Who show’d
such infinite providence and skill
In his eternal government
divine,
Who launch’d the spheres,
gave sun and moon to shine,
And brightest wonders the
dark void to fill;
On earth who came the Scriptures
to maintain,
Which for long years the truth
had buried yet,
Took John and Peter from the
fisher’s net
And gave to each his part
in the heavenly reign.
He for his birth fair Rome
preferr’d not then,
But lowly Bethlehem; thus
o’er proudest state
He ever loves humility to
raise.
Now rises from small spot
like sun again,
Whom Nature hails, the place
grows bright and great
Which birth so heavenly to
our earth displays.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET V.
Quand’ io movo i sospiri a chiamar voi.
HE PLAYS UPON THE NAME LAURETA OR LAURA.
In sighs when
I outbreathe your cherish’d name,
That name which love has writ
upon my heart,
LAUd instantly upon my doting
tongue,
At the first thought of its
sweet sound, is heard;
Your REgal state, which I
encounter next,
Doubles my valour in that
high emprize:
But TAcit ends the word; your
praise to tell
Is fitting load for better
backs than mine.
Thus all who call you, by
the name itself,
Are taught at once to LAUd
and to REvere,
O worthy of all reverence
and esteem!
Save that perchance Apollo
may disdain
That mortal tongue of his
immortal boughs
Should ever so presume as
e’en to speak.
ANON.
SONNET VI.
Si traviato e ’l folle mio desio.
OF HIS FOOLISH PASSION FOR LAURA.
So wayward now
my will, and so unwise,
To follow her who turns from
me in flight,
And, from love’s fetters
free herself and light,
Before my slow and shackled
motion flies,
That less it lists, the more
my sighs and cries
Would point where passes the
safe path and right,
Nor aught avails to check
or to excite,
For Love’s own nature
curb and spur defies.
Thus, when perforce the bridle
he has won,
And helpless at his mercy
I remain,
Against my will he speeds
me to mine end
’Neath yon cold laurel,
whose false boughs upon
Hangs the harsh fruit, which,
tasted, spreads the pain
I sought to stay, and mars
where it should mend.
MACGREGOR.
My tameless will
doth recklessly pursue
Her, who, unshackled by love’s
heavy chain,
Flies swiftly from its chase,
whilst I in vain
My fetter’d journey
pantingly renew;
The safer track I offer to
its view,
But hopeless is my power to
restrain,
It rides regardless of the
spur or rein;
Love makes it scorn the hand