« SebelumnyaLanjutkan »
Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain,
Befet with ofiers dank,
Nor where + Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,
Nor yet where | Meles or § Iliffus ftray.
Ill does it now befeem,
That, of your guardian care bereft,
To dire disease and death your darling fhould be left.
Now what avails it that in early bloom,
When light fantastic toys
Are all her fex's joys,
With you the fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome;
And all that in her latter days
To emulate her ancient praise
*The Mintio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.
+ The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of Propertius.
The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa.
The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppofed to be born on its banks, is called Melifigenes. The Iliffus is a river at Athens.
Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire
Bright sparkling could infpire,
By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;
Moft favour'd with your fmile,
The powers of Reason and of Fancy join'd
Of all thefe treafures that enrich'd her mind,
At least, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name
Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,
And ftrew with choiceft flowers her hallow'd tomb : But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad,
With accents fweet and fad,
Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by fome sweet peculiar grace!
Through her expreffive eyes her foul distinctly spoke !
Tell how her manners, by the world refin'd,
And uncorrupted Innocence!
Tell how to more than manly fenfe
Of more than female tenderness :
How, in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy,
To every want and every woe,
The balm of pity would impart,
Her gentle tears would fall,
Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all.
Not only good and kind,
But ftrong and elevated was her mind.
A fpirit that with noble pride
Could look fuperior down
On Fortune's smile or frown;
That could without regret or pain:
Or Intereft or Ambition's highest prize ; ;
But by magnanimous difdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
All pleafing fhone; nor ever past
The decent bounds that Wifdom's fober hand,
Death came remorfelefs on, and funk her to the tomb.
So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide,
Cold with perpetual snows:
The tender blighted plant fhrinks up its leaves, and dies.
Arife, O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bowers,
And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
To the foft notes of elegant defire,
Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love ;
And teach my forrows to relate
As may ev'n things inanimate,
Rough mountain oaks and defart rocks, to pity move.
What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
Of Hymen never gave her hand;
The joys of wedded love were never thine.
In thy domestic care
She never bore a fhare,
Nor with endearing art
Would heal thy wounded heart
Of every secret grief that fester'd there :
With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.