Thou little chamber’d haven to the woes
    Whose daily tempest overwhelms my soul! 
    From shame, I in Heaven’s light my grief control;
    Thou art its fountain, which each night o’erflows. 
    My couch! that oft hath woo’d me to repose,
    ’Mid sorrows vast—­Love’s iv’ried hand hath stole
    Griefs turgid stream, which o’er thee it doth roll,
    That hand which good on all but me bestows. 
    Not only quiet and sweet rest I fly,
    But from myself and thought, whose vain pursuit
    On pinion’d fancy doth my soul transport: 
    The multitude I did so long defy,
    Now as my hope and refuge I salute,
    So much I tremble solitude to court.

    WOLLASTON.

      Room! which to me hast been a port and shield
    From life’s rude daily tempests for long years,
    Now the full fountain of my nightly tears
    Which in the day I bear for shame conceal’d: 
    Bed! which, in woes so great, wert wont to yield
    Comfort and rest, an urn of doubts and fears
    Love o’er thee now from those fair hands uprears,
    Cruel and cold to me alone reveal’d. 
    But e’en than solitude and rest, I flee
    More from myself and melancholy thought,
    In whose vain quest my soul has heavenward flown. 
    The crowd long hateful, hostile e’en to me,
    Strange though it sound, for refuge have I sought,
    Such fear have I to find myself alone!

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CXCIX.

Lasso!  Amor mi trasporta ov’ io non voglio.

HE EXCUSES HIMSELF FOR VISITING LAURA TOO OFTEN, AND LOVING HER TOO MUCH.

      Alas!  Love bears me where I would not go,
    And well I see how duty is transgress’d,
    And how to her who, queen-like, rules my breast,
    More than my wont importunate I grow. 
    Never from rocks wise sailor guarded so
    His ship of richest merchandise possess’d,
    As evermore I shield my bark distress’d
    From shocks of her hard pride that would o’erthrow
    Torrents of tears, fierce winds of infinite sighs
    —­For, in my sea, nights horrible and dark
    And pitiless winter reign—­have driven my bark,
    Sail-less and helm-less where it shatter’d lies,
    Or, drifting at the mercy of the main,
    Trouble to others bears, distress to me and pain.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CC.

Amor, io fallo e veggio il mio fallire.

HE PRAYS LOVE, WHO IS THE CAUSE OF HIS OFFENCES, TO OBTAIN PARDON FOR HIM.

      O Love, I err, and I mine error own,
    As one who burns, whose fire within him lies
    And aggravates his grief, while reason dies,
    With its own martyrdom almost o’erthrown. 
    I strove mine ardent longing to restrain,