in my grief: 
    “Whence comes it that existence thou canst know
    When from thy spirit thou dost dwell entire?”
    Love, holy Love, my heart then answers brief: 
    “Such privilege I do on all bestow
    Who feed my flame with nought of earthly fire!”

    WOLLASTON.

SONNET XIV.

Movesi ’l vecchierel canuto e bianco.

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A PILGRIM.

      The palmer bent, with locks of silver gray,
    Quits the sweet spot where he has pass’d his years,
    Quits his poor family, whose anxious fears
    Paint the loved father fainting on his way;
    And trembling, on his aged limbs slow borne,
    In these last days that close his earthly course,
    He, in his soul’s strong purpose, finds new force,
    Though weak with age, though by long travel worn: 
    Thus reaching Rome, led on by pious love,
    He seeks the image of that Saviour Lord
    Whom soon he hopes to meet in bliss above: 
    So, oft in other forms I seek to trace
    Some charm, that to my heart may yet afford
    A faint resemblance of thy matchless grace.

    DACRE.

      As parts the aged pilgrim, worn and gray,
    From the dear spot his life where he had spent,
    From his poor family by sorrow rent,
    Whose love still fears him fainting in decay: 
    Thence dragging heavily, in life’s last day,
    His suffering frame, on pious journey bent,
    Pricking with earnest prayers his good intent,
    Though bow’d with years, and weary with the way,
    He reaches Rome, still following his desire
    The likeness of his Lord on earth to see,
    Whom yet he hopes in heaven above to meet;
    So I, too, seek, nor in the fond quest tire,
    Lady, in other fair if aught there be
    That faintly may recall thy beauties sweet.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET XV.

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso.

HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.

      Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain,
    And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs,
    When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes,
    For whom the world’s allurements I disdain,
    But when I see that gentle smile again,
    That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise,
    It pours on every sense a blest surprise;
    Lost in delight is all my torturing pain. 
    Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies: 
    When all thy soothing charms my fate removes
    At thy departure from my ravish’d view. 
    To that sole refuge its firm faith approves
    My spirit from my ravish’d bosom flies,
    And wing’d with fond remembrance follows you.

    CAPEL LOFFT.