POETRY. TRANSLATION of an ITALIAN SON. OH kill'd to meafure day and night! Small elegant machine; On which to pore with fix'd delight, Britannia's Sons are seen : Imprints each hour he steals. Touch'd by thy magic hand, Each still reproaching, with a figh, Dull Duty's ling'ring band; Wouldst thou from thy prolific breast One hour to me refign, Willing to Fate I'd yield the rest, That hour of blifs be mine! Imitated by Mrs. PIOZZI. ODE on the SIROC. With dark'ning wings, that veil the skies, But there fair Freedom's hallow'd shrine, For diff'rent charms by poets taught, And trod her flow'ry plain; * The SIROC is a South-east Wind, the fame as the Latin Syrus, which is much dreaded by the Italians, on account of its oppreffive heat, and the extraordinary melancholy it occafions. AUTHOR, Mr. Brydone, in his Travels, fays, “The most disagreeable part of the Neapolitan climate is the SIROC, or South-east Wind, which is very common at this season of the year: it is infinitely more relaxing, and gives the vapours in a much stronger degree than the worst of our rainy Novembers. It has now blown for these seven days without intermiffion, and has indeed blown away all our gaiety and fpirits; and if it continues much longer, I do not know what may be the confequence. It gives a degree of laffitude both to the body and mind, that renders them abfolutely incapable of performing their ufual functions. It is not very furprifing that it should produce these effects on a phlegmatic English conftitution; but we have just now an inftance that all the mercury of France must fink under the load of this horrid leaden atmosphere. A smart Parifian Marquis came here about ten days ago: he was fo full of animal fpirits, that the people thought him mad: he never remained a moment in the fame place; but, at their grave converfations, he used to skip about from room to room with fuch amazing elasticity, that the Italians fwore he had got fprings in his fhoes. I met him this morning walking with the ftep of a philofopher, a fmelling-bottle in his hand, and all his vivacity extinguithed. I afked what was the matter. "Ah! mon ami (faid he), je m'ennui a la mort; moi qui n'ai jamais scu l'ennui. Mais cet execrable vent m'accable; et deux jours de plus, et je me pend." "The natives themfelves do not suffer less than ftrangers; and all nature feems to languish during this abominable wind. A Neapolitan lover avoids his mistress with the utmost care in the time of the SIROC; and the indolence it infpires is almost sufficient to extinguish every paffion. All works of genius are laid afide during its continuance; and when any thing very flat or infipid is produced, the strongst phrase of disapprobation they can bestow is, "Era fcritto in tempo del Sirocco ;" that it was writ in the time of the SIROC." Far Far off the fprightly Muse retires, See in their stead terrific spleen Sad images of loft delight, The waters feem to groan. Stands with averted gaze; The ling'ring flame to raise. Dire fevers rage-the parched throat The foul's opprefs'd with gloom; Points to a friendly tomb! Does he, whom Heaven's avenging ire To blast a scene so gay! Not led by Love but Fear; But to a higher Pow'r we bend, His pois'nous breath difpell; VERSES to Mrs. PIOZZI, Placed under a Print of Dr. Johnson in her Dining Room at Florence. By WILLIAM PARSONS, Efq. ¡ROM earth retir'd, and all its empty cares, In brighter fcenes my raptur'd fpirit shares The rich rewards that here attend the bleft, Their holy transports, and their fainted reft. For this, fo long, in yon dim fpot confin'd, I gave the nobleft efforts of my mind; Religion's, Truth's, and Virtue's, cause fuftain'd; And in these bleft abodes my thoughts embrace With fond affection ftill, the human race; Still in my breaft its wonted ardors glow, And many a wifh I frame for those below: But chief for thee, fair friendship's facred flame, Unquench'd by death, for ever burns the fame. While to the British Muses loft fo long, To martyr'd fenfe, 'mid crouds exulting round, In folemn pomp, a facrifice to found! A Siddons there the captive bofom thrills, pare. Nor let th' alluring joys of tafte refin'd That task e'er banish from thy ftedfast mind, That mournful task I once bequeath'd to thee, Which now th' impatient world expects to fee; (For ne'er my page licentious vice pro- With open zeal the generous care avow, Once my kind friend, be my hiftorian now. phan’d) HYMN to DEATH. MERRY, Efq. By "Homme destiné au