THOUGH HE IS UNHAPPY, HIS LOVE REMAINS EVER UNCHANGED.

      My sixteenth year of sighs its course has run,
    I stand alone, already on the brow
    Where Age descends:  and yet it seems as now
    My time of trial only were begun. 
    ’Tis sweet to love, and good to be undone;
    Though life be hard, more days may Heaven allow
    Misfortune to outlive:  else Death may bow
    The bright head low my loving praise that won. 
    Here am I now who fain would be elsewhere;
    More would I wish and yet no more I would;
    I could no more and yet did all I could: 
    And new tears born of old desires declare
    That still I am as I was wont to be,
    And that a thousand changes change not me.

    MACGREGOR.

CANZONE XII.

Una donna piu bella assai che ’l sole.

GLORY AND VIRTUE.

      A lady, lovelier, brighter than the sun,
    Like him superior o’er all time and space,
    Of rare resistless grace,
    Me to her train in early life had won: 
    She, from that hour, in act, and word and thought,
    —­For still the world thus covets what is rare—­
    In many ways though brought
    Before my search, was still the same coy fair: 
    For her alone my plans, from what they were,
    Grew changed, since nearer subject to her eyes;
    Her love alone could spur
    My young ambition to each hard emprize: 
    So, if in long-wish’d port I e’er arrive,
    I hope, for aye through her,
    When others deem me dead, in honour to survive.

    Full of first hope, burning with youthful love,
    She, at her will, as plainly now appears,
    Has led me many years,
    But for one end, my nature best to prove: 
    Oft showing me her shadow, veil, and dress,
    But never her sweet face, till I, who right
    Knew not her power to bless,
    All my green youth for these, contented quite,
    So spent, that still the memory is delight: 
    Since onward yet some glimpse of her is seen,
    I now may own, of late,
    Such as till then she ne’er for me had been,
    She shows herself, shooting through all my heart
    An icy cold so great
    That save in her dear arms it ne’er can thence depart.

    Not that in this cold fear I all did shrink,
    For still my heart was to such boldness strung
    That to her feet I clung,
    As if more rapture from her eyes to drink: 
    And she—­for now the veil was ta’en away
    Which barr’d my sight—­thus spoke me, “Friend, you see
    How fair I am, and may
    Ask, for your years, whatever fittest be.” 
    “Lady,” I said, “so long my love on thee
    Has fix’d, that now I feel myself on fire,
    What, in this state, to shun, and what desire.” 
    She, thereon, with a voice so wond’rous sweet
    And earnest look replied,
    By turns with hope and fear it made my quick heart beat:—­