"Se in man prender non soglio unqua la lima Del buon giudicio, e ricercando intorno Con occhio disdegnoso, io non adorno Nè tergo la mia rozza incolta rima, Nasce perchè non è mia cura prima Procacciar di ciò lode, o fuggir scorno; Nè che dopo il mio lieto al ciel ritorno Viva ella al mondo in più onorata stima. Ma dal foco divin, che 'l mio intelletto Sua mercè infiamma, convien che escan fuore Mal mio grado talor queste faville. E se alcuna di loro un gentil core Avvien che scaldi, mille volte e mille Ringraziar debbo il mio felice errore." Which may be thus Englished with tolerable accuracy of meaning, if not with much poetical elegance.[184] "If in these rude and artless songs of mine I never take the file in hand, nor try With curious care, and nice fastidious eye, To deck and polish each uncultured line, 'Tis that it makes small portion of my aim To merit praise, or 'scape scorn's blighting breath; Or that my verse, when I have welcomed death, May live rewarded with the meed of fame. But it must be that Heaven's own gracious gift, Which with its breath divine inspires my soul, Strike forth these sparks, unbidden by my will. And should one such but haply serve to lift One gentle heart, I thankful reach my goal, And, faulty tho' the strain, my every wish fulfil." [Sidenote: SPECIMENS OF SONNETS.] Again, in another sonnet, of which the first eight lines are perhaps as favourable a specimen of a really poetical image as can be found throughout her writings, she repeats the same profession of "pouring an unpremeditated lay." "Qual digiuno augellin, che vede ed ode Batter l'ali alla madre intorno, quando Gli reca il nutrimento; ond egli amando Il cibo e quella, si rallegra e gode, E dentro al nido suo si strugge e rode Per desio di seguirla anch'ei volando, E la ringrazia in tal modo cantando, Che par ch'oltre 'l poter la lingua snode; Tal'io qualor il caldo raggio e vivo Del divin sole, onde nutrisco il core Più del usato lucido lampeggia, Muovo la penna, spinta dall'amore Interno; e senza ch'io stessa m'avveggia Di quel ch'io dico le sue lodi scrivo." Which in English runs pretty exactly as follows:— "Like to a hungry nestling bird, that hears And sees the fluttering of his mother's wings Bearing him food, whence, loving what she brings And her no less, a joyful mien he wears, And struggles in the nest, and vainly stirs, Wishful to follow her free wanderings, And thanks her in such fashion, while he sings, That the free voice beyond his strength appears; So I, whene'er the warm and living glow Of him my sun divine, that feeds my heart, Shine's brighter than its wont, take up the pen, Urged by the force of my deep love; and so Unconscious of the words unkempt by art I write his praises o'er and o'er again."