MACGREGOR.
Is this the nest
in which her wings of gold,
Of gold and purple plume,
my phoenix laid?
How flutter’d my fond
heart beneath their shade!
But now its sighs proclaim
that dwelling cold:
Sweet source! from which my
bliss, my bane, have roll’d,
Where is that face, in living
light array’d,
That burn’d me, yet
my sole enjoyment made?
Unparallel’d on earth,
the heavens now hold
Thee bless’d!—but
I am left wretched, alone!
Yet ever in my grief return
to see
And honour this sweet place,
though thou art gone.
A black night veils the hills,
whence rising free
Thou took’st thy heavenward
flight! Ah! when they shone
In morning radiance, it was
all from thee!
MOREHEAD.
SONNET LIV.
Mai non vedranno le mie luci asciutte.
TO THE MEMORY OF GIACOMO COLONNA, WHO DIED BEFORE PETRARCH COULD REPLY TO A LETTER OF HIS.
Ne’er shall
I see again with eyes unwet,
Or with the sure powers of
a tranquil mind,
Those characters where Love
so brightly shined,
And his own hand affection
seem’d to set;
Spirit! amid earth’s
strifes unconquer’d yet,
Breathing such sweets from
heaven which now has shrined,
As once more to my wandering
verse has join’d
The style which Death had
led me to forget.
Another work, than my young
leaves more bright,
I thought to show: what
envying evil star
Snatch’d thee, my noble
treasure, thus from me?
So soon who hides thee from
my fond heart’s sight,
And from thy praise my loving
tongue would bar?
My soul has rest, sweet sigh!
alone in thee.
MACGREGOR.
Oh! ne’er
shall I behold with tearless eye
Or tranquil soul those characters
of thine,
In which affection doth so
brightly shine,
And charity’s own hand
I can descry!
Blest soul! that could this
earthly strife defy,
Thy sweets instilling from
thy home divine,
Thou wakest in me the tone
which once was mine,
To sing my rhymes Death’s
power did long deny.
With these, my brow’s
young leaves, I fondly dream’d
Another work than this had
greeted thee:
What iron planet envied thus
our love?
My treasure! veil’d
ere age had darkly gleam’d;
Thou—whom my song
records—my heart doth see;
Thou wakest my sigh, and sighing,
rest I prove.
WOLLASTON.
CANZONE III.
Standomi un giorno solo alla finestra.
UNDER VARIOUS ALLEGORIES HE PAINTS THE VIRTUE, BEAUTY, AND UNTIMELY DEATH OF LAURA.