Thou, in thy unripe years, wast like the rose, Which shrinketh from the summer dawn, afraid, From the dull earth like thee,) thou did'st appear Surpasseth still the youthful bride when neatest, So is the full-blown rose for age the sweetest, ANON. Till Laura comes, who now, alas, elsewhere Since Love has gone a rustic to the plough, Where man and beast, and almost tree and stone, Seem by her look with sense and joy endued! What is not changed on which her eyes e'er shone? The country courteous grows, the city rude, Even from her presence or her loss alone. WILDE. I saw two ladies once, illustrious, rare; One a sad sun, her beauties at mid-day In clouds concealed; the other, bright and gay, Gladdened, Aurora-like, earth, sea, and air. One hid her light, lest men should call her fair, Suffered to cross her own celestial way; But forth it broke; nor could the other show Since my tired verse, o'ertasked, refused to flow. WILDE. 'Twas night, and underneath her starry vest The prattling Loves were hidden, and their arts All kindly hidden by the gloom from day; Reflecting back on heaven beams as bright, Which even with the dawn fled not away, When chased the sun such lovely ghosts from night. Ah me! it is a cruel destiny, Which, envying, robs the world of thy clear voice, Its bright and burning thoughts, like vestal fires, WILDE. It was too much for us to merit long; That sacred joy inspired, and endless grace; R. H. S. One day my lady at a balcony Alone was standing, when I chanced to stretch "Not by the placing of thy arm on mine, Dear little love-words, short, but sweet and courteous, If it were true and certain what I heard, Where no offence is, there must be no vengeance! ANON. Three high-born dames it was my lot to see, Not all alike in beauty, yet so fair, So charmed me, that I loved her, and became Till to the stars they soared past rivalry. Was turned elsewhere, it was but to admire She, who, a maiden, taught me, Love, thy woes, Opening her bosom to the sun with pride: Will any ray of pity thaw its tide? Thou only know'st. And now, alas! I haste Where I must mark that snowy neck and breast By envied fingers played with and embraced: How shall I live, or where find peace or rest, If one kind look on me she will not waste, To hint not vain my sighs, nor all unblest? WILDE. [This is the sonnet which Tasso sent to Leonora, from Casteldurante.] Anger, a champion bold but warrior weak, Led me with feeble armour to the field, Against Love's bow and shafts blunt arms to wield, And Freedom or Revenge in battle seek. In conflict with that torch of heavenly fire, And kneel, and bow, and bare my humble breast; If fight I must, pity her aid shall lend, And win the palm for me, or death and rest: If with my blood some tears of hers should blend, Defeat is triumph, and I perish blest. WILDE. Wandering Ulysses on the storm-vexed shore Lay amid wrecks, upon the sand scarce dry, Naked and sad; hunger and thirst he bore, And hopeless gazed upon the sea and sky; Where there appeared-so willed the Fates on highA royal dame to terminate his woe: "Sweet fruits," she said, "sun-tinged with every dye, My father's garden boasts; would'st taste them? Go!" For me, alas! though shivering in the blast I perish, a more cruel shipwreck mine, WILDE. A hell of torment is this life of mine; My sighs are as the Furies breathing flame; A bold, fierce throng no skill or art may tame. So am I now, for me all hope is o'er; My tears are Styx, and my complaint and shame Over the stream, dull as my mind, and dark: That there poor ghosts are of foul fiends the mark, WILDE. |