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II.

THE PILGRIMS FOR LOVE.

"O PERJUR'D man," said IRIS, loudly weeping, "Where is the ring I put upon that hand? Thou said'st the Sun himself and Moon should stand Heels uppermost, ere it should leave thy keeping.

Didst think, false wretch, that IRIS' eyes were sleeping?
Begone! I'll take me to some foreign land;
There hide my neck, and with the vestal band
Conceal these locks which now my tears are steeping."
"Stay! let us wend together, pilgrims both :

I'll be thy friar, and gird me with a cable;
For, weeks ago, I saw my pledge of troth,

TO IRIS given, upon my cousin's table :

And what is more, the rascal took his oath,

That seven more men had found thee quite as stable !"

III.

ALLEGORIA. COLLE DIFFICOLTÀ SE NE VA LA MAGGIOR DOLCEZZA D' AMORE.

A PASSI lenti, con amara pena,
Salsi un aspro monte di grande altura;
Non m' impedì nè balzo, nè fessura,
Nè 'l sol' ardente, nè affannata lena :
Del bel vedere anticipato piena
L'alma era, e 'l disio vinse la paura ;
E quando al fin, compita la via dura,
Miro abbasso, il mio gaudio non si frena.

Come il lampo è ogni diletto mortale :
Sparisce, e poi la nebbia par più Spessa.
Giunto al sommo la fatica m' assale,

E il pensier del calo l' alma mi oppressa;
Che, fatta l'opra, aperse speme l' ale;
E sempre fugge Voluttà con essa.

IV.

THE PRAYER.

O, THAT some spirit, mov'd by my entreating,
Would give my LAURA power to discover
The rapture of this heart, when near her beating,
And how in every pulse I am her lover!

Then would kind thoughts of me be never fleeting,
But present still, before, around, above her;
And when the night's lone hour forbade our meeting,
In vivid dreams of joy about her hover.

Ah fool that thou shouldst pray for thy undoing, And thy own liberty thyself surrender! For 't is alone that they may keep us wooing,

When women's pride permits them to be tender. From knowing that thou canst not help thy cooing, Whatever her disdain, pray Heaven defend her!

V.

THE RINGLET.

NOT for itself this little lock I prize,

Though its bright threads thy own soft fingers plaited;
Once seen and own'd, my longing is abated;
Albeit the color well contents my eyes :

I am no Corydon, that hugs with sighs
Some bauble of his Phyllis' gift, unsated,
And overjoy'd; with me this ringlet 's rated
Precisely by the worth that in it lies.

Thou, SYBIL, conscious that this little part
Of thy sweet self is with me, wilt believe
Thy image more than ever fills my heart;

And thus imprest, thy vanity must weave
A web around thee, subtle though thou art;
And I, in turn, shall have thee at my sleeve.

23*

VI.

THE LOVER'S HEAVEN.

SOFT was the night, no sound the stillness breaking;
Like man, the lake, the woods appear'd to sleep;
The watchdog's distant bay, prolong'd and deep,
No more the echo of the hills was waking:

Then ALICE and myself, our homes forsaking,
Stole out beneath the moon, Love's watch to keep;
Nor fail'd the influence of the hour to creep
On both, both taciturn and pensive making.

But, turning down her lucid orbs from heaven,
My soul's sweet life gaz'd on me with surprise :
"And canst thou hope," she ask'd," to be forgiven,
That hast no admiration for these skies?"

"To plead," I said, "neglect, I am not driven, The moon and heaven adoring in those eyes."

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