Still have I sought a life of solitude—­
    This know the rivers, and each wood and plain—­
    That I might ’scape the blind and sordid train
    Who from the path have flown of peace and good: 
    Could I my wish obtain, how vainly would
    This cloudless climate woo me to remain;
    Sorga’s embowering woods I’d seek again,
    And sing, weep, wander, by its friendly flood. 
    But, ah! my fortune, hostile still to me,
    Compels me where I must, indignant, find
    Amid the mire my fairest treasure thrown: 
    Yet to my hand, not all unworthy, she
    Now proves herself, at least for once, more kind,
    Since—­but alone to Love and Laura be it known.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXXII.

In tale Stella duo begli occhi vidi.

THE BEAUTY OF LAURA IS PEERLESS.

      In one fair star I saw two brilliant eyes,
    With sweetness, modesty, so glistening o’er,
    That soon those graceful nests of Love before
    My worn heart learnt all others to despise: 
    Equall’d not her whoever won the prize
    In ages gone on any foreign shore;
    Not she to Greece whose wondrous beauty bore
    Unnumber’d ills, to Troy death’s anguish’d cries: 
    Not the fair Roman, who, with ruthless blade
    Piercing her chaste and outraged bosom, fled
    Dishonour worse than death, like charms display’d;
    Such excellence should brightest glory shed
    On Nature, as on me supreme delight,
    But, ah! too lately come, too soon it takes its flight.

    MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXXIII.

Qual donna attende a gloriosa fama.

THE EYES OF LAURA ARE THE SCHOOL OF VIRTUE.

      Feels any fair the glorious wish to gain
    Of sense, of worth, of courtesy, the praise? 
    On those bright eyes attentive let her gaze
    Of her miscall’d my love, but sure my foe. 
    Honour to gain, with love of God to glow,
    Virtue more bright how native grace displays,
    May there be learn’d; and by what surest ways
    To heaven, that for her coming pants, to go. 
    The converse sweet, beyond what poets write,
    Is there; the winning silence, and the meek
    And saint-like manners man would paint in vain. 
    The matchless beauty, dazzling to the sight,
    Can ne’er be learn’d; for bootless ’twere to seek
    By art, what by kind chance alone we gain.

    ANON., OX., 1795.

SONNET CCXXIV.

Cara la vita, e dopo lei mi pare.

HONOUR TO BE PREFERRED TO LIFE.