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The PLEASURES
In noontide darkness by th' glimm'ring lamp,
Each muse and each fair science pin'd away15
The sordid hours: while foul, barbarian hands
Their mysteries profan'd, unstrung the lyre,
And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.
At last the Muses rose,[1] and spurn'd their bonds,
And wildly warbling scatter'd, as they flew,20
Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's[2] bow'rs
To Arno's[3] myrtle border and the shore
- ↑ At last the Muses rose, &c.] About the age of Hugh Capet, the founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of Provence were in high reputation; a sort of stroling bards or rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes and noblemen, entertaining them at festivals with music and poetry. They attempted both the epic ode and satire, and abounded in a wild and fantastic vein of fable, partly allegorical, and partly founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen wars. These were the Rudiments of the Italian poetry. But their taste and Composition must have been extremely barbarous, as we may judge by those who followed the turn of their fable in much politer times; such as Boiardo, Bernardo Tasso, Ariosto, &c.
- ↑ Valclusa.] The famous retreat of Franceso Petrarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress Laura, a lady of Avignon.
- ↑ Arno.] The river which runs by Florence, the birth place of Dante and Boccacio.
Of
