Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus,
Magna virûm! tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis
Aggredior, Sanctos aufus recludere fontes.
HILE you, my Lord, the rural shades admire,
And from Britannia's public posts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage facrifice your ease;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the foft season and inviting clime
Confpire to trouble your repose with rhime.
Ovunque in giri i miei rapiti lumi,
Scene auree, liete, e chiare vifte inalzanfi,.
Attornianmi poetiche campagne,
Parmi ognor di calcar claffico fuolo;
Si fovente ivi Mufa accordò l' arpa,
Che non cantato nium colle forgevi,
Celebre in verfi ivi ogni pianta crefce,
E in celeste armonia ciafcum rio corre.
Come mi giova a cercar poggi, e bofchii
Per chiare fonti, e celebrati fiumi,
Alla Nera veder fiera in fuo corso
Tracciar Clitumno chiaro in fua forgente,
Veder condur sua schiera d'acque il Mincio
Per lunghi giri di feconda ripa,
E d' Albula canuta il guado infetto
Suo caldo letto di fumante folfo.
Di mille eftafi acceso io sopraveggio
Correre il Po per praterie fiorite
De fiumi re, che foura i pian scorrendo,
Le torreggianti Alpi in natia muraglia
Della metà di loro umore afciuga:
Superbo, e gonfio dell' biberne nevi
L abbondanza comparte ov egli corre. -
Talor smarrito dal drappel fonoro
I rii rimiro immortalati in canto,
Che giaccionfi in filenzio, e obblio perduti,
Muti i lor fonti fon, secche lor vene)
For wherefoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
Poetic fields incompass me around,
And ftill I seem to tread on claffic ground;
For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rears its head unfung,
Renown'd in verse each shady thicket grows,
And ev'ry ftream in heav'nly numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to search the hills and woods
For rifing springs and celebrated floods!
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his fource,
To fee the Mincio draw his watry store,
Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of smoking fulphur glide.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures I furvey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows stray,
The king of floods! that rolling o'er the plains
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes, mifguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortaliz'd in fong,
That loft in filence and oblivion lie,
(Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry).
Pur, per fenno di Mufe, ei son perenni,
Lor mormorio perenne in terfi carmi.
Talora al gentil Tebro io mi ritiro,
Le voto ripe del gran fiume ammiro,
Che privo di poter fuo corso tragge
D'una grette urna, e fterile forgente;
Pur fuona ei nelle bocche de poeti,
Sicche'l miro al Danubio, e al Nil far fcorno ;
Cosi Mufa immortale in alto il leva.
Tal' era il Boin povero, ignobil fiume,
Che nelle Hiberne valli ofcuro errava,
E inofservato in fuoi giri scherzava.
Quando per vostri verfi, e per la spada
Di Nafsò rinomato, l' onde fue
Levate in alto per mondo risuonano
Ovunque dello eroe le divin' opre,
E ove andrà fama d' immortal verso.
Ob l'estatico mio petto inspirasse
Mufa con un furor fimile al vostro !
Infinite bellezze avria'l mio verso,
Cederia di Virgilio a quel l' Italia.
Mira quali auree selve attorno ridonmi,
Che della tempeftofa di Britannia
Ifola si ne schivano la cofta,
O trapiantate, e con penfier guardate
Maledicon la fredda Regione,
E nell' aria del Norte illanguidiscono,
Calor dolor il montante umor ne lievita
A nobil gusti, e pin esaltati odori.
Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill,
And in the smooth description murmur still.
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam'd river's empty shores admire,
That deftitute of strength derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source;
Yet sung so often in poetic lays,
With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys;
So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyn, a poor inglorious stream,
That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd,
And unobserv'd in wild Meanders play'd;
'Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renown'd;
Its rifing billows through the world refound,
Where'er the Hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verse.
Oh cou'd the Muse my ravish'd breast inspire
With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
Unnumber'd beauties in my verse shou'd shine,
And Virgil's Italy shou'd yield to mine!
See how the golden groves around me smile,
That shun the coast of Britain's stormy ifle,
Or when transplanted and preferv'd with care,
Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments
To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents :
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