MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCX.

Chi vuol veder quantunque puo Natura.

WHOEVER BEHOLDS HER MUST ADMIT THAT HIS PRAISES CANNOT REACH HER PERFECTION.

      Who wishes to behold the utmost might
    Of Heaven and Nature, on her let him gaze,
    Sole sun, not only in my partial lays,
    But to the dark world, blind to virtue’s light! 
    And let him haste to view; for death in spite
    The guilty leaves, and on the virtuous preys;
    For this loved angel heaven impatient stays;
    And mortal charms are transient as they’re bright! 
    Here shall he see, if timely he arrive,
    Virtue and beauty, royalty of mind,
    In one bless’d union join’d.  Then shall he say
    That vainly my weak rhymes to praise her strive,
    Whose dazzling beams have struck my genius blind:—­
    He must for ever weep if he delay!

    CHARLEMONT.

      Stranger, whose curious glance delights to trace
    What Heaven and Nature join’d to frame most rare;
    Here view mine eyes’ bright sun—­a sight so fair,
    That purblind worlds, like me, enamour’d gaze. 
    But speed thy step; for Death with rapid pace
    Pursues the best, nor makes the bad his care: 
    Call’d to the skies through yon blue fields of air,
    On buoyant plume the mortal grace obeys. 
    Then haste, and mark in one rich form combined
    (And, for that dazzling lustre dimm’d mine eye,
    Chide the weak efforts of my trembling lay)
    Each charm of person, and each power of mind—­
    But, slowly if thy lingering foot comply,
    Grief and repentant shame shall mourn the brief delay.

    WRANGHAM.

SONNET CCXI.

Qual paura ho, quando mi torna a mente.

MELANCHOLY RECOLLECTIONS AND PRESAGES.

      O Laura! when my tortured mind
    The sad remembrance bears
    Of that ill-omen’d day,
    When, victim to a thousand doubts and fears,
    I left my soul behind,
    That soul that could not from its partner stray;
    In nightly visions to my longing eyes
    Thy form oft seems to rise,
    As ever thou wert seen,
    Fair like the rose, ’midst paling flowers the queen,
    But loosely in the wind,
    Unbraided wave the ringlets of thy hair,
    That late with studious care,
    I saw with pearls and flowery garlands twined: 
    On thy wan lip, no cheerful smile appears;
    Thy beauteous face a tender sadness wears;
    Placid in pain thou seem’st, serene in grief,
    As conscious of thy fate, and hopeless of relief! 
    Cease, cease, presaging heart!  O angels, deign
    To hear my fervent prayer, that all my fears be vain!

    WOODHOUSELEE.