THE

RESEMBLANCE.

vo cercand' io

Donna, quant'è possibile, in altrui

La desiata vostra forma vera.

PETRARC. Sonett. 14.

YES, if 'twere any common love,
That led my pliant heart astray,
I grant, there's not a power above
Could wipe the faithless crime away!

But, 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee,

That oh! beneath the blessed sun,

So fair there are but thou and she!

Whate'er may be her angel birth,

She was thy lovely, perfect twin,

And wore the only shape on earth,

That could have charm'd my soul to sin!

L

Your eyes!—the eyes of languid doves
Were never half so like each other!
The glances of the baby loves

Resemble less their warm-ey'd mother!

Her lip!-oh, call me not false-hearted,
When such a lip I fondly prest;
'Twas Love some melting cherry parted,
Gave thee half and her the rest!

And when, with all thy murmuring tone, They sued half-open to be kist,

I could as soon resist thine own,

And them, heaven knows! I ne'er resist.

Then, scorn me not, though false I be, "Twas love that wak'd the dear excess; My heart had been more true to thee,

Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less!

ΤΟ

WHEN I lov'd you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute;
But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it!

But

Thus, whether we're on or we're off,
Some witchery seems to await you;
To love you is pleasant enough,

And oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!

FROM THE

GREEK OF MELEAGER'.

FILL high the cup with liquid flame,
And speak my HELIODORA's name!
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er,
And let the sound my lips adore,
Sweeten the breeze, and mingling swim
On every bowl's voluptuous brim !

Give me the wreath that withers there,
It was but last delicious night,

It hung upon her wavy hair,

And caught her eyes' reflected light!

1

Εγχει, και παλιν ειπε, παλιν, παλιν, Ηλιοδώρας

Είπε, συν ακρητω το γλυκυ μισγ' ονομα.
Και μοι τον βρεχθεντα μυροις και χθιζον εοντα,
Μναμοσυνον κείνας, αμφιτίθει σέφανον
Δακρύει φιλεραςον ιδε ροδον, ἕνεκα κειναν
Αλλοθι κ' 8 κολποις ἡμετέροις εσορα.

Brunck. Analect. Tom. I.
P. 28.

p.

Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow; It breathes of HELIODORA now!

The loving rose-bud drops a tear,
To see the nymph no longer here,
No longer, where she used to lie,
Close to my heart's devoted sigh!