infolds,


the fabric of the world dissolves;

And whateer works one ruin now involves
Warn thee Rome's ancient glories to renew.
Just Brutus, warlike Scipios, when, though rare,
One rules, who makes it, in these days, his care,
What joy shall, in the shades, descend to you!
How, ravist'd at the tidings new,

Will old Fabricius triumph, and exclaim,

My Rome again shall spread abroad its fame!"

And if ethereal spirits can endure

Their thoughts from scenes celestial to estrange, And meditate on what is done below;

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