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Shall longer be the poet's highest themes,
Though gods and heroes fought promiscuous in their

streams. But

now, to Nassau's secret councils raised, He aids the hero, whom before he praised.

I've done at length; and now, dear friend, receive
The last poor present that my muse can give.
I leave the arts of poetry and verse
To them that practise 'em with more success.
Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell,
And so at once, dear friend and

muse,

farewell.

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MENTRE, Signor, l'ombre villesche attraggonvi,
E di Britannia dagli Ufici toltovi
Non piu, ch' a suoi ingrati Figli piaccia
Per lor vantaggio, vostro ozio immolate;
Me in esteri Regni il Fato invia
Entro genti feconde in carmi eterni,
U la dolce stagion, e 'l vago Clima
Fanno, che vostra quiete in versi io turbi.

Ovunque io giri i miei rapiti lumi,
Scene auree, liete, e chiare viste inalzansi,
Attornianmi Poetiche Campagne,
Parmi ognor di calcar classico suolo;
Sì sovente ivi Musa accordò l'Arpa,
Che non cantato niun colle sorgevi,
Celebre in versi ivi ogni pianta cresce,
E in celeste armonia ciascun rio corre.

Come mi giova a cercar poggi, e boschi
Per chiare fonti, e celebrati fiumi,
Alla Nera veder fiera in suo corso
Tracciar Clitumno chiaro in sua sorgente,
Veder condur sua schiera d' acque il Mincio
Per lunghi giri di feconda ripa,
E d'Albula canuta il guado infetto
Suo caldo letto di fumante solfo.

Di mille estasi acceso io sopraveggio
Correre il Po per praterie fiorite
By the Abbot Anton. Maria Salvini, Greek Professor at Florence.

A LETTER FROM ITALY,

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX,

IN THE YEAR MDOCI.

Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus,
Magna virûm ! tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis
Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. VIRG. Geor. i.

WHILE you, my lord, the rural shades admire,
And from Britannia's public posts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please,
For their advantage sacrifice your ease;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the soft season and inviting clime
Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.

For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And still I seem to tread on classic ground;
For here the muse so oft her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rears its head unsung,
Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows,
And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.

I pleased to search the hills and woods
For rising springs and celebrated floods !
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source,
To see the Mincio draw his watery store
Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O’er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide.

Fired with a thousand raptures I survey
Eridanus through flowery meadows stray,

The subject, so inviting to our classical traveller, seems to have raised his fancy, and brightened his expression. Mr. Pope used to speak very favourably of this poem.

How am

De Fiumi Re, che sovra i pian scorrendo,
Le torreggianti Alpi in natia muraglia
Della metà di loro umore asciuga :
Superbo, e gonfio dell' hiberne nevi
L'abbondanza comparte ov' egli corre.

Talor smarrito dal drappel sonoro
I rii rimiro immortalati in canto,
Che giaccionsi in silenzio, e obblio perduti,
(Muti i lor fonti son, secche lor vene,).
Pur, per senno di muse, ei son perenni,
Lor mormorio perenne in tersi carmi.

Talora al gentil Tebro io mi ritiro,
Le vote ripe del gran Fiume ammiro,
Che privo di poter suo corso tragge
D'una gretta urna, e sterile sorgente ;
Pur suona ei nelle bocche de Poeti,
Sicche 'l miro al Danubio, e al Nil far scorno;
Così Musa immortale in alto il leva.
Tal' era il Boin povero, ignobil fiume,
Che nelle Hiberne valli oscuro errava,
E inosservato in suoi giri scherzava.
Quando per Vostri Versi, e per la Spada
Di Nasso, rinomato, l' onde sue
Levate in alto pel Mondo risuonano
Ovunque dello Eroe le divin' opre,
E ove andrà fama d' immortal verso.

Oh l' estatico mio petto inspirasse
Musa con un furor simile al vostro !
Infinite bellezze avria 'l mio verso,
Cederia di Virgilio a Quel l'Italia.

Mira quali auree selve attorno ridonmi,
Che della tempestosa di Britannia
Isola si ne schivano la costa,
O trapiantate, e con pensier guardate
Maledicon la fredda Regione,
E nell' aria del Norte illanguidiscono.
Calor dolor il montante umor ne lievita
A nobil gusti, e piu esaltati odori.
Rozze ancor rupi molle mirto menano
Ricco profumo, peste erbette olezzano.

The king of floods !. that, rolling o'er the plains,
The towering Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.

Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortalized in song,
That lost in silence and oblivion lie,
(Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry,)
Yet run for everl by the muse's skill,
And in the smooth description murmur still.

Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the famed river's empty shores admire,
That, destitute of strength, derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source,
Yet sung so often in poetic lays,
With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys;
So high the deathless muse exalts her theme !
Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream,
That in Hibernian vales obscurely strayed,
And unobserved in wild meanders played ;
Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renowned,
Its rising billows through the world resound,
Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verse.

Oh could the muse my ravished breast inspire
With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine,
And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!

See how the golden groves around me smile,
That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle,
Or when transplanted and preserved with care,
Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments
To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents :
Ev’n the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume.

Yet run for ever, &c.] This way of giving to the copy the properties of the original, is not uncommon in the poets : but Mr. Addison had the art to introduce this bold figure, with ease and grace, into his prose; as when he speaks of refreshment in a description of fields and meadows, of an historian's fighting his battles, and in other instances: but see what he says himself on this subject on Messis clypeata virorum, in his notes on Ovid.

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