d at thy departure mourn'd:
For love departed, and the sun grew pale,
And death then seem'd our sole felicity.

CAPEL LOFFT.

O blessed Spirit! who those sun-like eyes
So sweetly didst inform and brightly fill,
Who the apt words didst frame and tender sighs
Which in my fond heart have their echo still.
Erewhile I saw thee, glowing with chaste flame,
Thy feet 'mid violets and verdure set,
Moving in angel not in mortal frame,
Life-like and light, before me present yet!
Her, when returning with thy God to dwell,
Thou didst relinquish and that fair veil given
For purpose high by fortune's grace to thee:
Love at thy parting bade the world farewell;
Courtesy died; the sun abandon'd heaven,
And Death himself our best friend 'gan to be.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXXXIX.

_Deh porgi mano all' affannato ingegno._

HE BEGS LOVE TO ASSIST HIM, THAT HE MAY WORTHILY CELEBRATE HER.

Ah, Love! some succour to my weak mind deign,
Lend to my frail and weary style thine aid,
To sing of her who is immortal made,
A citizen of the celestial reign.
And grant, Lord, that my verse the height may gain
Of her great praises, else in vain essay'd,
Whose peer in worth or beauty never stay'd
In this our world, unworthy to retain.
Love answers: "In myself and Heaven what lay,
By conversation pure and counsel wise,
All was in her whom death has snatch'd away.
Since the first morn when Adam oped his eyes,
Like form was ne'er--suffice it this to say,
Write down with tears what scarce I tell for sighs."

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XC.

_Vago augelletto che cantando vai._

THE PLAINTIVE SONG OF A BIRD RECALLS TO HIM HIS OWN KEENER SORROW.

Poor solitary bird, that pour'st thy lay;
Or haply mournest the sweet season gone:
As chilly night and winter hurry on,
And day-light fades and summer flies away;
If as the cares that swell thy little throat
Thou knew'st alike the woes that wound my rest.
Ah, thou wouldst house thee in this kindred breast,
And mix with mine thy melancholy note.
Yet little know I ours are kindred ills:
She still may live the object of thy song:
Not so for me stern death or Heaven wills!
But the sad season, and less grateful hour,
And of past joy and sorrow thoughts that throng
Prompt my full heart this idle lay to po