He spoke the wish that fill'd his gen'rous mind,

Rinaldo and Orlando brave to find;

And never know a day's inglorious rest,

Till this, his aim, should with success be blest.

END OF THE SELECTION.

450

THE

TRANSLATOR'S CONCLUSION.

FERRARA's ancient Bard!-thy lyre no more 455

Resounds heroic deeds, or magic lore.—

The Destiny, who cuts life's thread, is blind

Or to th' enlighten'd or the vulgar mind;

And genius, highly gifted, has no pow'r

To sooth her rage, or stay the fatal hour.
Long ages since, thy tow'ring spirit fled,

And left thy dust immingled with the dead:
Th' unfinish'd lay that dwelt upon thy tongue

Remain'd, by meaner voices to be sung,

460

276

TRANSLATOR'S CONCLUSION.

Till he-the bard-by kindred feelings fir'd,

The strain resum'd, and, raptur'd and inspir'd,

465

Swept the loud chords harmonious, to prolong
The witching wood-notes of thy varied song.
But, breaking from the icy bonds of death,
Which chill'd thy ardour, and abridg'd thy breath,

469

Thy genius still shall live-thy bays shall bloom;

And Taste shall frequent point her vot'ry's tomb.

The earliest flow'rets genial spring shall shed,
By fairy hands, will o'er the spot be spread,
And oft in deep-wrapt Fancy's list'ning ear,

Soft dulcet symphonies, distinct and clear,

By shadowy minstrels pour'd, shall wake around,
While forms aerial tread the hallow'd ground.

475

But now, blest Nine, your visions fade away,

And all your gay creative views decay.

480

TRANSLATOR'S CONCLUSION.

277

Dames, knights, and steeds, are vanish'd from the

view:

Yet still vouchsafe your influence to renew.

No more the song, to fabled tales confin'd,
Delights the ear, but fails to reach the mind;
For real valour-real worth, succeed;

And ask a nobler strain-a higher meed.

But chief to Wellington devote your lays,
And echo rescued Lusitania's praise,
That scene of lofty deeds, where justly Fame
Inscribes, in deathless characters, his name.

485

490

Ye British heroes! who in battle fell,
And, ripe in glory, bade the world farewell—
O! early lost!-to love, to friendship, dear-
We mourn th' exalted lot, we must revere-

278

TRANSLATOR'S CONCLUSION.

For you, victorious laurels we entwine;

495

The patriots' and the warriors' meed combine;

Yet, while our breasts with admiration glow,

We steep in tears the off'rings we bestow.—

500

To hail your high desert the muse aspires,
And fain would pay the tribute it requires;
But weak her utmost pow'rs. Your matchless worth

Transcends the heartfelt praise it has call'd forth:

Your country's annals shall your merits save,

And grateful mem'ry triumph o'er the grave.

O, Britain!-brightest gem on Ocean's breast,

Thy gen'rous sons, with ardour unreprest,

Have ever stemm'd oppression's lawless force

Of injur'd nations still the sure resource

Still shall thy efforts, thro' succeeding time,

511

Evince the feeling soul, the thought sublime 515