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Poem	SONNET LI. Del mar Tirreno alla sinistra riva. THE FALL. Upon the left shore of the Tyrrhene sea,Where, broken by the winds, the waves complain,Sudden I saw that honour'd green again,Written for whom so many a page must be:Love, ever in my soul his flame who fed,Drew me with memories of those tresses fair;Whence, in a rivulet, which silent thereThrough long grass stole, I fell, as one struck dead.Lone as I was, 'mid hills of oak and fir,I felt ashamed; to heart of gentle mouldBlushes suffice: nor needs it other spur.[Pg 66]'Tis well at least, breaking bad customs old,To change from eyes to feet: from these so wetBy those if milder April should be met. Macgregor.
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