XII. Kixæ Amantíum. HEU! illis olim fuerat conjuncta juventus; Et mala vecordem distrahit ira sinum. Ingentis veluti divulsa cacumina montis, Distinet iratis æquor inane fretis; At non tristis hiems, neque sol, non fulminis ictus, W. B. T. J. XIII. Rose. ELLE étoit de ce monde, où les meilleures choses Ont le pire destin; Et Rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses, L'espace d'un matin. XIV. M. de Malesherbe. VISSA teco son io molti e molt' anni, Venir vedrai me, e rimenarten meco! Sannazaro. XIII. Rosa infans. NATA fuit terris, ubi quæ potiora vigescunt, Illa Rosa fragilem cepit cum nomine vitam, Una dedit cunas, funus et una dies! B. XIV. Viduus. Uxor mortua viduum alloquitur. SCIS bene quam multos tecum conjuncta per annos, Et quali fuerim, care marite, fide. Nunc mundi illecebras supra curasque fugaces Evehor, æthereis consociata choris. Nec mihi, cœlum hoc et cœlestia gaudia testor, Te solum indolui, te inter mala tanta relinquens, Me quoque, ne doleas ! comitem me semper habebis, Et mihi fida tuæ cura salutis erit; Donec viva iterum morienti et pulchra videbor, Dux tibi in æternas ire parata domos. G. XV. The Arab Maid's Song. THERE's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 't was like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer? No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly they shone, And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, Thus bright to my soul, as 't was then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer. Moore. XV. Arabiæ Puellæ Cantiuncula. SPISSA rosa texunt in Medi umbracula ripa, 66 ocelli ; Luget adhuc illic num Philomela?" rogo. "Num, mihi qui fulsit, solitus manet ille roseto, Quod placido Medus præfluit amne, rubor?" Credula, quid volui? melior cito transiit ætas ; Pensilis in tremulas et rosa fluxit aquas; Pressa sed ex ipsa sudavit gutta medulla, Mansit in expresso rore superstes odor. Tam mihi sic animo, Medi quæ littus inumbrant, Usque nitent, oculis quam nituere, rosa. B |