Dreading and deprecating any such forcible expression of his ire by the outraged author, Mr. W. S. Rose sent him the poetical epistle which we subjoin.
“My Wife and I are certain you are better Than you’re reported, reasoning from your letter; In which you’ve blown your enemy to bits (I Think) and deservedly, my dear Panizzi: But do not in your honest rage outrun The rule the ghostly king enjoined his son; Tho’ you “speak daggers—use none”—this I know You’d scarcely do—I mean don’t use your toe, Or break his head, or pull him by the nose. Always yours truly, W. S. ROSE.”
Panizzi himself seems to have possessed somewhat of a poetic faculty, if we may judge by the sole specimen extant of his skill in the art—a translation of one of Moore’s songs, “Her last words at parting.” In confirmation of this, it may be observed that the canon before assumed in speaking of Lady Dacre on Cary, namely, that the translator should conform to the style of the verse in the original, has here been overlooked. For this neglect there may be cogent reasons. It would be difficult to adapt Moore’s anapæstic lines to Italian verse in the same measure, and, when adapted they would in all probability, prove inelegant, and perhaps unnatural; even were this not the case, liberties which would not be admissible with an important poem, might very pardonably be taken with the trifling composition of Moore.
The stanzas set out below are neatly turned, and convey the idea of the original in elegant and musical versification:—
L’ultime sue parole Quando mi disse addio Scordar giammai poss ’io? Meco saranno ognor;
Qual melodioso accento Che l’ alma ne consola Benchè quel suon s’invola Nè piu risuoni allor.
Venga l’avversa sorte, M’ oltraggierà, ma invano; Sempre il mio talismano Sarà quel suon d’amor.
“Rammenta nell’ assenza, Fra le ritorte e pene, Un cor che ti vuol bene Sol per te batte ancor.”
Da dolce fonte in oltra Il pellegrino errante, Per un sol breve istante Gusta del suo sapor.
Ma si provede intanto Dell’ acque ricche e care Di quelle goccie rare Che danno a lui valor.
Così al rigor del fato Nell’ eremo della vita, La fonte mia gradita Sarà quel suon d’ amor.
“Rammenta nell’ assenza, Fra le ritorte e pene, Un cor che ti vuol bene Per te sol batte ancor.”
