From fire to frost, from timorous to bold,
In grief to languish or with hope to yearn.
Out of his tyrant hands who harms and heals,
Erewhile who made in it such havoc sore,
My heart the bitter-sweet of freedom feels.
And to the Lord whom, thankful, I adore,
The heavens who ruleth merely with his brow,
I turn life-weary, if not satiate, now.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET LXXXV.
Tennemi Amor anni ventuno ardendo.
HE CONFESSES AND REGRETS HIS SINS, AND PRAYS GOD TO SAVE HIM FROM ETERNAL DEATH.
Love held me one
and twenty years enchain’d,
His flame was joy—for
hope was in my grief!
For ten more years I wept
without relief,
When Laura with my heart,
to heaven attain’d.
Now weary grown, my life I
had arraign’d
That in its error, check’d
(to my belief)
Blest virtue’s seeds—now,
in my yellow leaf,
I grieve the misspent years,
existence stain’d.
Alas! it might have sought
a brighter goal,
In flying troublous thoughts,
and winning peace;
O Father! I repentant
seek thy throne:
Thou, in this temple hast
enshrined my soul,
Oh, bless me yet, and grant
its safe release!
Unjustified—my
sin I humbly own.
WOLLASTON.
SONNET LXXXVI.
I’ vo piangendo i miei passati tempi.
HE HUMBLY CONFESSES THE ERRORS OF HIS PAST LIFE, AND PRAYS FOR DIVINE GRACE.
Weeping, I still
revolve the seasons flown
In vain idolatry of mortal
things;
Not soaring heavenward; though
my soul had wings
Which might, perchance, a
glorious flight have shown.
O Thou, discerner of the guilt
I own,
Giver of life immortal, King
of Kings,
Heal Thou the wounded heart
which conscience stings:
It looks for refuge only to
thy throne.
Thus, although life was warfare
and unrest,
Be death the haven of peace;
and if my day
Was vain—yet make
the parting moment blest!
Through this brief remnant
of my earthly way,
And in death’s billows,
be thy hand confess’d;
Full well Thou know’st,
this hope is all my stay!
SHEPPARD.
Still do I mourn
the years for aye gone by,
Which on a mortal love I lavished,
Nor e’er to soar my
pinions balanced,
Though wing’d perchance
no humble height to fly.
Thou, Dread Invisible, who
from on high
Look’st down upon this
suffering erring head,
Oh, be thy succour to my frailty
sped,
And with thy grace my indigence
supply!
My life in storms and warfare
doom’d to spend,
Harbour’d in peace that
life may I resign:
It’s course though idle,
pious be its end!
Oh, for the few brief days,
which yet are mine,
And for their close, thy guiding
hand extend!
Thou know’st on Thee
alone my heart’s firm hopes recline.