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William Cowper - Sonnet III. Canzone. (Translated From Milton)
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They mock my toil--the nymphs and am`rous swains--
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,
Love-songs in language that thou little know`st?
How dar`st thou risque to sing these foreign strains?
Say truly. Find`st not oft thy purpose cross`d,
And that thy fairest flow`rs, Here, fade and die?
Then with pretence of admiration high--
Thee other shores expect, and other tides,
Rivers on whose grassy sides
Her deathless laurel-leaf with which to bind 
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides;
Why then this burthen, better far declin`d?
   Speak, Canzone! for me.--The Fair One said who guides
My willing heart, and all my Fancy`s flights,
"This is the language in which Love delights."
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