EXTRAIT D'UNE ODE SUR LA MEDIOCRITE. PAR M. GRESSET. SEDUITS par d'aveugles idoles Du bonheur; fantômes frivoles, Le vulgaire et les grands ne te suivirent pas : Tu n'eus pour sujets que ses sages Qui doivent l'estime des âges A la sagesse, acquise en marchant sur tes pas. Tu vis naître dans tes retraites THE HAPPINESS OF A MODERATE FORTUNE, AND MODERATE DESIRES. FROM THE FRENCH OF MR. CRESSET. O GODDESS of the golden mean, Thy only subjects are the wise. Dont la voix n'eut jamais formé de sons brillans. Who lur'd by fortune's vain parade, Si la fracas de la fortune, Ou si indigence importune Eût troublé leur silence, ou caché leurs talens. Mais en vain tu fuyois la gloire. Vinrent dans tes déserts se choisir des héros ; Que parmi la mollesse, et l'orgueil des faisceaux. Et ses sages vainqueurs, philosophes guerriers Had never form'd the tuneful line; In vain you slight the flow'ry crown, Their heroes from thy shades have led; By thee were form'd, from cities far, Sur tes secrets autels rapportoient leurs lauriers. And plac'd their laurels in thy fane. Trop heureux, déïté paisible, Le mortel sagement sensible, Qui jamais loin de toi a porte ses desirs, Par sa douce mélancolie, Sauvé de l'humaine folie, Dans la vérité seul il cherche ses plaisirs. Ignoré de la multitude, Libre de tout servitude, Il n'envia jamais, les grands biens, les grand noms, Il n'ignore point que la foudre A plus souvent réduit en poudre Thrice happy he, on whose calm breast Whose wishes never learnt to stray. A length of rent-roll, or of name: For safe he views the vale-grown elm, Le pin de monts altiers, que l'ormeau des While thunder-sounding storms the mountain valons. Sourd aux censures populaires, Il ne craint point les yeux vulgaires, Son-ceil perce au-delà de leur foible horison: S'il a scû mériter l'aveu de la raison. Il rit du sort, quand les conquêtes Les couronnes du nord, ou celles du midi: Amitié, charmante immortelle, Tu choisis à si cœur fidèle pine o'erwhelm, Of censure's frown he feels no dread, And calmly hears the wild storm roar. Peu d'amis mais constans, vertueux comme lui: The few caprice could never move, Tu ne crains point que le caprice, Que l'intérêt les désunisse, Ou verse sur leurs jours les poisons de l'ennui. Ami des frugales demeures, Tu répans sur ses yeux tes songes favoris ; Qui, parmi l'effroi des ténèbres. The few whom int'rest never sway'd; Nor shed unseen, with hate refin'd, The pale cares o'er the gloomy mind. Soft Sleep, that lov'st the peaceful cell, On these descends thy balmy power; While no terrific dreams dispel The slumbers of the sober hour; Which oft, array'd in darkness drear, Vont reveiller les grands sous les riches lambris. Wake the wild eye of pride to fear. C'est pour ce bonheur légitime C'est pas ces vertus pacifiques, Que tu scais, cher R***, remplir d'utiles jours, Où le Cher de son onde claire Vient à l'aimable Loire associer le cours. Fidèle à ce sage sistême, Là, dans l'étude de toi-même, Chaque soleil te voit occuper tes loisirs; Dans le brillant fracas du monde, Ton nom, ta probité profonde Content with all a farm would yield, Thus Sidon's monarch liv'd unknowu, For the long glories of a throne- With these pacific virtues blest, These charms of philosophic ease, T'eut donné plus d'éclat, mais moins de vrais But hope not happiness so pure. plaisirs. SONETTO CLXXIX. IN nobil sangue vita umile e queta, TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH. 1765. SONNET CLXXIX. THO' nobly born, to humble life resign'd; * * SONETTO CCLXXIX. ROTTA è l' alta colonna, e 'l verde lauro, Che facean ombra al mio stanco pensero: SONNET CCLXXIX. FALL'N the fair column, blasted is the bay, Dal Borea all' Austro, O dal Mar Indo al Tho' sought from Indus to the closing day. Mauro, Tolto m'hai, morte, il mio doppio tesauro, Che poss' io più, se no aver l' alma trista; O nostra vita, ch' é si hella invista; Com' per de agevolmente in un mattino My twofold treasure death has snatch'd away, O destiny severe of human kind! What portion have we unbedew'd with tears! Ov'è 'l valor, la conoscenza, e 'l senno, L'aecorta, onesta, umil, dolce favella? Ch'ora e riposo dava all' alma stanca, Quanto al misero mondo, e quanto manca SONETTO CCXXXVIII. Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde Lei che'l ciel ne mostrò, terra n' asconde, Mi dice con pietate: "a che pur versi Degli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume? Di me non pianger tu, che miei dè fersi, Morendo, eterni, e nell 'eterno lume, Quando mostrai pi chiuder gli occhi apersi." MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS TRANSLATED, AND ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF ITALY. ADDRESS TO SIGNOR MOZZI, OF MACERATA. To thee, the child of classic plains, Each Muse that mourn'd o'er Maro's grave. Nor yet the harp that Horace strung With many a charm of easy art ; Where each breeze bore a lover's sigh, That weds the soul to this low sphere, That holds awhile her prisoner here! Fit