FROM THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns :
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses, and record my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, ,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was !
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain !
What halloing, and what stir is this to-day?
These are my mates that make their wills their law,
Have some unhappy passenger in chase :
They love me well, yet I have much to do
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Ως το ξυνηθές έν βροτοίς τίκτει νόμους" ύλην έρημον τήνδε και δρυμών σκιάν έγώγε πόλεων μάλλον ευάνδρων φιλώ. ένταύθ' άποπτος όμμάτων ήμαι μόνος, αηδόνος τε πενθίμω μελωδία ξύμφωνος άδω κάποδύρομαι πάθη: ώ της έμής οικούσα καρδίας μυχους, μη δαρόν ούτω δώμ’ άοίκητον λίπης, μή πως όληται πρεμνόθεν σαθρον γεγώς, και του πριν όντος πάν αϊστωθή τεκμαρ. ώ πότνια, ση με κούφισον παρουσία, οίκτειρ' εραστήν Σιλβία δυσδαίμονα. έα. τίνος βοής ήκουσα και ποδών κτύπον; ακόλαστος όχλος των εμών οπαόνων οδοιπόρον τιν' άθλιον διωκάθει. ευ του φιλουσί
φιλούσί μ', αλλ' εμοί, ου ράδιον τούτων βιαίαν έστ' έρητύειν ύβριν.
FROM MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
So said, he, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose
From the right hand of Glory where he sat;
And the third sacred morn began to shine,
Dawning through heaven. Forth rush'd with whirl-
wind sound
The chariot of Paternal Deity,
Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn,
Itself instinct with spirit, but convoy'd
By four Cherubic shapes; four faces each
Had wondrous; as with stars, their bodies all
And wings were set with
the wheels
Of beryl, and careering fires between.
Over their heads a crystal firmament,
Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber, and colours of the showery arch.
He, in celestial panoply all arm’d
Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought,
Ascended; at his right hand Victory
Sat eagle-wing’d; beside him hung his bow,
And quiver with three-bolted thunder stored ;
And from about him fierce effusion roll'd
Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles dire.
Dixit; et a dextrâ, nutans in sceptra, paternâ,
(Illi quæ sedes, quæ gloria summa,) resurgit.
Tertia jamque dies apparuit aurea coelo
Exoriens: simul ingenti quasi turbinis exit
Cum sonitu Patris currus ; quem vivida circum
Flamma micat, creberque rotarum volvitur axis
Orbibus impediens orbes; nec spiritus ipsi
Defuit; æthereæ tamen hunc traxere figuræ
Quatuor, aspectu miræ, quibus ora quaterna,
Et cujusque oculis distinctum et corpus et alæ
Sidereis: ornant oculi spatia ampla rotarum
Beryllo similes, atque intercursitat ignis.
At supera caput impendens crystallinus æther
Sapphire rutilum et puro tenet intertextum
Electro solium, pluviique coloribus arcús.
Filius, effulgens Urimi præstantibus armis,
Tegmine divino, ascendit. Victoria dextrâ
Explicuit pennas, aquilæ surgentis ad instar ;
Post humeros arcus pendet, trifidisque pharetra
Fulminibus gravis; at circum violentia fumi,
Nictans flamma volat scintillarumque procella.
Comus. What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus ?
Lady. Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth.
Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering
guides?
Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf.
Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?
Lady. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly
spring Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady? Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick
return.
Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.
Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!
Comus. Imports their loss, besides the present need?
Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose.
Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?
Lady. As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazor'd lips.
Comus. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swink'd hedger at his supper sat:
I saw them under a green mantling vine,
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots.
|