INDEX

OF THE

ORIGINAL SONNETS.

AH! why go down in clouds, thou glorious Sun?
Ah! hope! I know thee not, tho' too long tried
And is this Rome? doth she as in a trance
Another morn and not a breath to sweep
Because, wherever wit and beauty smil'd
But one there was in that most gorgeous place
Byron, thou art the poet of the soul

.

26

23

Dream not that she, the nymph whom I adore
First of invaders, Hannibal! thy name
From Paran God came down to quell the proud
From thy high place, daughter of Babylon.
Go forth in youth and beauty; for to thee
He, who by conscience stung, or worn with care
His blood-stain'd sword the Goth hath drawn again!

I know thee not, bright creature! ne'er shall know
I have liv'd long enough, for I have liv'd
If beauty, innocence, and cheerfulness

INDEX.

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In the Sun's eye I sate, nor deem'd his ray
Is there a heart so harden'd, so defil'd .

I've seen my day, before its noon, decline

Lady, 'twas thou, who taught'st me first to know.

Lady, on whom boon nature has bestow'd

Leman, thy Lake, with its sweet blending Rhone
Lov'd, prais'd, and sought, yet modest and retir'd
Lovely, indeed, art thou, O solitude

Madeira, loveliest isle of isles, farewell!

Night is dispers'd and every living thing
Not that the sculptor on thy perfect face
O thou pale Sun, that wrapp'd in mist and cloud

O impotent, yet cruel, proud yet blind

O love of country, valor, loyalty

Oh! what is death? the last of mortal pain
Oh! 'tis not vain what the rapt poet sings
Parent of Gods and men, almighty Queen.

Poet of Asti, at thy tomb I bow

Prophet of Florence, read thy prophecy

51

39

41

60

Quick is thine hazel eye, and glancing bright

10

Rome, if thou wert a desert, and if none

43

Rome, thou hast fall'n and ris'n, and fall'n again

44

Silent and calm now eve steals on, and day's.

12

Spirit of evil, with which earth is rife

Still unoppos'd the Gaul holds on his way.

Sweet Sabine bard, if from my youth till now
The feeble limb, the brow with wrinkles bound
The hand of death was on him, and he bore
The Sun in dying glory bright descended

The Sun shone forth; the vale, the mountains nigh.

The world is grown enfeebled since its birth
There is a virtue which to fortune's height
Thou wert, indeed, my bliss, my hope, my pride
Thou, who, as from the quarry's purest vein

Thy cheek's pure bloom, bright as the lines that bound
'Tis even thus, and must it aye be so

"Twas but this morn, each ruder blast seem'd spent.
Virgil, I know not, reck not; who can know?

When the eighth Charles o'er Alpine barriers came.
Where'er, O Rhone, the genius of thy stream.
Whether thy locks in natural beauty stray
Whether thou drink'st the breezes of the sea

Who most seek happiness, most miss their aim
Ye clouds that fringe the confines of the sky
Yet oh! not these, nor arms more strange and dread

N

Zuppi, 167

An urchin troop of Cupid's wanton race
Are these those eyes, before whose dazzling gaze. Bembo, 143
Bless'd be the year, the month, the day, the morn, Petrarch, 75
Chamber, that didst in this small space confine Alfieri, 121
Could I have deem'd that these sad rhymes which bear

Petrarch, 91

Dante, from heav'n, where now thou art, incline. Alfieri, 119
Death, thou hast quench'd the sun that shone below,

Petrarch, 97

Glorious Colonna, upon whom recline
He who his government eternal sways
I ask'd of Time, to whom was rais'd on high
I have call'd out, and I again will call
I saw on earth an Angel's form appear

If a fond heart, if faith that ne'er declin'd . .

If they, O Fortune, who thy power adore
It was the day, the Sun with horror blind
Italia, O! Italia, thou whom Heaven

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Petrarch, 89

. Filicaia, 129

Petrarch, 67

. Filicaia, 131

Lull'd by the treacherous calm, in sleep profound, Zappi, 172

Ditto, 93

My thought upbore me, where she dwells, whom here,

Never did eyes such gentle slumber close, Lor. de' Medici, 105
Now has my life in fragile bark convey'd

Buonaroti, 111

O gentle air, that thus from flower to flower, Rosa Morando, 139
O glory, what art thou? For thee the brave

O if not love, what by these signs is meant?
O Thou, who from the gaze of eyes impure
0

ye who listen to the rhymes, whose flow
On Cyprus' shore in radiant splendor glows
Place me where flower and herb the sun's

Proud pine of England, o'er th' Atlantic sea
Quick to the heart thro' the enraptur'd sight
Since Love was ne'er to sight made known,
Sweet bird, that warbling seemest to repine

That food in which my tyrant does abound

Ciapetti, 163

Petrarch, 83

.Filicaia, 135