Then answering her:—­“Fain would I thou shouldst say
    What these two verdant branches signify.” 
    “Methinks,” she says, “thou may’st thyself reply,
    Whose pen has graced the one by many a lay. 
    The palm shows victory; and in youth’s bright day
    I overcame the world, and my weak heart: 
    The triumph mine in part,
    Glory to Him who made my weakness strength! 
    And thou, yet turn at length! 
    ’Gainst other powers his gracious aid implore,
    That we may be with Him thy trial o’er!”

    “Are these the crisped locks, and links of gold
    That bind me still?  And these the radiant eyes. 
    To me the Sun?” “Err not with the unwise,
    Nor think,” she says, “as they are wont.  Behold
    In me a spirit, among the blest enroll’d;
    Thou seek’st what hath long been earth again: 
    Yet to relieve thy pain
    ’Tis given me thus to appear, ere I resume
    That beauty from the tomb,
    More loved, that I, severe in pity, win
    Thy soul with mine to Heaven, from death and sin.”

    I weep; and she my cheek,
    Soft sighing, with her own fair hand will dry;
    And, gently chiding, speak
    In tones of power to rive hard rocks in twain;
    Then vanishing, sleep follows in her train.

    DACRE.

CANZONE VII.

Quell’ antiquo mio dolce empio signore.

LOVE, SUMMONED BY THE POET TO THE TRIBUNAL OF REASON, PASSES A SPLENDID EULOGIUM ON LAURA.

      Long had I suffer’d, till—­to combat more
    In strength, in hope too sunk—­at last before
    Impartial Reason’s seat,
    Whence she presides our nobler nature o’er,
    I summon’d my old tyrant, stern and sweet;
    There, groaning ’neath a weary weight of grief,
    With fear and horror stung,
    Like one who dreads to die and prays relief,
    My plea I open’d thus:  “When life was young,
    I, weakly, placed my peace within his power,
    And nothing from that hour
    Save wrong I’ve met; so many and so great
    The torments I have borne,
    That my once infinite patience is outworn,
    And my life worthless grown is held in very hate!

    “Thus sadly has my time till now dragg’d by
    In flames and anguish:  I have left each way
    Of honour, use, and joy,
    This my most cruel flatterer to obey. 
    What wit so rare such language to employ
    That yet may free me from this wretched thrall. 
    Or even my complaint,
    So great and just, against this ingrate paint? 
    O little sweet! much bitterness and gall! 
    How have you changed my life, so tranquil, ere
    With the false witchery blind,
    That alone lured me to his amorous snare! 
    If right I judge, a mind
    I boasted once with higher feelings rife,
    —­But he destroy’d my peace, he plunged me in this strife!