Canzone XVII.

Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte.     DISTANCE AND SOLITUDE.         From hill to hill I roam, from thought to thought,     With Love my guide; the beaten path I fly,     For there in vain the tranquil life is sought:     If 'mid the waste well forth a lonely rill,     Or deep embosom'd a low valley lie,     In its calm shade my trembling heart's still;     And there, if Love so will,     I smile, or weep, or fondly hope, or fear.     While on my varying brow, that speaks the soul,     The wild emotions roll,     Now dark, now bright, as shifting skies appear;     That whosoe'er has proved the lover's state     Would say, He feels the flame, nor knows his future fate.     On mountains high, in forests drear and wide,     I find repose, and from the throng'd resort     Of man turn fearfully my eyes aside;     At each lone step thoughts ever new arise     Of her I love, who oft with cruel sport     Will mock the pangs I bear, the tears, the sighs;     Yet e'en these ills I prize,     Though bitter, sweet, nor would they were removed     For my heart whispers me, Love yet has power     To grant a happier hour:     Perchance, though self-despised, thou yet art loved:     E'en then my breast a passing sigh will heave,     Ah! when, or how, may I a hope so wild believe?     Where shadows of high rocking pines dark wave     I stay my footsteps, and on some rude stone     With thought intense her beauteous face engrave;     Roused from the trance, my bosom bathed I find     With tears, and cry, Ah! whither thus alone     Hast thou far wander'd, and whom left behind?     But as with fixed mind     On this fair image I impassion'd rest,     And, viewing her, forget awhile my ills,     Love my rapt fancy fills;     In its own error sweet the soul is blest,     While all around so bright the visions glide;     Oh! might the cheat endure, I ask not aught beside.     Her form portray'd within the lucid stream     Will oft appear, or on the verdant lawn,     Or glossy beech, or fleecy cloud, will gleam     So lovely fair, that Leda's self might say,     Her Helen sinks eclipsed, as at the dawn     A star when cover'd by the solar ray:     And, as o'er wilds I stray     Where the eye nought but savage nature meets,     There Fancy most her brightest tints employs;     But when rude truth destroys     The loved illusion of those dreamed sweets,     I sit me down on the cold rugged stone,     Less coid, less dead than I, and think, and weep alone.     Where the huge mountain rears his brow sublime,     On which no neighbouring height its shadow flings,     Led by desire intense the steep I climb;     And tracing in the boundless space each woe,     Whose sad remembrance my torn bosom wrings,     Tears, that bespeak the heart o'erfraught, will flow:     While, viewing all below,     From me, I cry, what worlds of air divide     The beauteous form, still absent and still near!     Then, chiding soft the tear,     I whisper low, haply she too has sigh'd     That thou art far away: a thought so sweet     Awhile my labouring soul will of its burthen cheat.     Go thou, my song, beyond that Alpine bound,     Where the pure smiling heavens are most serene,     There by a murmuring stream may I be found,     Whose gentle airs around     Waft grateful odours from the laurel green;     Nought but my empty form roams here unblest,     There dwells my heart with her who steals it from my breast.     DACRE.