ANON., OX., 1795.

      Alas! that touching glance, that beauteous face! 
    Alas! that dignity with sweetness fraught! 
    Alas! that speech which tamed the wildest thought! 
    That roused the coward, glory to embrace! 
    Alas! that smile which in me did encase
    That fatal dart, whence here I hope for nought—­
    Oh! hadst thou earlier our regions sought,
    The world had then confess’d thy sovereign grace! 
    In thee I breathed, life’s flame was nursed by thee,
    For I was thine; and since of thee bereaved,
    Each other woe hath lost its venom’d sting: 
    My soul’s blest joy! when last thy voice on me
    In music fell, my heart sweet hope conceived;
    Alas! thy words have sped on zephyrs’ wings!

    WOLLASTON.

CANZONE I.

Che debb’ io far? che mi consigli, Amore?

HE ASKS COUNSEL OF LOVE, WHETHER HE SHOULD FOLLOW LAURA, OR STILL ENDURE EXISTENCE.

      What should I do? what, Love, dost thou advise? 
    Full time it is to die: 
    And longer than I wish have I delay’d. 
    My mistress is no more, and with her gone my heart;
    To follow her, I must need
    Break short the course of my afflictive years: 
    To view her here below
    I ne’er can hope; and irksome ’tis to wait. 
    Since that my every joy
    By her departure unto tears is turn’d,
    Of all its sweets my life has been deprived.

    Thou, Love, dost feel, therefore to thee I plain,
    How grievous is my loss;
    I know my sorrows grieve and weigh thee down,
    E’en as our common cause:  for on one rock
    We both have wreck’d our bark;
    And in one instant was its sun obscured. 
    What genius can with words
    Rightly describe my lamentable state? 
    Ah, blind, ungrateful world! 
    Thou hast indeed just cause with me to mourn;
    That beauty thou didst hold with her is fled!

    Fall’n is thy glory, and thou seest it not;
    Unworthy thou with her,
    While here she dwelt, acquaintance to maintain. 
    Or to be trodden by her saintly feet;
    For that, which is so fair,
    Should with its presence decorate the skies
    But I, a wretch who, reft
    Of her, prize nor myself nor mortal life,
    Recall her with my tears: 
    This only of my hope’s vast sum remains;
    And this alone doth still support me here.

    Ah, me! her charming face is earth become,
    Which wont unto our thought
    To picture heaven and happiness above! 
    Her viewless form inhabits paradise,
    Divested of that veil,
    Which shadow’d while below her bloom of life,
    Once more to put it on,
    And never then to cast it off again;
    When so much more divine,
    And glorious render’d, ’twill by us be view’d,
    As mortal beauty to eternal yields.