In truth methought I read thy whispers mild
When fondly love a pair;Though prison'd in the dungeon's night,
The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,
Entranced by thy sight!
He with this was not content,
Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
Who omnipotence can claim.
Ah, o'er ev'ry plant they rush!Ah, their cruel footsteps crushAll the flowers that fill their path!Who will dare to stem their wrath?
Thy pity imploring,Thou help to the cheerless,In glory so peerless!
Straightway to their fiery grave.Then hears she the priests and the funeral song,Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng:"Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?"
Bore in his tube the light.
Noisome insectsHere are engender'd;Fatal darknessVeils their malice.
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