When Lady Bolingbroke led off the Crim. Con. Dance, about thirty-five years ago, the town made a famous bustle concerning her ladyship's name, Diana. She married Topham Beauclerc, and when her first husband died, some wag made these verses: "Ah! lovely, luckless Lady Di, So oddly linked to either spouse, "And where will our amazement lead to, Can you endure any more nonsense about Dido? "Make me (says a college tutor) some verses on the gerunds di, do, dum, as a punishment for the strange grammatical fault I found in your last composition." "Here they are, Sir" When Dido's spouse to Dido would not come, Then Dido wept in silence, and was Dido dumb. Will it amuse you to read some of the unmerited praises I picked up in this charming society? When we all stood round the pianoeforte, and I felt encouraged to reply to Bertola's complimentary verses, which were certainly improvised; when he sung: "Esser mi saran fatali Cento rivali e cento; "Non in sen d' angliche mura I tuoi be' lumi al dì se schiuse; We were in a large company last night, where a beautiful woman of quality came in dressed according to the present taste, with a gauze head-dress, adjusted turban-wise, and a heron's feather; the neck wholly bare. Abate Bertola bid me look at her, and, recollecting himself a moment, made this epigram improviso: Volto e crin hai di Sultana, Perchè mai mi vien disdetto, Sodducente Mussulmana Di gittarti il fazzoletto? of which I can give no better imitation than the following: While turbaned head and plumage high A Sultaness proclaims my Cloe; Thus tempted, though no Turk, I'll try The handkerchief you scorn — to throw ye. This is however a weak specimen of his powers, whose charming fables have so completely, in my mind, surpassed all that has ever been written in that way since La Fontaine. I am strongly tempted to give one little story, and translate it too: Una lucertoletta Mentre tra noi si serba Di voi memoria viva; L' anfibio rè dormiva Puoi cortesi stimarli Se dormon mentre parli. Walking full many a weary mile, And thus began: "How fat, how fair, I've travelled far to find your coast, But sure the labor was not lost, The honor of the lizard blood Was never better understood." Th' amphibious prince, who slept content, At this expression raised his head, Her history of toils subdued, Altro non sa dir l' animo mio, Ch' addio, gran donna! eccelsa, donna, addio ! RÓNDO. Ne' viaggi tuoi rammentati D'un fido servidor ; Non trovasi di te. Conservami l'amico L'amato tuo consorte, Potrà violar mia fè. VERSES ON BUFFON. WHILE we were daily receiving some tender adieux from our Milanese friends, the famous Buffon died, and changed the conversation. He was blind a few days before his death, and occasioned this epigram: "Ah! s'il est vrai que Buffon perd les yeux, Que le jour se refuse au foyer des lumières : The Abate Bossi translated it thus: — "Ah! s'è ver che Buffon cieco diventa, This last of course was done by your own little friend, who was careful to preserve a power over her own language, although beginning almost to think in Italian, by such constant use. |