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Poem	SONNET LII. Sente l' aura mia antica, e i dolci colli. HE REVISITS VAUCLUSE. I feel the well-known gale; the hills I spySo pleasant, whence my fair her being drew,Which made these eyes, while Heaven was willing, shewWishful, and gay; now sad, and never dry.[Pg 275]O feeble hopes! O thoughts of vanity!Wither'd the grass, the rills of turbid hue;And void and cheerless is that dwelling too,In which I live, in which I wish'd to die;Hoping its mistress might at length affordSome respite to my woes by plaintive sighs,And sorrows pour'd from her once-burning eyes.I've served a cruel and ungrateful lord:While lived my beauteous flame, my heart be fired;And o'er its ashes now I weep expired. Nott. Once more, ye balmy gales, I feel you blow;Again, sweet hills, I mark the morning beamsGild your green summits; while your silver streamsThrough vales of fragrance undulating flow.But you, ye dreams of bliss, no longer hereGive life and beauty to the glowing scene:For stern remembrance stands where you have been,And blasts the verdure of the blooming year.O Laura! Laura! in the dust with thee,Would I could find a refuge from despair!Is this thy boasted triumph. Love, to tearA heart thy coward malice dares not free;And bid it live, while every hope is fled,To weep, among the ashes of the dead? Anne Bannerman.
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