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DE CUPIDINE ET HYELLA
LORENTES dum forte vagans mea Hyella per hortos
texit odoratis lilia cana rosis:
ecce rosas inter latitantem invenit Amorem:
I, dixit, mea, quære novum tibi, mater, Amorem ;
1398 TO A LADY WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF
FAIR Empress of the Poet's soul,
Clarinda, take this little boon,
And fill them high with generous juice,
and pledge me in the generous toast—
'To those who love us!'-second fill;
but not to those whom we love; lest we love those who love not us! a third-To thee and me love!'
GEKOMMEN ist der Maye,
die Blumen und Bäume blühn,
Die Nachtigallen singen
im weichen, grünen Klee.
Ich kann nicht singen und springen,
mir träumt, ich weiss nicht was.
WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring the dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, oblivion! may thy languid wing
wave gently o'er my dying bed!
No band of friends or heirs be there,
But silent let me sink to earth,
with no officious mourners near:
ISSA teco son io molti e molt' anni,
con quale amor tu 'l sa, fedel consorte!
E ta tige détachée,
où vas tu?' 'Je n'en sais rien;
A. S. SANNAZARO
qui seul était mon soutien;
et la feuille de laurier.'
V. A. ARNAULT
ON THE DEATH OF A RARE INFANT SIX
W Nature's pride, the Graces' treasure,
IT'S perfection, Beauty's wonder,
Virtue's life, his friend's sole pleasure,
PART I §§ 266, 268, 332
1405 AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured
the labour of an age in piléd stones?
or that his hallowed reliques should be hiđ
under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
what needst thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment,
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art,
that kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
1406 ON A BEAUTIFUL FOUNTAIN, forming a COLD
‘OUNTAIN, that sparklest through the shady place, making a soft sad murmur o'er the stones that strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest should haply wander near, with slow disease smitten, may thy cold springs the rose of health bring back, and the quick lustre to his eye! the ancient oaks that on thy margin wave, the song of birds, and through the rocky cave the clear stream gushing, their according sounds should mingle, and like some strange music, steal sadly, yet soothing, o'er his aching breast. And thou pale exile from thy native shore, here drink, (O couldst thou! as of Lethe's stream!) nor friends, nor bleeding country, nor the views of hills or streams beloved, nor vesper's bell, heard in the twilight vale, remember more!
that would not cease, but cried the more
upon its mother's breast.
She was full weary of her watch,
and grieved with her child;
she rocked it and rated it,
till that on her it smiled.
Then did she say, "Now have I found
'The falling out of faithful friends
O more, ye warbling birds, rejoice,
The Naiads, o'er their frozen urns,
and each in sullen silence mourns