verdi fronde._

THE GENTLE BREEZE (L' AURA) RECALLS TO HIM THE TIME WHEN HE FIRST SAW
HER.

The gentle gale, that plays my face around,
Murmuring sweet mischief through the verdant grove,
To fond remembrance brings the time, when Love
First gave his deep, although delightful wound;
Gave me to view that beauteous face, ne'er found
Veil'd, as disdain or jealousy might move;
To view her locks that shone bright gold above,
Then loose, but now with pearls and jewels bound:
Those locks she sweetly scatter'd to the wind,
And then coil'd up again so gracefully,
That but to think on it still thrills the sense.
These Time has in more sober braids confined;
And bound my heart with such a powerful tie,
That death alone can disengage it thence.

NOTT.

The balmy airs that from yon leafy spray
My fever'd brow with playful murmurs greet,
Recall to my fond heart the fatal day
When Love his first wound dealt, so deep yet sweet,
And gave me the fair face--in scorn away
Since turn'd, or hid by jealousy--to meet;
The locks, which pearls and gems now oft array,
Whose shining tints with finest gold compete,
So sweetly on the wind were then display'd,
Or gather'd in with such a graceful art,
Their very thought with passion thrills my mind.
Time since has twined them in more sober braid,
And with a snare so powerful bound my heart,
Death from its fetters only can unbind.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLXIV.

_L' aura celeste che 'n quel verde Lauro._

HER HAIR AND EYES.

The heavenly airs from yon green laurel roll'd,
Where Love to Phoebus whilom dealt his stroke,
Where on my neck was placed so sweet a yoke,
That freedom thence I hope not to behold,
O'er me prevail, as o'er that Arab old
Medusa, when she changed him to an oak;
Nor ever can the fairy knot be broke
Whose light outshines the sun, not merely gold;
I mean of those bright locks the curled snare
Which folds and fastens with so sweet a grace
My soul, whose humbleness defends alone.
Her mere shade freezes with a cold despair
My heart, and tinges with pale fear my face;
And oh! her eyes have power to make me stone.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLXV.

_L' aura soave ch' al sol spiega e vibra._

HIS HEART LIES TANGLED IN HER HAIR.

The pleasant gale, that to the sun un