The maiden, budding o'er,

Kept not her bloom uneyed,

Which now a veil must hide,

Nor the crisp apples which her bosom bore;

And oftentimes, in river or in lake,

The lover and his love their merry bath would take.

'Twas thou, thou, Honour, first

That didst deny our thirst

Its drink, and on the fount thy covering set;

La verginella ignuda

Scopria sue fresche rose,

Ch' or tien nel velo ascose,

E le

poma del seno acerbe e crude;

E spesso o in fiume o in lago

Scherzar si vede con l'amata il vago.

Tu prima, Onor, velasti

La fonte dei diletti,

Negando l'onde a l' amorosa sete :

And keep the secret for their tears to wet;

Thou gathered'st in a net

The tresses from the air,

And mad'st the sports and plays

Turn all to sullen ways,

And putt'st on speech a rein, in steps a care.

Thy work it is,—thou shade that wilt not move,

That what was once the gift, is now the theft of Love.

Tu a' begli occhi insegnasti

Di starne in se ristretti,

E tener le bellezze altrui secrete :

Tu raccogliesti in rete

Le chiome a l' aura sparte:

Tu i dolci atti lascivi

Festi ritrosi e schivi;

Ai detti il fren ponesti, ai passi l'arte :

Opra è tua sola, o Onore,

Che furto sia quel che fu don d'Amore.

Our sorrows and our pains,

These are thy noble gains.

But oh, thou Love's and Nature's masterer,

Thou conqueror of the crowned,

What dost thou on this ground,

Too small a circle for thy mighty sphere?

Go, and make slumber dear

To the renowned and high;

E son tuoi fatti egregi

Le pene, e i pianti nostri.

Ma tu d'Amore e di Natura donno,

Tu domator de' regi,

Che fai tra questi chiostri,

Che la grandezza tua capir non ponno?

Vattene, e turba il sonno

A gl' illustri e potenti :

We here, a lowly race,

Can live without thy grace,

After the use of mild antiquity.

Go, let us love; since years

No truce allow, and life soon disappears;

Go, let us love; the daylight dies, is born;

But unto us the light

Dies once for all; and sleep brings on eternal night.

Noi qui, negletta e bassa

Turba, senza te lassa

Viver ne l' uso de l'antiche genti.

Amiam; che non la tregua

Con gli anni umana viva, e si dilegua.

Amiam; che 'l sol si muore, e poi rinasce;

A noi sua breve luce

S'asconde, e 'l sonno eterna notte adduce.

PASSAGES FROM REDI'S DITHYRAMBIC POEM OF

BACCHUS IN TUSCANY.

THE Author has translated the whole of this popular piece of Italian pleasantry, which is a criticism on the wines of the poet's country; but even in the original it is perhaps too long, especially as a monologue; for Bacchus talks it all from beginning to end; and the local nature of the subjects and the allusions renders it, for the most part, of little interest to a foreign reader. He has persuaded himself, however, that a few passages will bring their recommendation with them, in the gaiety of their animal spirits. The original is like a Bacchanalian dance, broken occasionally with quaint contradictions to the movement, and pithy speeches addressed to the spectators.

BACCHUS'S OPINION OF WINE, CHOCOLATE, TEA, BEER, AND OTHER INCOMPATIBLE BEVERAGES.

GIVE me, give me Buriano,

Trebbiano, Colombano,

Give me bumpers, rich and clear!

Io di Pescia il Buriano,

Il Trebbiano, il Colombano

Mi tracanno a piena mano :