While on my heart the worms consuming prey’d
    Of Love, and I with all his fire was caught;
    The steps of my fair wild one still I sought
    To trace o’er desert mountains as she stray’d;
    And much I dared in bitter strains to upbraid
    Both Love and her, whom I so cruel thought;
    But rude was then my genius, and untaught
    My rhymes, while weak and new the ideas play’d. 
    Dead is that fire; and cold its ashes lie
    In one small tomb; which had it still grown on
    E’en to old age, as oft by others felt,
    Arm’d with the power of rhyme, which wretched I
    E’en now disclaim, my riper strains had won
    E’en stones to burst, and in soft sorrows melt.

    ANON., OX., 1795.

SONNET XXXVII.

Anima bella, da quel nodo sciolta.

HE PRAYS LAURA TO LOOK DOWN UPON HIM FROM HEAVEN.

      Bright spirit, from those earthly bonds released,
    The loveliest ever wove in Nature’s loom,
    From thy bright skies compassionate the gloom
    Shrouding my life that once of joy could taste! 
    Each false suggestion of thy heart has ceased,
    That whilom bade thee stem disdain assume;
    Now, all secure, heaven’s habitant become,
    List to my sighs, thy looks upon me cast. 
    Mark the huge rock, whence Sorga’s waters rise;
    And see amidst its waves and borders stray
    One fed by grief and memory that ne’er dies
    But from that spot, oh! turn thy sight away
    Where I first loved, where thy late dwelling lies;
    That in thy friends thou nought ungrateful may’st survey!

    NOTT.

      Blest soul, that, loosen’d from those bands, art flown—­
    Bands than which Nature never form’d more fair,
    Look down and mark how changed to carking care
    From gladdest thoughts I pass my days unknown. 
    Each false opinion from my heart is gone,
    That once to me made thy sweet sight appear
    Most harsh and bitter; now secure from fear
    Here turn thine eyes, and listen to my moan. 
    Turn to this rock whence Sorga’s waters rise,
    And mark, where through the mead its waters flow,
    One who of thee still mindful ceaseless sighs: 
    But leave me there unsought for, where to glow
    Our flames began, and where thy mansion lies,
    Lest thou in thine shouldst see what grieved thee so.

    ANON., OX., 1795.

SONNET XXXVIII.

Quel sol che mi mostrava il cammin destro.

LOVE AND HE SEEK LAURA, BUT FIND NO TRACES OF HER EXCEPT IN THE SKY.