SONETTO DI VITTORELLI. PER MONACA. Sonetto composto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco innanzi una figlia appena maritata; è diretto al genitore della sacra sposa. Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte L'una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chiedeo. La mia fu tolta da veloce morte A le fumanti tede d' imeneo : La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa, Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde. TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI. ON A NUN. Sonnet composed in the name of a father whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil. Or two fair virgins, modest, though admired, Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires, And gazing upon either, both required. But thou at least from out the jealous door, Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more: I to the marble, where my daughter lies, Rush, the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies. ODE. I. OH Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls A loud lament along the sweeping sea! Are they to those that were; and thus they creep, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets. Oh! agony-that centuries should reap No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years Of wealth and glory turn'd to dust and tears; And even the Lion all subdued appears, And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum, The echo of thy tyrant's voice along The soft waves, once all musical to song, That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng Of gondolas-and to the busy hum Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Were but the overbeating of the heart, And flow of too much happiness, which needs When Vice walks forth with her unsoften'd terrors, The sick man's lightning half an hour ere death, Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning, To him appears renewal of his breath, And freedom the mere numbness of his chain;- And all is ice and blackness,--and the earth That which it was the moment ere our birth. II. There is no hope for nations!-Search the page The everlasting to be which hath been, Hath taught us nought or little still we lean |