Yes, thanks, great thanks to you! 
    From time to time I feel through all my soul
    A sweetness so unusual and new,
    That every marring care
    And gloomy vision thence begins to roll,
    So that, from all, one only thought is there. 
    That—­that alone consoles me life to bear: 
    And could but this my joy endure awhile,
    Nought earthly could, methinks, then match my state. 
    Yet such great honour might
    Envy in others, pride in me excite: 
    Thus still it seems the fate
    Of man, that tears should chase his transient smile: 
    And, checking thus my burning wishes, I
    Back to myself return, to muse and sigh.

    The amorous anxious thought,
    Which reigns within you, flashes so on me,
    That from my heart it draws all other joy;
    Whence works and words so wrought
    Find scope and issue, that I hope to be
    Immortal made, although all flesh must die. 
    At your approach ennui and anguish fly;
    With your departure they return again: 
    But memory, on the past which doting dwells,
    Denies them entrance then,
    So that no outward act their influence tells;
    Thus, if in me is nurst
    Any good fruit, from you the seed came first: 
    To you, if such appear, the praise is due,
    Barren myself till fertilized by you.

    Thy strains appease me not, O song! 
    But rather fire me still that theme to sing
    Where centre all my thoughts—­therefore, ere long,
    A sister ode to join thee will I bring.

    MACGREGOR.

CANZONE IX.

Gentil mia donna, i’ veggio.

IN PRAISE OF LAURA’S EYES:  THEY LEAD HIM TO CONTEMPLATE THE PATH OF LIFE.

      Lady, in your bright eyes
    Soft glancing round, I mark a holy light,
    Pointing the arduous way that heavenward lies;
    And to my practised sight,
    From thence, where Love enthroned, asserts his might,
    Visibly, palpably, the soul beams forth. 
    This is the beacon guides to deeds of worth,
    And urges me to seek the glorious goal;
    This bids me leave behind the vulgar throng,
    Nor can the human tongue
    Tell how those orbs divine o’er all my soul
    Exert their sweet control,
    Both when hoar winter’s frosts around are flung,
    And when the year puts on his youth again,
    Jocund, as when this bosom first knew pain.

    Oh! if in that high sphere,
    From whence the Eternal Ruler of the stars
    In this excelling work declared his might,
    All be as fair and bright,
    Loose me from forth my darksome prison here,
    That to so glorious life the passage bars;
    Then, in the wonted tumult of my breast,
    I hail boon Nature, and the genial day
    That gave me being, and a