你这苍穹中最小的童女，在上帝最后的擢升中被造;你的掌心，刚从天堂里摘下来，枝繁叶茂，枝繁叶茂，绿油油，比其他的树都要高大上;你也许是附在邻近的某颗星上，在我们的头顶上飘荡，或者，你的队伍固定而整齐，随着天堂的庄严步伐而移动;或者，你被召唤到更崇高的福佑中，与撒拉芬一起踏过深渊:无论你所在的地方是什么幸福的地方，把你的天国之歌歇一歇吧;你将有足够的时间来唱神圣的赞美诗，因为天堂永恒的一年是你的。那么，听一个凡人的缪斯朗诵你的赞美吧，不要用卑贱的诗句;不过，当你的诗初结时，你自己的声音也曾在这里练习过，使你在那里成为一个受欢迎的房客;当我还是个年轻的见习者，天堂的候选者。如果你的心灵是受诱拐的，那么，从一个如此优秀的血统中找到一个如此迷人的灵魂，我们也就不足为奇了;你的父亲被注入了你的血液，你就这样出生在悦耳的血脉里，一个早期的、丰富的、未枯竭的静脉。但是，如果你先前的灵魂最初是由无数的人组成的，它就会穿过希腊或拉丁桂冠所戴的所有伟大的诗人，最后是萨福，曾经是。 If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind! Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore: Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find, Than was the beauteous frame she left behind: Return, to fill or mend the quire of thy celestial kind. May we presume to say, that, at thy birth, New joy was sprung in heaven as well as here on earth? For sure the milder planets did combine On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, And even the most malicious were in trine. Thy brother-angels at thy birth Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high, That all the people of the sky Might know a poetess was born on earth; And then, if ever, mortal ears Had heard the music of the spheres. And if no clust'ring swarm of bees On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, 'Twas that such vulgar miracles Heaven had not leisure to renew: For all the blest fraternity of love Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above. O gracious God! how far have we Profan'd thy heavenly gift of Poesy! Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debas'd to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordain'd above, For tongues of angels and for hymns of love! O wretched we! why were we hurried down This lubrique and adulterate age (Nay, added fat pollutions of our own), To increase the streaming ordures of the stage? What can we say to excuse our second fall? Let this thy Vestal, Heaven, atone for all! Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd, Unmixt with foreign filth, and undefil'd; Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child. Art she had none, yet wanted none, For Nature did that want supply: So rich in treasures of her own, She might our boasted stores defy: Such noble vigour did her verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born. Her morals, too, were in her bosom bred, By great examples daily fed, What in the best of books, her father's life, she read. And to be read herself she need not fear; Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear, Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. &nb