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Poem	SONNET CLIV. Giunto Alessandro alla famosa tomba. HE FEARS THAT HE IS INCAPABLE OF WORTHILY CELEBRATING HER. The son of Philip, when he saw the tombOf fierce Achilles, with a sigh, thus said:"O happy, whose achievements erst found roomFrom that illustrious trumpet to be spreadO'er earth for ever!"—But, beyond the gloomOf deep Oblivion shall that loveliest maid,Whose like to view seems not of earthly doom,By my imperfect accents be convey'd?[Pg 171]Her of the Homeric, the Orphèan Lyre,Most worthy, or that shepherd, Mantua's pride,To be the theme of their immortal lays;Her stars and unpropitious fate deniedThis palm:—and me bade to such height aspire,Who, haply, dim her glories by my praise. Capel Lofft. When Alexander at the famous tombOf fierce Achilles stood, the ambitious sighBurst from his bosom—"Fortunate! on whomTh' eternal bard shower'd honours bright and high."But, ah! for so to each is fix'd his doom,This pure fair dove, whose like by mortal eyeWas never seen, what poor and scanty roomFor her great praise can my weak verse supply?Whom, worthiest Homer's line and Orpheus' song,Or his whom reverent Mantua still admires—Sole and sufficient she to wake such lyres!An adverse star, a fate here only wrong,Entrusts to one who worships her dear name,Yet haply injures by his praise her fame. Macgregor.
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