The wonder, high and new, that, in our days,
    Dawn’d on the world, yet would not there remain,
    Which heaven but show’d to us to snatch again
    Better to blazon its own starry ways;
    That to far times I her should paint and praise
    Love wills, who prompted first my passionate strain;
    But now wit, leisure, pen, page, ink in vain
    To the fond task a thousand times he sways. 
    My slow rhymes struggle not to life the while;
    I feel it, and whoe’er to-day below,
    Or speak or write of love will prove it so. 
    Who justly deems the truth beyond all style,
    Here silent let him muse, and sighing say,
    Blessed the eyes who saw her living day!

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET XLII.

Zefiro torna, e ’l bel tempo rimena.

RETURNING SPRING BRINGS TO HIM ONLY INCREASE OF GRIEF.

      Zephyr returns; and in his jocund train
    Brings verdure, flowers, and days serenely clear;
    Brings Progne’s twitter, Philomel’s lorn strain,
    With every bloom that paints the vernal year;
    Cloudless the skies, and smiling every plain;
    With joyance flush’d, Jove views his daughter dear;
    Love’s genial power pervades earth, air, and main;
    All beings join’d in fond accord appear. 
    But nought to me returns save sorrowing sighs,
    Forced from my inmost heart by her who bore
    Those keys which govern’d it unto the skies: 
    The blossom’d meads, the choristers of air,
    Sweet courteous damsels can delight no more;
    Each face looks savage, and each prospect drear.

    NOTT.

      The spring returns, with all her smiling train;
    The wanton Zephyrs breathe along the bowers,
    The glistening dew-drops hang on bending flowers,
    And tender green light-shadows o’er the plain: 
    And thou, sweet Philomel, renew’st thy strain,
    Breathing thy wild notes to the midnight grove: 
    All nature feels the kindling fire of love,
    The vital force of spring’s returning reign. 
    But not to me returns the cheerful spring! 
    O heart! that know’st no period to thy grief,
    Nor Nature’s smiles to thee impart relief,
    Nor change of mind the varying seasons bring: 
    She, she is gone!  All that e’er pleased before,
    Adieu! ye birds ye flowers, ye fields, that charm no more!

    WOODHOUSELEE.

      Returning Zephyr the sweet season brings,
    With flowers and herbs his breathing train among,
    And Progne twitters, Philomela sings,
    Leading the many-colour’d spring along;
    Serene the sky, and fair the laughing field,
    Jove views his daughter with complacent brow;
    Earth, sea, and air, to Love’s sweet influence yield,
    And creatures all his magic power avow: