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XV.

THE POET.

YE airy habitants of Fashion's mart !
Who, like the gayly-painted butterflies,
Seek but to dazzle by your gaudy dyes—
From all, that seem not gold and glitter, start
Appalled-as there could be nor soul, nor heart;
Who never felt ennobling sympathies

Quicken your breasts; nor heard Humanity's
Deep pleading voice; scorn not the Poet's art !
Look nor disdainfully, nor cold on him,

Though soiled his garb, and wanting many a stitch—
Pale, worn his brow-his eyes with weeping dim;
Though he charm not the stony-hearted rich,
His bosom throbs with higher-holier fire,

Than ever base, or common souls inspire.

SONNETS

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF PETRARCH.

I.

LAURA'S BEAUTY.

I SAW a form angelically bright,

Celestial beauty in the world below;
And when I now recall my joy and woe,
All else seems but a dream-a vapor light.

I saw sweet tears the orbs of Laura fill,

Whose light eclipsed the light of envious Sol,

And heard the mournful music of her soul

Flow till the mountains moved-the streams stood still

Love, wisdom, sympathy, and high desire,

Weeping, produce more holy harmony

Than ever yet was breathed from mortal lyre.
Heaven, raptured, listened to the solemn sound-
No leaflet dared to quiver on the tree,

Such bliss-such joy-earth, air, sky, ether bound.

II.

THE MODEL OF HER FACE.

I' WHAT part of Heaven, or world of beauty, love,
Did Nature find the model of thy face,

Within whose matchless and seraphic grace

She sought to show her power in realms above?
What nymphs in fount-what goddess of the grove
E'er gave such golden tresses to the wind?

When were such virtues in one heart combined ?

Right through my breast the shaft of death they drove.

A beauty so divine none ever knew,

Who never gazed enraptured on thine eyes,

Rolling so sweetly in their liquid blue.

None ever knew the balm of Love-his wiles,
Who never drank the music of thy sighs,

Or thrilled beneath the magic of thy smiles.

III.

THE SPELL OF HER BEAUTY

THE stars, the heavens, the elements combined
Their arts, to make a work where Nature might
Reflect herself more beautiful and bright,
And Sol a purer, holier light might find.

So lofty was the work-so lovely, new,

That mortal ken was blinded by its beams.

For ever in her eyes' cerulean streams,

Shone love, grace, sweetness, beauty, fervor true.

Their rays entranced and purified the air—

Awakened truth-and so divine became,

They baffled speech-love, thought, conception quelled.

No base desire was ever nourished there,

But honor, virtue burned a deathless flame

And all vile hopes by Beauty's light were thence repelled.

IV

THE POWER OF HER VIRTUE.

Он, ardent virtue, that my heart enchained!

Oh, gentle soul, my spirit's lofty dome!

Oh, Sun of Purity-my stainless home!
Tower in high Heaven, by Angel-hands sustained !
Oh, flame-oh, roses scattered on sweet flakes
Of snow-a mirror pure wherein I gazed,
And thence to Beauty's face my glances raised-
A holier light than Sol's empyrean lakes!
Could distant regions comprehend my song,
I'd fill the earth with thy celestial name,
Nile and Olympus should the sound prolong :
But since the pinions of my muse are bound,

That lovely land shall echo with thy fame,

Which Apennines divide-and seas and Alps surround.

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