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LORENZO DE MEDICI.
TRANSLATED BY ROSCOE.
“ Lasso a me," &c.
Alas! for me, whene'er my footsteps trace
Those precincts where eternal beauty reigns,
Flows round my heart, and pallid grows my face : But when I mark that smile of heavenly grace,
Its wonted powers my drooping soul regains ; Whilst Love, that in her eyes his state maintains,
Points to my wandering heart its resting place ; And stooping from his beamy mansion, swears,
“ By all that forms my powers and points my dart,
The living lustre of those radiant eyes,
True are those looks of love.” My trusting heart
" Cerchi chi vuol," &c.
Seek he who will in grandeur to be blest,
Place in proud halls, and splendid courts his joy;
For pleasure, or for gold, his arts employ,
-A little field in native flow'rets drest,
With sweeter magic lull my cares to rest.
And caves obscure, and nature's free-born train,
And some lone nymph that timorous speeds along, Each in my mind some gentle thought instils
Of those bright eyes that absence shrouds in vain ;Ah, gentle thoughts! soon lost the city cares among.
“Oimè, che belle lagrime," &c.
Ah! pearly drops, that pouring from those eyes,
Spoke the dissolving cloud of soft desire,
“ Struck the fair urns and bade the waters rise." Soft down those cheeks, where native crimson vies
With ivory whiteness, see the crystals throng;
As some clear river winds its stream along, Bathing the flowers of pale and purple dyes. Whilst Love, rejoicing in the amorous shower,
Stands like some bird, that after sultry heats, Enjoys the drops, and shakes his glittering wings; his bolt, and conscious of his
power, 'Midst those bright orbs assumes his wonted seat, And through the lucid shower his living lightning flings.
“ Non di verdi giardin," &c.
That breathes of Pæstum's aromatic gale,
'Midst-woods obscure, and native glooms, were found. 'Midst woods and glooms, whose tangled brakes around
Once Venus sorrowing traced, as all forlorn
Deep on her foot impressed an impious wound.
And caught the drops divine; the purple dyes
Tinging the lustre of our native hue :
Have nursed our slender forms, but lovers' sighs
FANCIFUL DESCRIPTION OF THE FORMATION OF
Dear are those bonds my willing heart that bind,
Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
No mortal object did these eyes behold
bold : Heaven-born, the Soul a heavenward course must hold; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek (For what delights the scene is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes : nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, That kills the soul : love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.
TO THE SUPREME BEING.
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,