Verso benedizioni a piena mano!
Ma che vaglion le lor dovizie eterne,
Fioriti monti, e solleggiate rive

Con tutti don, che cielo, e suol compartono,
I risi di natura, e i vezzi d'arte,

Mentre altieri oppression regna in sue valli,
E tirannia suoi pian felici usurpa?
Il poverello abitante mira indarno
Il rosseggiante arancio, e 'l pingue grano,
Crescer dolente ei mira ed oli, e vini,
E de mirti odorar l'ombra si sdegna.
In mezzo alla bonta della natura
Maledetto languisce, e dentro a cariche
Di vino vigne muore per la sete.
O Liberta, o dea celeste, e bella!
Di ben profusa, e pregna di diletto!
Piaceri eterni te presente regnano,
Guida tuo gaio tren lieta dovizia,
Vien nel suo peso Suggezion piu lieve;
Poverta sembra allegra in tua veduta ;
Fai di natura il viso oscuro gaio;
Doni al sole bellezza, al giorno gioia.

Te dea, te la Britannia isola adora,
Come ha sovente elle ogni ben suo esausto,
E spesso t'ha di morte in campi cerco !
Niuno pensa il tuo possente pregio

A troppo caro prezzo esser comprato.
Puo sopra esteri monti il sole i grappoli
Per dolce sugo maturare a vino :
Di boschi di cedrati ornare il suolo,
Gonfiar la grassa oliva in flutti d'olio;
Non invidiamo il piu fervente clima
Dell' etere piu dolce in dieci gradi;
Di nostro ciel maledizion non duolmi,
Ne a noi in capo Pleiadi ghiacciate,

But what avail her unexhausted stores,

Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains?

The poor

inhabitant beholds in vain

The red'ning orange and the swelling grain :
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines:
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curst,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

Oh Liberty, thou goddess heav'nly bright! Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train; Eas'd of her load Subjection grows more light, And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee Britannia's isle adores: How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil: We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine:

Corona Liberta la Britann' isola,
E fa sue steril bianche rupi ridere.

Le torreggianti moli altrui dilettine,
E le superbe ambiziose cupole,
Un gentil colpo a una vil tela dare,
Od insegnar sassi animati a vivere.
D'Europa sul destin vegliar Britannia
Ha cura, e bilanciar gli emuli stati;
Di guerra minacciare arditi regi;
Degli afflitti vicini udire i preghi.
Dano, e Sueco attaccati in fiere allarme
Di lor armi pietose benedicono

La prudente condotta, e 'l buon governo,
Tosto che poi le nostre flotte appaiono,
Cessano tutti i lor spaventi, e in pace
Tutto il settentrional mondo si giace.
L'ambizioso Gallo con segreto
Tremito vede all' aspirante sua
Testa mirar di lei il gran tonante,
E volentieri i suoi divini figli
Vorrebbe disuniti per straniero.
Oro, o pur per domestica contesa.
Ma aquistare, o dividere in van provasi,
Cui l'arme di Nasso, e 'l senno guida.

Del nome acceso, cui sovente ho trovo
Remoti climi, e lingue risonare,
Con pena imbriglio mia lottante musa,
Che ama lanciarsi in piu ardita prova.
Ma io di gia hovi turbato assai,
Ne tentar oso un piu sublime canto.
Piu dolce thema il basso verso chiedemi,
Fioriti prati, o gorgoglianti rivi,

Mal proprio per gli eroi: che i carmi eterni

Qual di Virgilio, o vostri onorar debbono.

Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains

smile.

Others with tow'ring piles may please the sight,
And in their proud aspiring domes delight;
A nicer touch to the stretch'd canvass give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live :

'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state;
To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbour's pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms:
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace.

Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his aspiring head,
And fain her godlike sons would disunite
By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide.

Fir'd with the name, which I so oft have found
The distant climes and diff'rent tongues resound,
I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder strain.

But I've already troubled you too long,
Nor dare attempt a more advent❜rous song.
My humble verse demands a softer theme,
A painted meadow, or a purling stream;
Unfit for heroes; whom immortal lays,

And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise.

MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED,

IN A

TRANSLATION OF A STORY

OUT OF

THE THIRD ÆNEID.

LOST in the gloomy horror of the night
We struck upon the coast where Ætna lies,
Horrid and waste its entrails fraught with fire,
That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds;
Vast showers of ashes hov'ring in the smoke;
Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame
Incens'd, or tears up mountains by the roots,
Or flings a broken rock aloft in air.

The bottom works with smother'd fire, involv'd
In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke.

'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus,
Groveling beneath th' incumbent mountain's weight,
Lies stretch'd supine, eternal prey of flames;
And when he heaves against the burning load,
Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,

A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle,
And Ætna thunders dreadful under ground,
Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolv'd,
And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day.
Here in the shelter of the woods we lodg'd,
And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells,
Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night
A murky storm deep low'ring o'er our heads