ASON G, By METASTASIO. WIT HOP E. ITH languid heats while nature burns, The parch'd, unyielding foil; Nor feels the fierce, oppreffive ray, The Pris'ner in his dark, damp cell, And ev'ry grief that stung his mind, And ev'ry fear to her refign'd, Sings to his founding chain. SONETT O Di FRANCESCO PETRARCA. ONDE tolfe amor l' oro, e di qual vena, Per far due treccie bionde? e 'n quali spine Colfe le rofe? e 'n qual piaggia le brine Tenere, è frefche; e diè lor polfo, e lena? Onde le perle, in ch' ei frange, ed affrena Onde tante bellezze, e sì divine Di quella fronte più che 'l ciel fereną? Da quali angeli moffe, e di qual fpera Quel celefte cantar, che mi disface Sì, che m' avanza omai da disfar poco Di qual fol nacque l' alma luce altera Di que' begli occhi, ond' i' ho guerra, e pace, CAN A S O N NÉ T, By FRANCIS PETRARCA. AY, didft thou gild with ore of earthly mine SAY, Those fifter ringlets? or from mortal ftems. Yon rofes cull? fay, whence thofe glifl'ring gems Of earliest dew, instinct with Spir❜t divine? Whence those rich pearls, whose beauteous orders rise, And frame such speech as Seraph lips might grace? But hark! what angel breathes cœleftial airs? [roll, What heav'n-tun'd fpheres in founds harmonious Till faint with rapt'rous anguish I expire? Say, borrow'd from what Sun thofe fhafts the bears, [defire? CAN CANTATA, By METASTASIO. I. O the fide of yon green-mantled hill, то To the grove, or the daify-pied mead, To the banks of yon crystalline rill, My fold's fleecy treasure I'll lead. II. Hand in hand with my Phyllis I'll tread my love. Shall be bleft with the fmile of III. Whenever cool zephyrs invite My Fair-one and me to a cell, In that happy feat of delight Shall Joy, Love, and Innocence dwell. A |