| |
(From Laura, an Elegy from Petrarch)
NOT far removed, yet hid from distant eyes, | |
| Low in her secret grot, a Naiad lies. | |
| Steep, arching rocks, with verdant moss o’ergrown, | |
| Form her rude diadem and native throne: | |
| There in a gloomy cave her waters sleep, | 5 |
| Clear as a brook, but as an ocean deep. | |
| Yet, when the waking flowers of April blow, | |
| And warmer sunbeams melt the gathered snow, | |
| Rich with the tribute of the vernal rains, | |
| The nymph, exulting, bursts her silver chains; | 10 |
| Her living waves in sparkling columns rise, | |
| And shine like rainbows to the sunny skies; | |
| From cliff to cliff the falling waters roar, | |
| Then die in murmurs, and are heard no more. | |
| Hence, softly flowing in a dimpled stream, | 15 |
| The crystal Sorga spreads a lively gleam, | |
| From which a thousand rills in mazes glide, | |
| And deck the banks with summer’s gayest pride, | |
| Brighten the verdure of the smiling plains, | |
| And crown the labor of the joyful swains. | 20 |
| First, on these banks, (all, dream of short delight!) | |
| The charms of Laura struck my dazzled sight; | |
| Charms that the bliss of Eden might restore, | |
| That heaven might envy, and mankind adore. | |
| I saw,—and O, what heart could long rebel? | 25 |
| I saw, I loved, and bade the world farewell. | |
| Where’er she moved, the meads were fresh and gay, | |
| And every bower exhaled the sweets of May; | |
| Smooth flowed the streams, and softly blew the gale; | |
| The rising flowers impurpled every dale; | 30 |
| Calm was the ocean, and the sky serene; | |
| An universal smile o’erspread the shining scene: | |
| But when in death’s cold arms entranced she lay, | |
| (Ah, ever dear, yet ever fatal day!) | |
| O’er all the air a direful gloom was spread; | 35 |
| Pale were the meads, and all their blossoms dead; | |
| The clouds of April shed a baleful dew; | |
| All nature wore a veil of deadly hue. | |
| |
