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TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI.
ON A NUN.
Sonnet composed in the name of a father whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.
Of two fair virgins, modest, though admired,
Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
Becomes extinguished, soon-too soon-expires: But thine, within the closing grate retired, Eternal captive, to her God aspires. But thou at least from out the jealous door,
Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more: I to the marble, where my daughter lies,
Rush,-the swoln flood of bitterness I pour,
And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies.
THE CURSE OF MINERVA.
SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Not, as in the northern climes, obscurely bright,
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
The God of gladness sheds his parting smile.
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes.
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour,
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain The Queen of Night asserts her silent reign ;* No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form:
The groves of olive, scatter'd dark and wide,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;
*The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country The days in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration.
†The kiosk is a Turkish summer-bouse-the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes---Cephisus's stream is indeed scanty, and lissus has no stream at all.
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle That frown where gentler ocean deigns to smile.
As thus within the walls of Pattas' fane
I mark'd the beauties of the land and main,
Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky, And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god: But chiefly, Pallas! thine: when Hecate's glare Check'd by the columns, fell more sadly fair O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread Thrills the lone heart, like echoes from the dead.
Long had I mused and treasured every trace The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, When lo! a giant-form before me strode, And PALLAS hail'd me in her own abode. Yes-'twas MINERVA's self-but ah! how changed Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst by her divine command,
Her form appear'd from PHIDIAS' plastic hand.
Her helm was deep indented, and her lance
And ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Proclaims thee Briton-once a noble name
First of the mighty, foremost of the free,
I saw successive tyrannies expire;
'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both. Survey this vacant violated fane,
Recount the relics torn that yet remain ;
These CECROPS placed-this PERICLES adorn'd
That HADRIAN rear'd when drooping Science mourn'd.