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The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 46, Pages 441 to 442
ARIOSTO TO HIS MISTRESS.
[Ariosto is supposed to have written his celebrated Poem at the command of some unknown beauty. On his inkstand was a Cupid with the finger on his lips.]
"He who told
Of fair Olympia, loved and left of old."
I send thee, my beloved one,
Another song of mine;
Methinks the sweetest I have won
To offer at thy shrine.
I pray thee borrow tears from sleep
For young Olympia's woe;
As angels pause in heaven to weep
O'er grief they cannot know.
Weep for the fate which is to thee
But like a troubled dream;
Thou knowest not how hearts can be
Wrecked on life's faithless stream.
Ah! some are born to love and pine,
And some to love and reign;
Brightest—imperial rule is thine
Within love's wide domain.
Thou art a queen in thy command,
Whose sway is smiles and sighs;
The languid wave of that white hand
The sceptre's state supplies.
I see thee now in that fair room
Where thou wilt read this scroll:
The faint lamp scarcely breaks the gloom
Which wraps the haunted whole,
