Canzone IV.

Si debile il filo a cui s' attene.     HE GRIEVES IN ABSENCE FROM LAURA.         The thread on which my weary life depends     So fragile is and weak,     If none kind succour lends,     Soon 'neath the painful burden will it break;     Since doom'd to take my sad farewell of her,     In whom begins and ends     My bliss, one hope, to stir     My sinking spirit from its black despair,     Whispers, "Though lost awhile     That form so dear and fair,     Sad soul! the trial bear,     For thee e'en yet the sun may brightly shine,     And days more happy smile,     Once more the lost loved treasure may be thine."     This thought awhile sustains me, but again     To fail me and forsake in worse excess of pain.     Time flies apace: the silent hours and swift     So urge his journey on,     Short span to me is left     Even to think how quick to death I run;     Scarce, in the orient heaven, yon mountain crest     Smiles in the sun's first ray,     When, in the adverse west,     His long round run, we see his light decay     So small of life the space,     So frail and clogg'd with woe,     To mortal man below,     That, when I find me from that beauteous face     Thus torn by fate's decree,     Unable at a wish with her to be,     So poor the profit that old comforts give,     I know not how I brook in such a state to live.     Each place offends, save where alone I see     Those eyes so sweet and bright,     Which still shall bear the key     Of the soft thoughts I hide from other sight;     And, though hard exile harder weighs on me,     Whatever mood betide,     I ask no theme beside,     For all is hateful that I since have seen.     What rivers and what heights,     What shores and seas between     Me rise and those twin lights,     Which made the storm and blackness of my days     One beautiful serene,     To which tormented Memory still strays:     Free as my life then pass'd from every care,     So hard and heavy seems my present lot to bear.     Alas! self-parleying thus, I but renew     The warm wish in my mind,     Which first within it grew     The day I left my better half behind:     If by long absence love is quench'd, then who     Guides me to the old bait,     Whence all my sorrows date?     Why rather not my lips in silence seal'd?     By finest crystal ne'er     Were hidden tints reveal'd     So faithfully and fair,     As my sad spirit naked lays and bare     Its every secret part,     And the wild sweetness thrilling in my heart,     Through eyes which, restlessly, o'erfraught with tears,     Seek her whose sight alone with instant gladness cheers.     Strange pleasure!--yet so often that within     The human heart to reign     Is found--to woo and win     Each new brief toy that men most sigh to gain:     And I am one from sadness who relief     So draw, as if it still     My study were to fill     These eyes with softness, and this heart with grief:     As weighs with me in chief     Nay rather with sole force,     The language and the light     Of those dear eyes to urge me on that course,     So where its fullest source     Long sorrow finds, I fix my often sight,     And thus my heart and eyes like sufferers be,     Which in love's path have been twin pioneers to me.     The golden tresses which should make, I ween,     The sun with envy pine;     And the sweet look serene,     Where love's own rays so bright and burning shine,     That, ere its time, they make my strength decline,     Each wise and truthful word,     Rare in the world, which late     She smiling gave, no more are seen or heard.     But this of all my fate     Is hardest to endure,     That here I am denied     The gentle greeting, angel-like and pure,     Which still to virtue's side     Inclined my heart with modest magic lure;     So that, in sooth, I nothing hope again     Of comfort more than this, how best to bear my pain.     And--with fit ecstacy my loss to mourn--     The soft hand's snowy charm,     The finely-rounded arm,     The winning ways, by turns, that quiet scorn,     Chaste anger, proud humility adorn,     The fair young breast that shrined     Intellect pure and high,     Are now all hid the rugged Alp behind.     My trust were vain to try     And see her ere I die,     For, though awhile he dare     Such dreams indulge, Hope ne'er can constant be,     But falls back in despair     Her, whom Heaven honours, there again to see,     Where virtue, courtesy in her best mix,     And where so oft I pray my future home to fix.     My Song! if thou shalt see,     Our common lady in that dear retreat,     We both may hope that she     Will stretch to thee her fair and fav'ring hand,     Whence I so far am bann'd;     --Touch, touch it not, but, reverent at her feet,     Tell her I will be there with earliest speed,     A man of flesh and blood, or else a spirit freed.     MACGREGOR.