travail, a la peine, & Obferve upon the tumbling furge Where rocks arife, where whirlwinds rave, The harbour where they ne'er approach-the grave. Behold the mother's anxious love He that could firft creation give, Sends forth a breath, and, lo! we live; Haft thou not often found to go And that to-morrow brings us to the tomb. And age, that cruelly deftroys And who would bear perpetual spleen Left by defertion we should fly our woes, VII, By both affail'd, the beauteous victims fall On the bleach'd meadow, or the marshy bourn; In vain their love-divided mates shall call, And, robb'd of half its beauty, fpring shall mourn. VIII. Robin alone the facred fongfter dares To fcrape the harvest from the ruftic floor; The wheaten mortel in his bill he bears, Courts the low fhed, and gambols at the door. IX. Nor birds and beats alone thy influence prove, Then oft are taught thy vary'd ills to bear; Benumb'd across the wintry waste they rove, XVII. Mortals expand: their fpirits and their fenfe With renovated warmth dilate and glow; Alike is feen thy potent influence On the vast tract of worldly things below.. XVIII. To me alike do wintry forms appear, The fummer's folftice and the vêrnal gale, If fair Cleora shall disdain to hear Her Charles's leffons, and her Charles's tale. XIX. When angry paffions her refentment move, Winter, I own thy heart-benumbing pow'r : Her tear of pity and her fmile of love fhow'r. Chill'd by the keenness of the northern air. G. Malvern, Worcestershire, X. Relent, ftern tyrant; to our wishes bend; Thy iron reign, thy bitter season's past ; Thofe genial hours and milder profpects fend, At length abate thy defolating blast. XI. 1785. C. A. The GHOST of EDWIN, A SONG. I. Enough the earth hath groan'd beneath thy PALE gleam'd the moon on Severn's wave, When Laura from the cottage ftray'd Owns thy ftern pow'r, and mourns its When thus a figh her fears exprefs'd, ravish'd green. XII. Begone, imperious Winter! Hie thee hence And heal thy ravages with ambient gales. Come, then, and biefs these plains, thou feafon mild, Nor fail to bring thy wonted fweets along; Th' expanding leaf, the hawthorn blooming wild, The cooling zephyr, and the linnet's fong; The op'ning fweets of every vernal flow'r, Let golden funs illume the teeming earth, XVI. As bloffoms open to the vernal day, Thus had the pafs'd each twilight pale, By Lana's flow declining ray, Whilft at her fide the Nightingale Vented her plaints on ev'ry fpray: Still Laura, haplefs, friendfefs fair, Made to the stars her fruitless moan; And this her note of wild defpair, "O! when shall wedlock make us one 111. At laft the Ghost of Edwin came, Pale as the fnow on Winter's cheek, "Ah me! (he cries) how much to blame "Was I for Fortune's files to feek! "Now me a watery grave contains, "Floating around the Torvid Zone : "Live thou, whaft fall thy love complains, "Oh! when thall death behold us oue IV. As when the dew doth eve befpeak, Stream'd in anguifh many a tear. And flow'rs their vary'd shapes and hues Then dy'd amidst the leafy grove ; Exulting thunders from the gorgeons car ; Dooms realius to flaughter for a pompous name, And proudly glories in the guilt of war. By itern Oppreffion struck, the helpiefs poor From much-lov'd cottages and hamlets fly; Depriv'd of all, they Heav'n for aid implore! Neglected droop-and unlamented die ! Religion, fent by Heav'n to heal each grief, To point the road where human evils ceale ; Give rankling Mifery a fure relief, And fouthe the warring pations into peace; By bigot zeal and fuperftition fir'd, With horrid fury fcatters death around; And deems that wretch moft pious, mot infpir'd, Who strikes with ruthlefs band the dire ful wound! WRAPT in the clay-cold arms of Death, Maria pale and filent lies; Her beauteous form devoid of breath, Where reftlefs cares no more annoy, In fweet-tun'd notes, celestial joy. The death-denouncing toll. I hear! Again it ftrikes!-again affails! Pierces again my lift'aing ear, Light.wafted by the murm'ring gales. Relentless Death! can nought affuage! No pow'r oppofe thy fix'd career ! No arm impervious quell thy rage! No fortrefs fhield th' unhappy Faur! Ah, no! 'tis folly to refift; For fafety, too, 'tis vain to fly ; Th' unerrin dart has never mis'd To draw from all th' expiring figh. Haft thou not feen the blushing flower Array'd in rofeat colours gay, When tempefts fraught with mifchief lower, Pale-withering, pine and fade away? Thus did Maria spread her charms, [bless Bot |