on the ground
    I knew for hers, who—­be my judgment sound—­
    Deserves in bliss immortal to abide. 
    I whisper’d to my heart, Nay, wherefore fear? 
    But scarcely did the thought arise within
    Than the bright rays in which I burn were here. 
    As thunders with the lightning-flash begin,
    So was I struck at once both blind and mute,
    By her dear dazzling eyes and sweet salute.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXXXVIII.

La donna che ’l mio cor nel viso porta.

HER KIND AND GENTLE SALUTATION THRILLS HIS HEART WITH PLEASURE.

      She, in her face who doth my gone heart wear,
    As lone I sate ’mid love-thoughts dear and true,
    Appear’d before me:  to show honour due,
    I rose, with pallid brow and reverent air. 
    Soon as of such my state she was aware,
    She turn’d on me with look so soft and new
    As, in Jove’s greatest fury, might subdue
    His rage, and from his hand the thunders tear. 
    I started:  on her further way she pass’d
    Graceful, and speaking words I could not brook,
    Nor of her lustrous eyes the loving look. 
    When on that dear salute my thoughts are cast,
    So rich and varied do my pleasures flow,
    No pain I feel, nor evil fear below.

    MACGREGOR.

[Illustration:  SOLITUDES OF VAUCLUSE.]

SONNET LXXXIX.

Sennuccio, i’ vo’ che sappi in qual maniera.

HE RELATES TO HIS FRIEND SENNUCCIO HIS UNHAPPINESS, AND THE VARIED MOOD
OF LAURA.

      To thee, Sennuccio, fain would I declare,
    To sadden life, what wrongs, what woes I find: 
    Still glow my wonted flames; and, though resign’d
    To Laura’s fickle will, no change I bear. 
    All humble now, then haughty is my fair;
    Now meek, then proud; now pitying, then unkind: 
    Softness and tenderness now sway her mind;
    Then do her looks disdain and anger wear. 
    Here would she sweetly sing, there sit awhile,
    Here bend her step, and there her step retard;
    Here her bright eyes my easy heart ensnared;
    There would she speak fond words, here lovely smile;
    There frown contempt;—­such wayward cares I prove
    By night, by day; so wills our tyrant Love!

    ANON. 1777.

      Alas, Sennuccio! would thy mind could frame
    What now I suffer! what my life’s drear reign;
    Consumed beneath my heart’s continued pain,
    At will she guides me—­yet am I the same. 
    Now humble—­then doth pride her soul inflame;
    Now harsh—­then gentle; cruel—­kind again;
    Now all reserve—­then borne on frolic’s vein;
    Disdain alternates with a milder claim. 
    Here once she sat, and there so sweetly sang;