TRANSLATION

OF ONE OF CHARLOTTE SMITH'S SONNETS.

ROSCIDUM jam ver sua dona flores, Mollibusq: herbis gramine et virenti Miscuit, collis, rediens, amani

Culmina circum;

Frondibus gaudent tenerisq: fagi,
Pastor et lotus petit alta montis
Strata serpyllo nemora; atq: fruges

Leniter imbres,

Nutriant. Felix nimium ah! colonus
Nulla cui mentis vetat atra cura
Carpere optati peritura cito

Gaudia veris:

Sed labori lætitiæve dedita
Flora; nec torquent dolor, aut futuri I-
Magines vanæ, excutiunt nec almum

Corpore somnum.

Ah mihi dulcis referet dies quid
Ver ubi rura et melius nitere,
Gaudiis nec tunc vacua, ut diebus

Hisce, solebant!

TRANSLATION FROM BONEFONIUS,

TO A LADY WITH A RED AND A WHITE ROSE.

FLOWERS of various hues I send,

The rose of red, the rose of snow; Let each a different lesson lend,

That thou thy lover's state may'st know.

Well from the white rose may'st thou learn,

How pale his cheeks with sorrow's smart; And in the red thou may'st discern

The flame that preys upon his heart.

Not when the vernal zephyr breathes,

Nor when the virgin snow-drop springs, Or morn her crown of lustre weaves,

The muse to me her influence brings;

And mirth no more awakes the tale,

No more does hope the strain prolong, And even sweet pity! thou dost fail

To wake the echo of my song.

Yet slumbers not the vocal shell,

But rises to its airiest strain, Whene'er at eve in yonder dell,

I meet the dark eye of my Jane.

Then trembles every willing chord,

In praise of her, whom I adore; And love imparts to every word

A woe it never knew before.

But soon I leave the unfinish'd strain,

And faintly sounds each languid string; For while upon her charms I gaze,

I heed not that I ought to sing.

Q2

IMITATION OF PETRARCH,

WRITTEN AT THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

(Solo e pensoso i piu deserti campi.)

FROM distant lands a wanderer came,

And fondly seeks a refuge here; But in his breast still glows a flame,

And in his eye still gleams a tear.

In vain he views the rushing floods

In hopes to lull his cares to sleep: In vain he seeks the wildering woods

In hopes that there he shall not weep.

The waters from their solid seat

May hurl the struggling rocks away; The forest in its green retreat,

May shield him from the solar ray:

the pain

Yet cannot wash

away That to his inmost bosom clings; Yet cannot guard his throbbing brain

From thought that bitterest anguish brings. For though from native scenes remov'd,

To these far northern climes he flies, Each object he once dearly lov'd

Recurs incessant to his eyes.