"Yet still when sinks the dewy eve, "The Muses love to wander here,

"And many a mystic dance they weave, "Beside my current deep and clear.

"And sacred still that current flows

Though lost to Fame, and silent long,

"The seat of joy and soft repose,

"The fount of harmony and song.

"Stranger, welcome:-lay thee down
"Where the vernal roses grow,
66 Weaving many a flaunting crown
"For the Nymph that glides below.

૬.

Resting oft on balanced wing,

"Here the wild-coot tells his tale; "Here the bending reed doth sing

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"Gentle airs shall round thee breathe,

And my tinkling current blending

"Pour its liquid notes beneath."

[Having arrived at Syracuse, and visited the filthy pool now termed Árethusa, I deter

mined to write no more.]

TRANSLATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET

(Written upon the summit of Plinlimmon, a mountain in Wales,

BY JOHN SARGENT, ESQUIRE.)

WITH pensive heart and trembling steps I tread
These savage heights, with Alpine horrors crown'd;
While eagles scream around their stormy head,
And the hoarse torrents pour a solemn sound.

'Tis awful! here no grovelling thought can dwell, Where all is vast, magnificent, and high;

I feel, I feel the ascending spirit swell,

Though faint the foot, and wearied be the eye.

Ah! treacherous heart by earth-born cares depress'd,
Why rove thy thoughts amid the sordid throng,
Where sensual pleasures clog each vulgar breast,
And gold and glory trail their pomp along?

Oh! mount at length to Heaven on rapid wing,
There in thy native empyrean glow;

And blest with peace, and bright in endless spring,
Smile at the clouds that shade a world below.

[To enable the reader to judge how far the literal meaning and spirit of the Italian have been preserved in the Translation, the Original is here subjoined by the kind permission of its Author.]

Co'l cor pensoso, e dubiosi passi,
Vo misurando i piu selvaggi monti;
E lamentar gli augelli, e rauchi fonti
S'odono intorno, fra gli alpestri sassi.

Qui non si puo nudrir pensieri bassi,
Dov'i poggi alzan le lor sublimi fronti;
Vicin' al Ciel son'gli intelletti pronti,
Bench'il pie sia stanco, e gli occhi lassi:
Oime! il mio Cor, tereno e fallace,
Perche rimansi fra quel turba frale
A cui il mondo sol, e l'oro piace?
Al Ciel salendo al fin'con rapid'ale
Deh puoi gustar la desiata pace,
E veder giu le nebbie mortale.

DECEMBER, 1814.

"CHILD of Man, whose seed below "Must fulfil their race of woe,

"Heir of want, and doubt, and pain,
"Does thy fainting heart complain?
"Oh! in thought one night recall
"The night of grief in Herod's hall,
"There I bore the vengeance due,

"Freely bore it all for you.

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"Child of Dust, Corruption's son,

By Pride deceived, by Pride undone,

Willing Captive, yet be free,

"Take my yoke, and learn of me; "I, of Heaven and Earth the Lord, "God with God, the eternal Word, "I forsook my Father's side,

Toil'd, and wept, and bled, and died.

"Child of Doubt, does fear surprize, "Vexing thought within thee rise;

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Wondering, murmuring, dost thou gaze "On evil men and evil days?

"Oh! if darkness round thee lower, "Darker far my dying hour;

"Which bade that fearful cry awake,

66

My God, my God, dost thou forsake!

"Child of Sin, by Guilt oppress'd, "Heaves at last thy throbbing breast? "Hast thou felt the mourner's part? "Fear'st thou now thy failing heart? "Bear thee on, beloved of God, "Tread the path thy Saviour trod, "He the Tempter's power hath known, "He hath pour'd the garden groan.

"Child of Heaven, by me restor❜d, "Love thy Saviour, serve thy Lord; "Seal'd with that mysterious Name, "Bear the cross, and scorn the shame;