Whilst zephyr sooths the angry waves
Of Ocean into rest,
Each vessel is in safety borne,
And every pilot blest.
But he indeed demands our praise,
Who stems the tempest’s force,
And midst the ire of hostile waves,
Pursues his destin’d course.
DI GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.
Oh sonno, oh della cheta, umida, ombrosa
Notte placido figlio; oh de’ mortali
Egri conforto, oblio dolce de’ mali,
Si gravi, ond’ e la vita aspra, e nojosa:
Soccorri al core omai, che langue, e posa
Non have; e queste membra stanche, e frali
Solleva: a me ten vola, oh sonno, e l’ali
Tue brune sovra me distendi, e posa.
Ov’ e il silenzio, che’l di fugge, e’l lume?
E i lievi sogni, che con non secure
Vestigia di seguirti han per costume?
Lasso, che’nvan te chiamo, e queste oscure,
E gelide ombre invan lusingo; oh piume
D’asprezza colme; oh notti acerbe, e dure!
SONNET, TO SLEEP.
Son of the silent, dark, and humid Night,
Consoler of the wretched, by whose sway
The gloomy train of ills are put to flight,
That blacken Life’s uncertain, tedious day,
O! succour now this restless, pining heart!
Give to these feeble, weary limbs repose!
Fly to me, Sleep! and let thy sombre wings
Over my couch their dusky plumes disclose!
O! where is Silence, who avoids the light?
Where the wild dreams that flutter in thy train?
Alas! in vain I call thee, cruel Night!
And flatter these insensate shades in vain.
And oh! without thy cheering dews are shed,
How full of hardships is the downy bed!
Breathing the violet-scented gale,
Near to a river’s limpid source,
Which, through a wide-extended vale,
Wound slowly on its sleeping course,
Attended by a youthful pair,
With rubied lip and roving eye,
Oft would fair Editha repair,
And let her children wander nigh.
There pleas’d behold their footsteps turn,
To each new object in their way,
Their ringlets glittering in the sun,
Their faces careless, blythe, and gay.
Once, when they drest their flaxen hair,
With flow’rets wild of various hue,
And with a proud, exulting air,
To their delighted parent drew:
“Ah! thus may every day arise!
And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!”
The widow’d mother fondly cries,
“Before the youthful blossoms fade.
“My sighs are all dispers’d in air,
Resign’d to fate, I weep no more,
Your welfare now is all my care,
Yet am I constant as before.