To Laura In Death. Sonnet XXXIII.

Valle che d' lamenti miei se' piena.     ON HIS RETURN TO VAUCLUSE AFTER LAURA'S DEATH.         Valley, which long hast echoed with my cries;     Stream, which my flowing tears have often fed;     Beasts, fluttering birds, and ye who in the bed     Of Cabrieres' wave display your speckled dyes;     Air, hush'd to rest and soften'd by my sighs;     Dear path, whose mazes lone and sad I tread;     Hill of delight--though now delight is fled--     To rove whose haunts Love still my foot decoys;     Well I retain your old unchanging face!     Myself how changed! in whom, for joy's light throng,     Infinite woes their constant mansion find!     Here bloom'd my bliss: and I your tracks retrace,     To mark whence upward to her heaven she sprung,     Leaving her beauteous spoil, her robe of flesh behind!     WRANGHAM.         Ye vales, made vocal by my plaintive lay;     Ye streams, embitter'd with the tears of love;     Ye tenants of the sweet melodious grove;     Ye tribes that in the grass fringed streamlet play;     Ye tepid gales, to which my sighs convey     A softer warmth; ye flowery plains, that move     Reflection sad; ye hills, where yet I rove,     Since Laura there first taught my steps to stray;--     You, you are still the same! How changed, alas,     Am I! who, from a state of life so blest,     Am now the gloomy dwelling-place of woe!     'Twas here I saw my love: here still I trace     Her parting steps, when she her mortal vest     Cast to the earth, and left these scenes below.     ANON.