This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1792 edition. Excerpt: ... land. The dulcet groves, burst with rich notes, Caught by a thousand trembling throats, The wavey rivers as they fly Their soft embroider'd bounds between, Whose glowing tints be-gem the green, Bear on their curls th' extatic sigh; The breeze detain'd rests its pure wing, To hear blest Love its triumphs sing. ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1792 edition. Excerpt: ... land. The dulcet groves, burst with rich notes, Caught by a thousand trembling throats, The wavey rivers as they fly Their soft embroider'd bounds between, Whose glowing tints be-gem the green, Bear on their curls th' extatic sigh; The breeze detain'd rests its pure wing, To hear blest Love its triumphs sing. And ah I be Italy ne'er nam'd, Without a pause to those so fam'd The glorious Medicis I Oh Sculpturei lift thy pillar high, And grave the name amidst the sky I Its base, let marble sorrows tend, And chisel'd woes in high relief, Look their unutterable grief, And mute Despair its tresses rend I Blest PoETRy 1 compel thy lyre To sound the loud immortal praise Of those who cherish'd thy proud bays, And fed thy near extinguish'd fire I Thy pencil, Painting I dip in shades To last till Europe's Glory fades. Thy trophy'd canvas shall be Fame To those who nurs'd thy infant Art, And bear to mightier shores the Name 1 Swiftly, my Della Crusca, turn, To where the Medicean Urn, The once proud City hallows still, There thy fine taste may drink its fill. To Florence fly--O, no I for ever shun her tempting skies, For there, if right I ween, the Maid IndifferEnce diesl Anna Matilda. TO ANNA MATILDA. Age, Jam meorum, Finis amorum. And have I strove in vain to move Thy Heart, fair Phantom of my Love? And cou'dst thou think 'twas my design, Calmly to list thy Notes Divine, That I responsive Lays might send, To gain a cold Platonic Friend? Far other hopes thy Verse inspir'd, And all my breast with passion fir'd. For Fancy to my mind had given Thy form, as of the forms of HeavenHad bath'd thy lips with vermil dew; Had touch'd thy cheek with Morning's huel And down thy neck had sweetly roll'd Luxuriant locks of mazy gold. Yes, I had hopes, at last to press, And...
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