HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS PASSION [James Caulfeild's Translation] Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed When early youth my mazy wanderings led, Fondly diverse from what I now appear, Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear, From those by whom my various style is read, I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled, Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear. But now I clearly see that of mankind Long time I was the tale: whence bitter thought And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem; While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find, And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought, That the world's joy is but a flitting dream. [John Nott's Translation] O ye, who list in scatter'd verse the sound Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed, When I, by youthful error first misled, Unlike my present self in heart was found; Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred; If e'er true love its influence o'er ye shed, Oh! let your pity be with pardon crown'd. But now full well I see how to the crowd For length of time I proved a public jest: E'en by myself my folly is allow'd: And of my vanity the fruit is shame, Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest, That worldly pleasure is a pa**ing dream. [Barbarina Brand's Translation] Ye, who may listen to each idle strain Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was fed In life's first morn, by youthful error led, (Far other then from what I now remain!) That thus in varying numbers I complain, Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred, If any in love's lore be practisèd, His pardon,—e'en his pity I may obtain: But now aware that to mankind my name Too long has been a bye-word and a scorn, I blush before my own severer thought; Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame, And deep repentance, of the knowledge born That all we value in this world is naught.