Valle che d' lamenti miei se' piena.
ON HIS RETURN TO VAUCLUSE AFTER LAURA'S DEATH.
Valley, which long hast echoed with my cries;
Stream, which my flowing tears have often fed;
Beasts, fluttering birds, and ye who in the bed
Of Cabrieres' wave display your speckled dyes;
Air, hush'd to rest and soften'd by my sighs;
Dear path, whose mazes lone and sad I tread;
Hill of delight--though now delight is fled--
To rove whose haunts Love still my foot decoys;
Well I retain your old unchanging face!
Myself how changed! in whom, for joy's light throng,
Infinite woes their constant mansion find!
Here bloom'd my bliss: and I your tracks retrace,
To mark whence upward to her heaven she sprung,
Leaving her beauteous spoil, her robe of flesh behind!
WRANGHAM.
Ye vales, made vocal by my plaintive lay;
Ye streams, embitter'd with the tears of love;
Ye tenants of the sweet melodious grove;
Ye tribes that in the grass fringed streamlet play;
Ye tepid gales, to which my sighs convey
A softer warmth; ye flowery plains, that move
Reflection sad; ye hills, where yet I rove,
Since Laura there first taught my steps to stray;--
You, you are still the same! How changed, alas,
Am I! who, from a state of life so blest,
Am now the gloomy dwelling-place of woe!
'Twas here I saw my love: here still I trace
Her parting steps, when she her mortal vest
Cast to the earth, and left these scenes below.
ANON.