Sonnet XIX
SONNET XIX.
Mille fiate, o dolce mia guerrera.
HIS HEART, REJECTED BY LAURA, WILL PERISH, UNLESS SHE RELENT.
A thousand times, sweet warrior, have I tried,Proffering my heart to thee, some peace to gainFrom those bright eyes, but still, alas! in vain,To such low level stoops not thy chaste pride.If others seek the love thus thrown aside,Vain were their hopes and labours to obtain;The heart thou spurnest I alike disdain,To thee displeasing, 'tis by me denied.But if, discarded thus, it find not theeIts joyless exile willing to befriend,Alone, untaught at others' will to wend,Soon from life's weary burden will it flee.How heavy then the guilt to both, but moreTo thee, for thee it did the most adore.
Macgregor. A thousand times, sweet warrior, to obtainPeace with those beauteous eyes I've vainly tried,Proffering my heart; but with that lofty prideTo bend your looks so lowly you refrain:Expects a stranger fair that heart to gain,In frail, fallacious hopes will she confide:It never more to me can be allied;Since what you scorn, dear lady, I disdain.[Pg 18]In its sad exile if no aid you lendBanish'd by me; and it can neither stayAlone, nor yet another's call obey;Its vital course must hasten to its end:Ah me, how guilty then we both should prove,But guilty you the most, for you it most doth love.
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