Here each blushing blossom piling, If, on wheels of sapphire drawn, Mounts the dawn; Lo! we say, the sky how smiling! True, in mighty Nature's mirth, Heaven and Earth Deck with smiles their joeund faces : True, they smile; but smiling so Cannot show Half your soul-enchanting graces! F. LAURENCE. THE FROWN. FROM THE ITALIAN OF CHIABRERA. WHEN, with soft and winning air Comes my fair, By her guard of Loves surrounded; And a smile, benignly bright, Beams delight On the heart which they have wounded; Such the charms which she displays, All who gaze Wish her ever thus alluring; Nor again dare hope to meet Spite of Love himself assuring. If in serious mood she closes; And the look, that gaily glanced, As entranced In reflected thought, composes; Suddenly behold we now On her brow Pride enthroned in awful beauty. Pride? ah no!-but where, my Muse, Wilt thou choose Words to satisfy thy duty? When abroad on orient wings Eurus springs O'er the summer seas to revel; And his feet in rapid race Print their trace, Where he skims the watery level; Curling waves with murmuring sound Yet no storm of wrath collected How to make his power respected! Thus we on that brow discern, Terrors which no pain occasion : Beauty daunting bold invasion; And that gentle look severe So transporting to the lover, Not one thought he more employs Which her beauteous smiles discover! F. LAURENCE. VOL. VI. SS SONG. FROM THE ITALIAN. YIELD to the spheres that witching strain Be to the sun that lustre given, Owe to the morn that blush no more, What then shall of the charms remain, Except the anger and disdain, ANONYMOUS. SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MOZARELLO. YE gales that gently fan the smiling sky, [dews, Fit haunts which amorous sorrow well might choose; Who bad your conscious echoes to my Muse Each whisper'd hope, each flatter'd fear reply! Those conscious echoes I no more to tales Of woe shall wake; since o'er my manlier mind Firm Reason holds again her calm control: Yet though no more, to lonely grief resign'd, I wander here to weep, not less my soul This cool, this murmur loves, these verdant vales! F. LAURENCE. SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIAMBATTISTA COTTA. I SAW the' eternal God, in robes of light, came; His presence pass'd before me like the flame That fires the forest in the depth of night. Whirlwind and storm, and horror and affright Compass'd his path, and shook creation's frame, When from the heaven of heavens, with awful aim, To earth he wing'd his instantaneous flight. The universal arch of yonder spheres Bow'd with the pressure of its Maker's tread, And earth's foundations quaked with mortal fears. MONTGOMERY. SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILICAJA. As some fond mother views her infant race, With tender love o'erflowing while she sees; She kisses one, one clasps in her embrace, Her feet supporting one, and one her knees; Then, as the winning gesture, speaking face, Or plaintive cry, explain their different pleas, A look, a word, she deals with various grace, And smiles, or frowns, as Love alone decrees. O'er man, frail kind, so Providence divine Still watches; hears, sustains, and succours all, With equal eye beholding each that lives. If Heaven denies, ah! let not man repine! F. LAURENCE. ENDYMION SLEEPING." FROM THE ITALIAN OF TASSONI. TIRED with long toil Endymion lay reposed And while the freshening breeze, with amorous |