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Poem	CANZONE III. Standomi un giorno solo alla finestra. UNDER VARIOUS ALLEGORIES HE PAINTS THE VIRTUE, BEAUTY, AND UNTIMELY DEATH OF LAURA. While at my window late I stood alone,So new and many things there cross'd my sight,To view them I had almost weary grown.A dappled hind appear'd upon the right,In aspect gentle, yet of stately stride,By two swift greyhounds chased, a black and white,Who tore in the poor sideOf that fair creature wounds so deep and wide,That soon they forced her where ravine and rockThe onward passage block:Then triumph'd Death her matchless beauties o'er,And left me lonely there her sad fate to deplore. Upon the summer wave a gay ship danced,Her cordage was of silk, of gold her sails,Her sides with ivory and ebon glanced,The sea was tranquil, favouring were the gales,And heaven as when no cloud its azure veils.A rich and goodly merchandise is hers;But soon the tempest wakes,And wind and wave to such mad fury stirs,That, driven on the rocks, in twain she breaks;My heart with pity aches,That a short hour should whelm, a small space hide,Riches for which the world no equal had beside. [Pg 278]In a fair grove a bright young laurel made—Surely to Paradise the plant belongs!—Of sacred boughs a pleasant summer shade,From whose green depths there issued so sweet songsOf various birds, and many a rare delightOf eye and ear, what marvel from the worldThey stole my senses quite!While still I gazed, the heavens grew black around,The fatal lightning flash'd, and sudden hurl'd,Uprooted to the ground,That blessed birth. Alas! for it laid low,And its dear shade whose like we ne'er again shall know. A crystal fountain in that very groveGush'd from a rock, whose waters fresh and clearShed coolness round and softly murmur'd love;Never that leafy screen and mossy seatDrew browsing flock or whistling rustic nearBut nymphs and muses danced to music sweet.There as I sat and drankWith infinite delight their carols gay,And mark'd their sport, the earth before me sankAnd bore with it awayThe fountain and the scene, to my great grief,Who now in memory find a sole and scant relief. A lovely and rare bird within the wood,Whose crest with gold, whose wings with purple gleam'd,Alone, but proudly soaring, next I view'd,Of heavenly and immortal birth which seem'd,Flitting now here, now there, until it stoodWhere buried fount and broken laurel lay,And sadly seeing thereThe fallen trunk, the boughs all stripp'd and bare,The channel dried—for all things to decaySo tend—it turn'd awayAs if in angry scorn, and instant fled,While through me for her loss new love and pity spread. At length along the flowery sward I sawSo sweet and fair a lady pensive moveThat her mere thought inspires a tender awe;Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,[Pg 279]Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fineSeem'd gold and snow together there to join:But, ah! each charm aboveWas veil'd from sight in an unfriendly cloud:Stung by a lurking snake, as flowers that pineHer head she gently bow'd,And joyful pass'd on high, perchance secure:Alas! that in the world grief only should endure. My song! in each sad change,These visions, as they rise, sweet, solemn, strange,But show how deeply in thy master's breastThe fond desire abides to die and be at rest. Macgregor.
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