that would subdue. 
    The triumph won, the bridle all its own,
    Without one curb I stand within its power,
    And my destruction helplessly presage: 
    It guides me to that laurel, ever known,
    To all who seek the healing of its flower,
    To aggravate the wound it should assuage.

    WOLLASTON.

SONNET VII.

La gola e ‘l sonno e l’ oziose piume.

TO A FRIEND, ENCOURAGING HIM TO PURSUE POETRY.

      Torn is each virtue from its earthly throne
    By sloth, intemperance, and voluptuous ease;
    E’en nature deviates from her wonted ways,
    Too much the slave of vicious custom grown. 
    Far hence is every light celestial gone,
    That guides mankind through life’s perplexing maze;
    And those, whom Helicon’s sweet waters please,
    From mocking crowds receive contempt alone. 
    Who now would laurel, myrtle-wreaths obtain? 
    Let want, let shame, Philosophy attend! 
    Cries the base world, intent on sordid gain. 
    What though thy favourite path be trod by few;
    Let it but urge thee more, dear gentle friend! 
    Thy great design of glory to pursue.

    ANON.

      Intemperance, slumber, and the slothful down
    Have chased each virtue from this world away;
    Hence is our nature nearly led astray
    From its due course, by habitude o’erthrown;
    Those kindly lights of heaven so dim are grown,
    Which shed o’er human life instruction’s ray;
    That him with scornful wonder they survey,
    Who would draw forth the stream of Helicon. 
    “Whom doth the laurel please, or myrtle now? 
    Naked and poor, Philosophy, art thou!”
    The worthless crowd, intent on lucre, cries. 
    Few on thy chosen road will thee attend;
    Yet let it more incite thee, gentle friend,
    To prosecute thy high-conceived emprize.

    NOTT.

SONNET VIII.

A pie de’ colli ove la bella vesta.

HE FEIGNS AN ADDRESS FROM SOME BIRDS WHICH HE HAD PRESENTED.

      Beneath the verdant hills—­where the fair vest
    Of earthly mould first took the Lady dear,
    Who him that sends us, feather’d captives, here
    Awakens often from his tearful rest—­
    Lived we in freedom and in quiet, blest
    With everything which life below might cheer,
    No foe suspecting, harass’d by no fear
    That aught our wanderings ever could molest;
    But snatch’d from that serener life, and thrown
    To the low wretched state we here endure,
    One comfort, short of death, survives alone: 
    Vengeance upon our captor full and sure! 
    Who, slave himself at others’ power, remains
    Pent in worse prison, bound by sterner chains.