MACGREGOR.

SONNET CXC

Passer mai solitario in alcun tetto.

FAR FROM HIS BELOVED, LIFE IS MISERABLE BY NIGHT AS BY DAY.

      Never was bird, spoil’d of its young, more sad,
    Or wild beast in his lair more lone than me,
    Now that no more that lovely face I see,
    The only sun my fond eyes ever had. 
    In ceaseless sorrow is my chief delight: 
    My food to poison turns, to grief my joy;
    The night is torture, dark the clearest sky,
    And my lone pillow a hard field of fight. 
    Sleep is indeed, as has been well express’d. 
    Akin to death, for it the heart removes
    From the dear thought in which alone I live. 
    Land above all with plenty, beauty bless’d! 
    Ye flowery plains, green banks and shady groves! 
    Ye hold the treasure for whose loss I grieve!

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CXCI.

Aura, che quelle chiome bionde e crespe.

HE ENVIES THE BREEZE WHICH SPORTS WITH HER, THE STREAM THAT FLOWS TOWARDS HER.

      Ye laughing gales, that sporting with my fair,
    The silky tangles of her locks unbraid;
    And down her breast their golden treasures spread;
    Then in fresh mazes weave her curling hair,
    You kiss those bright destructive eyes, that bear
    The flaming darts by which my heart has bled;
    My trembling heart! that oft has fondly stray’d
    To seek the nymph, whose eyes such terrors wear. 
    Methinks she’s found—­but oh! ’tis fancy’s cheat! 
    Methinks she’s seen—­but oh! ’tis love’s deceit! 
    Methinks she’s near—­but truth cries “’tis not so!”
    Go happy gale, and with my Laura dwell! 
    Go happy stream, and to my Laura tell
    What envied joys in thy clear crystal flow!

    ANON. 1777.

      Thou gale, that movest, and disportest round
    Those bright crisp’d locks, by them moved sweetly too,
    That all their fine gold scatter’st to the view,
    Then coil’st them up in beauteous braids fresh wound;
    About those eyes thou playest, where abound
    The am’rous swarms, whose stings my tears renew! 
    And I my treasure tremblingly pursue,
    Like some scared thing that stumbles o’er the ground. 
    Methinks I find her now, and now perceive
    She’s distant; now I soar, and now descend;
    Now what I wish, now what is true believe. 
    Stay and enjoy, blest air, the living beam;
    And thou, O rapid, and translucent stream,
    Why can’t I change my course, and thine attend?

    NOTT.

SONNET CXCII.

Amor con la man destra il lato manco.

UNDER THE FIGURE OF A LAUREL, HE RELATES THE GROWTH OF HIS LOVE.