Part 10 (2/2)

[Ta.s.so.]

Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope.

O when will Fate restore 5 The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more!

THE HASTY KISS.

[Secundus.]

A kiss I begg'd, and thou didst[64:1] join Thy[64:2] lips to mine; Then, as afraid, s.n.a.t.c.h'd[64:3] back their treasure, And mock'd[64:4] my pleasure.

Again, my Dearest![64:5]--for in this 5 Thou only gav'st[64:6] desire, and not a kiss.

SONG: WHEN THOU THY PLIANT ARMS.

[Secundus.]

When thou thy pliant arms dost wreathe About my neck, and gently breathe Into my breast that soft sweet air With which thy soul doth mine repair; When my faint life thou draw'st away, 5 (My life which scorching flames decay,) O'ercharg'd, my panting bosom boils, Whose fever thy kind art beguiles, And with the breath that did inspire Doth mildly fan my glowing fire. 10 Transported, then I cry: 'Above All other deities is Love!

Or if a deity there be Greater than Love, 'tis only thee.'

SONG: 'TIS NO KISS.

[Secundus.]

'Tis no kiss my Fair bestows!

Nectar 'tis, whence new life flows.

All the sweets which nimble bees In their osier treasuries With unequall'd art repose, 5 In one kiss, her lips disclose.

These, if I should many take, Soon would me immortal make, Rais'd to the divine abodes, And the banquets of the G.o.ds. 10 Be not, then, too lavish, Fair!

But this heavenly treasure spare, 'Less thou'lt, too, immortal be: For without thy company What to me were the abodes 15 Or the banquets of the G.o.ds?

TRANSLATED FROM ANACREON.

I. _The Chase._

With a whip of lilies, Love Swiftly me before him drove: On we cours'd it through deep floods, Hollow valleys, and rough woods, Till a snake that lurking lay 5 Chanc'd to sting me by the way.

Now my soul was nigh to death, Ebbing, flowing, with my breath, When Love, fanning with his wings, Back my fleeting spirit brings: 10 'Learn,' saith he, 'another day, Love without constraint t'obey!'

II.

Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit.

Teach me brisk Lyaeus' rites; 5 Teach me Venus' blithe delights.

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