NOTT.

SONNET XI.

Se la mia vita dall’ aspro tormento.

HE HOPES THAT TIME WILL RENDER HER MORE MERCIFUL.

      If o’er each bitter pang, each hidden throe
    Sadly triumphant I my years drag on,
    Till even the radiance of those eyes is gone,
    Lady, which star-like now illume thy brow;
    And silver’d are those locks of golden glow,
    And wreaths and robes of green aside are thrown,
    And from thy cheek those hues of beauty flown,
    Which check’d so long the utterance of my woe,
    Haply my bolder tongue may then reveal
    The bosom’d annals of my heart’s fierce fire,
    The martyr-throbs that now in night I veil: 
    And should the chill Time frown on young Desire. 
    Still, still some late remorse that breast may feel,
    And heave a tardy sigh—­ere love with life expire.

    WRANGHAM.

      Lady, if grace to me so long be lent
    From love’s sharp tyranny and trials keen,
    Ere my last days, in life’s far vale, are seen,
    To know of thy bright eyes the lustre spent,
    The fine gold of thy hair with silver sprent,
    Neglected the gay wreaths and robes of green,
    Pale, too, and thin the face which made me, e’en
    ’Gainst injury, slow and timid to lament: 
    Then will I, for such boldness love would give,
    Lay bare my secret heart, in martyr’s fire
    Years, days, and hours that yet has known to live;
    And, though the time then suit not fair desire,
    At least there may arrive to my long grief,
    Too late of tender sighs the poor relief.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET XII.

Quando fra l’ altre donne ad ora ad ora.

THE BEAUTY OF LAURA LEADS HIM TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF THE SUPREME GOOD.

      Throned on her angel brow, when Love displays
    His radiant form among all other fair,
    Far as eclipsed their choicest charms appear,
    I feel beyond its wont my passion blaze. 
    And still I bless the day, the hour, the place,
    When first so high mine eyes I dared to rear;
    And say, “Fond heart, thy gratitude declare,
    That then thou had’st the privilege to gaze. 
    ’Twas she inspired the tender thought of love,
    Which points to heaven, and teaches to despise
    The earthly vanities that others prize: 
    She gave the soul’s light grace, which to the skies
    Bids thee straight onward in the right path move;
    Whence buoy’d by hope e’en, now I soar to worlds above.”

    WRANGHAM.