Within whose bright black orb Love’s Deity
Sharpens each dart, and tips with gold its head.
Enthroned in radiance there he sits, not blind,
Quiver’d, and naked, or by shame just veil’d,
A live, not fabled boy, with changeful wing;
Thence unto me he lends instruction kind,
And arts of verse from meaner bards conceal’d,
Thus am I taught whate’er of love I write or sing.
NOTT.
Ne’er from
the black and tempest-troubled brine
The weary mariner fair haven
sought,
As shelter I from the dark
restless thought
Whereto hot wishes spur me
and incline:
Nor mortal vision ever light
divine
Dazzled, as mine, in their
rare splendour caught
Those matchless orbs, with
pride and passion fraught,
Where Love aye haunts his
darts to gild and fine.
Him, blind no more, but quiver’d,
there I view,
Naked, except so far as shame
conceals,
A winged boy—no
fable—quick and true.
What few perceive he thence
to me reveals;
So read I clearly in her eyes’
dear light
Whate’er of love I speak,
whate’er I write.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXIX.
Questa umil fera, un cor di tigre o d’ orsa.
HE PRAYS HER EITHER TO WELCOME OR DISMISS HIM AT ONCE.
Fiercer than tiger,
savager than bear,
In human guise an angel form
appears,
Who between fear and hope,
from smiles to tears
So tortures me that doubt
becomes despair.
Ere long if she nor welcomes
me, nor frees,
But, as her wont, between
the two retains,
By the sweet poison circling
through my veins,
My life, O Love! will soon
be on its lees.
No longer can my virtue, worn
and frail
With such severe vicissitudes,
contend,
At once which burn and freeze,
make red and pale:
By flight it hopes at length
its grief to end,
As one who, hourly failing,
feels death nigh:
Powerless he is indeed who
cannot even die!
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXX.
Ite, caldi sospiri, al freddo core.
HE IMPLORES MERCY OR DEATH.
Go, my warm sighs,
go to that frozen breast,
Burst the firm ice, that charity
denies;
And, if a mortal prayer can
reach the skies,
Let death or pity give my
sorrows rest!
Go, softest thoughts!
Be all you know express’d
Of that unnoticed by her lovely
eyes,
Though fate and cruelty against
me rise,
Error at least and hope shall
be repress’d.
Tell her, though fully you
can never tell,
That, while her days calm
and serenely flow,
In darkness and anxiety I
dwell;
Love guides your flight, my
thoughts securely go,
Fortune may change, and all
may yet be well;
If my sun’s aspect not
deceives my woe.