METASTASIO.

Parlagli d' un periglio.

WOULDST thou to Love of danger speak?— Veiled are his eyes, to perils blind!

Wouldst thou from Love a reason seek?

He is a child of wayward mind!

But with a doubt, a jealous fear,
Inspire him once-the task is o'er;
His mind is keen, his sight is clear,
No more an infant, blind no more.

METASTASIO.

Sprezza il furor del vento.

UNBENDING 'midst the wintry skies,
Rears the firm oak his vigorous form,
And stern in rugged strength, defies

The rushing of the storm;

Then severed from his native shore,
O'er ocean-worlds the sail to bear,

Still with those winds he braved before,
He proudly struggles there.

METASTASIO.

Sol può dir che sia contento.

OH! those alone, whose severed hearts
Have mourned through lingering years in vain,
Can tell what bliss fond Love imparts,
When Fate unites them once again :

Sweet is the sigh, and blest the tear,
Whose language hails that moment bright,
When past afflictions but endear
The presence of delight!

METASTASIO.

Ah! frenate 'l pianto imbelle.

АH! cease-those fruitless tears restrain,

I

go misfortune to defy,

To smile at fate with proud disdain,

To triumph-not to die!

I with fresh laurels go to crown

My closing days at last,

Securing all the bright renown

Acquired in dangers past.

QUEVED O.

ROME BURIED IN HER OWN RUINS.

Buscas en Roma ǎ Roma, ó peregrino !

AMIDST these scenes, O pilgrim! seek'st thou Rome?
Vain is thy search-the pomp of Rome is fled;
Her silent Aventine is glory's tomb;

Her walls, her shrines, but relics of the dead.

That hill where Cæsars dwelt in other days
Forsaken mourns, where once it towered sublime;
Each mouldering medal now far less displays
The triumphs won by Latium, than by Time.

Tiber alone survives-the passing wave,

That bathed her towers, now murmurs by her grave,
Wailing, with plaintive sound, her fallen fanes.
Rome! of thine ancient grandeur all is past,
That seemed for years eternal framed to last,
Nought but the wave, a fugitive-remains.