TRANSLATION FROM VITA J)E PETRARCA. 39? 



shortly married to him whom she had so often met by moonlight be- 

 neath the trysting tree. Lance Pindar and John Goy have long 

 since been friends; but when in their cups they do not forget 

 the old mare ; Molly and Johnny were married at Michaelmas, as 

 he promised, and she yet wears the "hofeyode of gress-green 

 ribbon" for cap-strings ; but what is stranger than all, the old fiddler 

 is landlord of the " Blue-bell," having married mine hostess, who 

 still mourns for the loss of King Charles's good Rules and Pilgrim's 

 Progress, as they were her grandmother's, and declares that she 

 " will never expose any more valiuble pictors at a statice." 



T. M. 



TRANSLATION FROM " VITA DE PETRARCA.' 



THE favourite haunt of Petrarch was among some romantic copses 

 in the neighbourhood of Avignon, where he oftentimes met Laura. 

 When she was not there, every object spoke of her adored presence, 

 and recalled a thousand pleasing sensations. He was meditating one 

 day, in this enchanting place, on the continued object of his thoughts, 

 when, under the influence of love and melancholy, he wrote the fol- 

 lowing lines : 



Sweet limpid stream, for ever fresh and clear, 



Oft, on whose bosom, Laura's charms appear ; 



Ye fragrant flowers, that deck her gentle breast, 



Ye trees, beneath whose shade she loves to rest, 



And all ye lovely scenes, made lovelier far 



By the soft spells of beauty's guiding star ! 



If haply sorrow close these weary eyes, , 



May pity, marking where the mourner lies, 



With generous hand, strew o'er my place of rest, 



This happy earth, by Laura's presence blest ; 



'Twill make me fearless of the grave's dark gloom, 



And bless, with secret charm, my early tomb 1 



But, when again my fair one seeks this shade, 

 And marks the change her cruelty has made, 

 Then, like the gentle babe, when it makes known 

 Its soft distress, and speaks by tears alone, 

 Then, will she breath the pitying sigh, nor fear 

 To speak in love's soft eloquence, a tear ! 

 Then will my Laura's gentle bosom bleed, 

 And weep the fate her cruel love decreed. 