for some nobler frame she flies, The man that mourn'd his country's wrong, And feebly dragg'd his goat along!! On Plato's hallow'd breast to lean, And catch that ray of heavenly fire, Which smooth'd a tyrant's sullen mien, And bade the cruel thought retire! Amid those fairy-fields to dwell Where Tasso's favour'd spirit saw What numbers none but his could tell, What pencils none but his could draw! And oft at eve, if eve can be Beneath the source of glory's smile, To range Elysian groves, and see That nightly visitantere while, Who, when he left immortal choirs, To mix with Milton's kindred soul, The labours of their golden lyres Would steal, and "whisper whence he stole." Ausonian bard, from my fond ear By seas and mountains sever'd long, Your ear shall win, your love shall woo, Each fair, fond partner of my life, Left with a lonely oar to steer, Thro' the rude storms of mortal strife ;When Care, the felon of my days, Expands his cold and gloomy wing, His load when strong affliction lays On hope, the heart's elastic spring : For me what solace yet remains, Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre; Sooth'd by the magic of her strains, If, chance, the felon Care, retire? Save the sweet Muse's tender lyre, For me no solace now remains ! Yet shall the felon, Care, retire; Sooth'd by the magic of her strains. Blagdon-House, June 26, 1776. SON. I. O LADY fair, whose honour'd name is borne By that soft vale where Rhyne so loves to stray, And sees the tall arch crown his wat'ry way! Sure, happy he, tho' much the Muse's scorn, Too dull to die beneath thy beauty's ray, Who never felt that spirit's charmed sway, Which gentle smiles, and gentle deeds adorn, Tho' in those smiles are all love's arrows worn, Each radiant virtue tho' those deeds display! Sure, happy he who that sweet voice should hear Mould the soft speech, or swell the tuneful strain, [vain, And, conscious that his humble vows were Shut fond attention from his closed ear; Who, piteous of himself, should timely part, Ere love had held long empire in his heart! SON. II. As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light 2 Within a few miles of Macerata. This stranger tongue to cultivate with care, And tune my lays in language little try'd SON. III. CHARLES, must I say, what strange it seems to say, This rebel heart that Love hath held as naught, Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught, Would laugh, and let his captive steal away; This simple heart hath now become his prey. Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught, Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day: Oh! no-'twas Beauty's most celestial ray, With charms divine of sov'reign sweetness fraught! The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air, The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye, The voice that, breathing melody so rare, Might lead the toil'd Moon from the middle sky! Charles, when such mischief arm'd this foreign fair, Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly. SON. IV. In truth I feel my sun in those fair eyes, SON. V. AN artless youth, who, simple in his love, Of manners that to gentle deeds comply, And courteous will, that never asketh why; Yet mild, as is the never wrathful dove, Firmness it hath, and fortitude to bear The wrecks of nature, or the wrongs of fate, From envy far, and low-designing care, And hopes and fears that vulgar minds await, With the sweet Muse, and sounding lyre elate. And only weak, when love had entrance there. I The concetti of the Italian in the conclusion of this Sonnet were so obstinate, that it seemed scarce possible to reduce them into any reputable form of translation. Such trifling liberties as the translator shall appear to have taken with these poems, must be imputed to a desire of getting over blemishes of the same kind. CANZON. GAY youths and frolic damsels round me throng, And smiling say, "Why, shepherd, wilt thou write Thy lays of love adventurous to recite In unknown numbers and a foreign tongue? Shepherd, if Hope hath ever wrought thee wrong, Afar from her and Fancy's fairy light Retire" So they to sport with me delight; And "other shores," they say, "and other streams Thy presence wait; aud sweetest flowers that blow, Their ripening blooms reserve for thy fair brow, Where glory soon shall bear her brightest beams:" Thus they, and yet their soothing little seems; If she, for whom I breathe the tender vow, Sing the soft lays, and ask the mutual song, This is thy language, Love, and I to thee belong! TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. LESBIA, live to love and pleasure, Careless what the grave may say: When each moment is a treasure, Why should lovers lose a day? Setting suns shall rise in glory, But when little life is o'er, There's an end of all the story: We shall sleep; and wake no more. Give me then a thousand kisses, Twice ten thousand more bestow, Till the sum of boundless blisses Neither we nor envy know. |