At length along the flowery sward I saw
    So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
    That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
    Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
    Flow’d from her waist a robe so fair and fine
    Seem’d gold and snow together there to join: 
    But, ah! each charm above
    Was veil’d from sight in an unfriendly cloud: 
    Stung by a lurking snake, as flowers that pine
    Her head she gently bow’d,
    And joyful pass’d on high, perchance secure: 
    Alas! that in the world grief only should endure.

    My song! in each sad change,
    These visions, as they rise, sweet, solemn, strange,
    But show how deeply in thy master’s breast
    The fond desire abides to die and be at rest.

    MACGREGOR.

BALLATA I.

Amor, quando fioria.

HIS GRIEF AT SURVIVING HER IS MITIGATED BY THE CONSCIOUSNESS THAT SHE NOW KNOWS HIS HEART.

      Yes, Love, at that propitious time
    When hope was in its bloomy prime,
    And when I vainly fancied nigh
    The meed of all my constancy;
    Then sudden she, of whom I sought
    Compassion, from my sight was caught. 
    O ruthless Death!  O life severe! 
    The one has sunk me deep in care,
    And darken’d cruelly my day,
    That shone with hope’s enlivening ray: 
    The other, adverse to my will,
    Doth here on earth detain me still;
    And interdicts me to pursue
    Her, who from all its scenes withdrew: 
    Yet in my heart resides the fair,
    For ever, ever present there;
    Who well perceives the ills that wait
    Upon my wretched, mortal state.

    NOTT.

      Yes, Love, while hope still bloom’d with me in pride,
    While seem’d of all my faith the guerdon nigh,
    She, upon whom for mercy I relied,
    Was ravish’d from my doting desolate eye. 
    O ruthless Death!  O life unwelcome! this
    Plunged me in deepest woe,
    And rudely crush’d my every hope of bliss;
    Against my will that keeps me here below,
    Who else would yearn to go,
    And join the sainted fair who left us late;
    Yet present every hour
    In my heart’s core there wields she her old power,
    And knows, whate’er my life, its every state!

    MACGREGOR.

CANZONE IV.

Tacer non posso, e temo non adopre.

HE RECALLS HER MANY GRACES.

      Fain would I speak—­too long has silence seal’d
    Lips that would gladly with my full heart move
    With one consent, and yield
    Homage to her who listens from above;
    Yet how can I, without thy prompting, Love,
    With mortal words e’er equal things divine,
    And picture faithfully