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TRANSLATION OF A SONNET FROM THE FRENCH
Vast monuments ! that human pride hath raised,
Ye tombs and pyramids, of structure vain ! Where high-triumphant toil we view amazed,
And see o’er Nature Art assume the reign !
Ye ancient temples, now in ruins laid,
Where Roman skill her utmost pow'rs bestowed; Chief, Coloseum-once, which crowds displayed,
That o'er the dying gladiator glowed.
All, all have felt the hand of ruthless Time;
Thrown from your height, ye bite the yellow sand; In vain ye lifted once your heads sublime,
Not e'en your marble could Time's force withstand !
I then—that more than two years worn, My old black coat should be at elbows torn!
TO THE MEMORY OF AN INFANT.
REFRESHED with dew, the morning rose
Peers from it's bed at break of day; Beset with pearls its beams disclose,
In beauteous folds, mild Spring's array.
With innocence and beauty blest
Thus bloom'd Eliza's darling boy; In smiles array'd, the lovely guest
Diffused around a tender joy.
Fled are those halcyon days before
The blast, that rends the vernal glades; The roseate hue of health no more, The garden's transient glory fades.
Corroding sorrows intervene,
Frail hope and evanescent fear; With partial views, distract the scene,
Till sad regret bedews the bier.
Sweet child of Spring ! thy blossoms shorn,
The muse laments thy early tomb. Eliza weeps
her infant torn From life, by fate's resistless doom.
Ardent the cherub wings his flight.
To heaven ;—from earthly sorrows free, He gains the blissful realms of light
To dwell in immortality.
SUSPENSE ! Thou sad tormentor of the mind,
Oh ! do not thus upon my spirits press; Most painful bonds thine influence I find,
When ev'ry thought is wrung with deep distress.
Why wilt thou then with keenest feelings play?
Throw every wish and hope in wild alarm ? Fain would I fling each pallid fear away,
But thou, sad power, dost soon destroy the calm.
How oft a heavy cloud with gloom o'erspread,
Mars the fair prospect of a summer's day; Thus clothed in doubts—Suspense, with horror's dread,
Kills trembling Hope, and curses with delay !
Much rather let the direst truth be known,
The mind elastic, gains new force to ply;
But dread Suspense makes every effort die.
IMITATION OF ANACREON.-ODE XXIX.
“And call’d the thing—a beau.”
PAINTER, now thy power show,
for real pass
Draw his snowy, powder'd tresses,
Let his charcoald eyebrows swell
Borrow next a bully's look, Though a deer his heart partook. This from real harm will save, That will make him cowards brave.
Next his cheeks with carmine spread,
Ill description points the way
Now the face's features told,
Next to frill and shirt-pin haste,
I the price you ask will give-
TRANSLATION OF GRAY'S ODE WRITTEN AT THE GRAND CHARTREUSE, "OH TU, SEVERI
RELIGIO LOCI," &c.
Oh ! thou, the genius of this awful place!
Whatever name delighteth most thine ear; (For sure yon flood—these woods--primeval race
Proclaim no common deity is here.
The pathless rocks, the dreary, savage steeps,
Wild roaring torrents—rushing down amain; The frowning graves where night eternal sleeps,
And cliffs abrupt-declare a Godhead's reign.
A God far greater these sublimely show
Than ever deck'd a temple's gorgeous shrine; Though Phidias there his utmost power bestow,
Though Citron beams with gold profusely shine.)