here,
    But, in their stead, the fir, the beech, and pine
    On the green sward, with the fair mountain near
    Paced to and fro by poet friend of thine;
    Thus unto heaven the soul from earth is caught;
    While Philomel, who sweetly to the shade
    The livelong night her desolate lot complains,
    Fills the soft heart with many an amorous thought: 
    —­Ah! why is so rare good imperfect made
    While severed from us still my lord remains.

    MACGREGOR.

      Glorious Colonna! thou, the Latins’ hope,
    The proud supporter of our lofty name,
    Thou hold’st thy path of virtue still the same,
    Amid the thunderings of Rome’s Jove—­the Pope. 
    Not here do human structures interlope
    The fir to rival, or the pine-tree’s claim,
    The soul may revel in poetic flame
    Upon yon mountain’s green and gentle slope. 
    And thus from earth to heaven the spirit soars,
    Whilst Philomel her tale of woe repeats
    Amid the sympathising shades of night,
    Thus through man’s breast love’s current sweetly pours: 
    Yet still thine absence half the joy defeats,—­
    Alas! my friend, why dim such radiant light?

    WOLLASTON.

BALLATA I.

Lassare il velo o per sole o per ombra.

PERCEIVING HIS PASSION, LAURA’S SEVERITY INCREASES.

      Never thy veil, in sun or in the shade,
    Lady, a moment I have seen
    Quitted, since of my heart the queen
    Mine eyes confessing thee my heart betray’d
    While my enamour’d thoughts I kept conceal’d. 
    Those fond vain hopes by which I die,
    In thy sweet features kindness beam’d: 
    Changed was the gentle language of thine eye
    Soon as my foolish heart itself reveal’d;
    And all that mildness which I changeless deem’d—­
    All, all withdrawn which most my soul esteem’d. 
    Yet still the veil I must obey,
    Which, whatsoe’er the aspect of the day,
    Thine eyes’ fair radiance hides, my life to overshade.

    CAPEL LOFFT.

      Wherefore, my unkind fair one, say,
    Whether the sun fierce darts his ray,
    Or whether gloom o’erspreads the sky,
    That envious veil is ne’er thrown by;
    Though well you read my heart, and knew
    How much I long’d your charms to view? 
    While I conceal’d each tender thought,
    That my fond mind’s destruction wrought,
    Your face with pity sweetly shone;
    But, when love made my passion known,
    Your sunny locks were seen no more,
    Nor smiled your eyes as heretofore;
    Behind a jealous cloud retired
    Those beauties which I most admired. 
    And shall a veil thus rule my fate? 
    O cruel veil, that whether heat
    Or cold be felt, art doom’d to prove
    Fatal to me, shadowing the lights I love!