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MINOR PIECES.

ALFIERI'S BENEDICTION.

SIA pace ai frati
Purchè sfratati :

E pace ai preti,
Ma pochi, e queti:
Cardinalume

Non tolga lume:

Il maggior prete
Torni alla rete:

Leggi, e non re:
L'Italia c'è.

PEACE be to the friars,
But in common attires :

Peace, priests, to you also,
But few, and don't bawl so:

Our cardinals bright

Let 'em leave us our light:

The chief of the set

Let him take to his net:

Then laws, and no king;

And let Italy sing.

AN ULTRA LICENSE.

FROM ALFIERI.

APPROVAZIONE

Di Fra Tozzone
Per l'impressione
Di un libruccione
Che un autorone

Ai piedi pone

Di un principone

Con dedicone.

SI STAMPI PUR, SI STAMPI :

QUI NON C'E NULLA, NE RAGION, NE LAMPI.

THE approbation

Of Father Stuffation

For the imprimation

Of a pamphliteration

Which a light of the nation

With all humiliation

Sends a man in great station

With a dedication.

PRINT IT BY ALL MEANS, PRINT IT:

THERE'S NOTHING RATIONAL, NOT E'EN A HINT, IN'T.

FROM THE FRENCH.

ÆGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes;

She makes her own face, and does not make her rhymes.

SONG, WRITTEN FOR AN INDIAN AIR.

I ARISE from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are burning bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me, Who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet.

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark, the silent stream,

The Champak odours fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream.
The nightingale's complaint,

It dies upon her heart ;

As I must on thine,

Beloved as thou art!

Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eye-lids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast ;—
O! press me to thine own again,
Where it will break at last!

MARTIAL.-LIB. 1. EPIG. 1.

Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris,
Toto notus in orbe Martialis
Argutis Epigrammatôn libellis :
Cui, lector studiose, quod dedisti
Viventi decus atque sentienti,
Rari post cineres habent poetæ.

HE unto whom thou art so partial,
Oh, reader! is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist: while living,

Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving;
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it:
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.

NEW DUET.

TO THE TUNE OF WHY HOW NOW, SAUCY JADE?"

WHY how now, saucy Tom,

If you thus must ramble,

I will publish some

'Remarks on Mister Campbell.

ANSWER:

Why how now, Parson Bowles,

Sure the priest is maudlin!

[To the Public] How can you, d-n your souls!

Listen to his twaddling?

PORTRAIT OF HIMSELF,

BY ALFIERI.

SUBLIME specchio di veraci detti,

Mostrami in corpo e in anima qual sono.
Capelli, or radi in fronte, e rossi pretti;
Lunga statura, e capo in terra prono;
Sottil persona in su due stinchi schietti;
Bianca pelle, occhi azzurri, aspetto buono ;
Giusto naso, bel labro, e denti eletti;
Pallido in volto, più che un re sul trono.

Or duro, acerbo; ora piaghevol, mite;
Irato sempre, e non maligno mai;
La mente e il cor meco in perpetua lite;
Per lo piú mesto, e talor lieto assai

Or stimandomi Achille, ed or Tersite.

Uom, se' tu grande, o vil ?-Muori, e il saprai.

THOU lofty mirror, Truth, let me be shewn
Such as I am, in body and in mind.
Hair, plainly red, retreating now behind;
A stature tall, a stooping head and prone;
A meagre body on two stilts of bone;

Fair skin, blue eyes, good look, nose well design'd;
A handsome mouth, teeth that are rare to find,

And pale in face, more than a king on throne.

Now harsh and crabbed, mild and pleasant soon;
Always irascible, no malignant foe;

My head and heart and I never in tune;
Sad for the most part, then in such a flow

Of spirits, I feel now hero, now buffoon ;

Man, art thou great or vile?-Die, and thou'lt know.

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