WOLLASTON.

SONNET LXXV.

Gli angeli eletti e l’ anime beate.

HE DIRECTS ALL HIS THOUGHTS TO HEAVEN, WHERE LAURA AWAITS AND BECKONS HIM.

      The chosen angels, and the spirits blest,
    Celestial tenants, on that glorious day
    My Lady join’d them, throng’d in bright array
    Around her, with amaze and awe imprest. 
    “What splendour, what new beauty stands confest
    Unto our sight?”—­among themselves they say;
    “No soul, in this vile age, from sinful clay
    To our high realms has risen so fair a guest.” 
    Delighted to have changed her mortal state,
    She ranks amid the purest of her kind;
    And ever and anon she looks behind,
    To mark my progress and my coming wait;
    Now my whole thought, my wish to heaven I cast;
    ’Tis Laura’s voice I hear, and hence she bids me haste.

    NOTT.

      The chosen angels, and the blest above,
    Heaven’s citizens!—­the day when Laura ceased
    To adorn the world, about her thronging press’d,
    Replete with wonder and with holy love. 
    “What sight is this?—­what will this beauty prove?”
    Said they; “for sure no form in charms so dress’d,
    From yonder globe to this high place of rest,
    In all the latter age, did e’er remove!”
    She, pleased and happy with her mansion new,
    Compares herself with the most perfect there;
    And now and then she casts a glance to view
    If yet I come, and seems to wish me near. 
    Rise then, my thoughts, to heaven!—­vain world, adieu! 
    My Laura calls! her quickening voice I hear!

    CHARLEMONT.

SONNET LXXVI.

Donna che lieta col Principio nostro.

HE CONJURES LAURA, BY THE PURE LOVE HE EVER BORE HER, TO OBTAIN FOR HIM A SPEEDY ADMISSION TO HER IN HEAVEN.

      Lady, in bliss who, by our Maker’s feet,
    As suited for thine excellent life alone,
    Art now enthroned in high and glorious seat,
    Adorn’d with charms nor pearls nor purple own;
    O model high and rare of ladies sweet! 
    Now in his face to whom all things are known,
    Look on my love, with that pure faith replete,
    As long my verse and truest tears have shown,
    And know at last my heart on earth to thee
    Was still as now in heaven, nor wish’d in life
    More than beneath thine eyes’ bright sun to be: 
    Wherefore, to recompense the tedious strife,
    Which turn’d my liege heart from the world away,
    Pray that I soon may come with thee to stay.

    MACGREGOR.