Sonnet CCXVI.

I' pur ascolto, e non odo novella.     HEARING NO TIDINGS OF HER, HE BEGINS TO DESPAIR.         Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait,     Of that sweet enemy I love so well:     What now to think or say I cannot tell,     'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate:     The beautiful are still the marks of fate;     And sure her worth and beauty most excel:     What if her God have call'd her hence, to dwell     Where virtue finds a more congenial state?     If so, she will illuminate that sphere     Even as a sun: but I--'tis done with me!     I then am nothing, have no business here!     O cruel absence! why not let me see     The worst? my little tale is told, I fear,     My scene is closed ere it accomplish'd be.     MOREHEAD.         No tidings yet--I listen, but in vain;     Of her, my beautiful belovd foe,     What or to think or say I nothing know,     So thrills my heart, my fond hopes so sustain,     Danger to some has in their beauty lain;     Fairer and chaster she than others show;     God haply seeks to snatch from earth below     Virtue's best friend, that heaven a star may gain,     Or rather sun. If what I dread be nigh,     My life, its trials long, its brief repose     Are ended all. O cruel absence! why     Didst thou remove me from the menaced woes?     My short sad story is already done,     And midway in its course my vain race run.     MACGREGOR.