To Laura In Death. Sonnet XIX.

Sennuccio mio, bench doglioso e solo.     ON THE DEATH OF HIS FRIEND SENNUCCIO.         O friend! though left a wretched pilgrim here,     By thee though left in solitude to roam,     Yet can I mourn that thou hast found thy home,     On angel pinions borne, in bright career?     Now thou behold'st the ever-turning sphere,     And stars that journey round the concave dome;     Now thou behold'st how short of truth we come,     How blind our judgment, and thine own how clear!     That thou art happy soothes my soul oppress'd.     O friend! salute from me the laurell'd band,     Guitton and Cino, Dante, and the rest:     And tell my Laura, friend, that here I stand,     Wasting in tears, scarce of myself possess'd,     While her blest beauties all my thoughts command.     MOREHEAD.         Sennuccio mine! I yet myself console,     Though thou hast left me, mournful and alone,     For eagerly to heaven thy spirit has flown,     Free from the flesh which did so late enrol;     Thence, at one view, commands it either pole,     The planets and their wondrous courses known,     And human sight how brief and doubtful shown;     Thus with thy bliss my sorrow I control.     One favour--in the third of those bright spheres.     Guido and Dante, Cino, too, salute,     With Franceschin and all that tuneful train,     And tell my lady how I live, in tears,     (Savage and lonely as some forest brute)     Her sweet face and fair works when memory brings again.     MACGREGOR.