ame,
Which I have borne conceal'd so many a year.
O envious Fates! that rare and golden frame
Rudely ye broke, where lightly twined and clear,
Yarn of my bonds, the threads of world-wide fame
Which lovely 'gainst his wont made Death appear.
For not a soul was ever in its days
Of joy, of liberty, of life so fond,
That would not change for her its natural ways,
Preferring thus to suffer and despond,
Than, fed by hope, to sing in others' praise,
Content to die, or live in such a bond.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XXIX.

_Due gran nemiche insieme erano aggiunte._

THE UNION OF BEAUTY AND VIRTUE IS DISSOLVED BY HER DEATH.

Two mortal foes in one fair breast combined,
Beauty and Virtue, in such peace allied
That ne'er rebellion ruffled that pure mind,
But in rare union dwelt they side by side;
By Death they now are shatter'd and disjoin'd;
One is in heaven, its glory and its pride,
One under earth, her brilliant eyes now blind,
Whence stings of love once issued far and wide.
That winning air, that rare discourse and meek,
Surely from heaven inspired, that gentle glance
Which wounded my poor heart, and wins it still,
Are gone; if I am slow her road to seek,
I hope her fair and graceful name perchance
To consecrate with this worn weary quill.

MACGREGOR.

Within one mortal shrine two foes had met--
Beauty and Virtue--yet they dwelt so bright,
That ne'er within the soul did they excite
Rebellious thought, their union might beget:
But, parted to fulfil great nature's debt,
One blooms in heaven, exulting in its height;
Its twin on earth doth rest, from whose veil'd night
No more those eyes of love man's soul can fret.
That speech by Heaven inspired, so humbly wise--
That graceful air--her look so winning, meek,
That woke and kindles still my bosom's pain--
They all have fled; but if to gain her skies
I tardy seem, my weary pen would seek
For her blest name a consecrated reign!

WOLLASTON.

SONNET XXX.

_Quand' io mi volgo indietro a mirar gli anni._

THE REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST ENHANCES HIS MISERY.

When I look back upon the many years
Which in their flight my best thoughts have entomb'd,
And spent the fire, that, spite her ice, consumed,
And finish'd the repose so full of tears,
Broken the faith which L