SONNET
Io mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passo

ON QUITTING LAURA.

  With weary frame which painfully I bear,
  I look behind me at each onward pace,
  And then take comfort from your native air,
  Which following fans my melancholy face;
  The far way, my frail life, the cherish'd fair
  Whom thus I leave, as then my thoughts retrace,
  I fix my feet in silent pale despair,
  And on the earth my tearful eyes abase.
  At times a doubt, too, rises on my woes,
  "How ever can this weak and wasted frame
  Live from life's spirit and one source afar?"
  Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows--
  "This high pure privilege true lovers claim,
  Who from mere human feelings franchised are!"

  MACGREGOR.


  I look behind each step I onward trace,
  Scarce able to support my wearied frame,
  Ah, wretched me! I pantingly exclaim,
  And from her atmosphere new strength embrace;
  I think on her I leave--my heart's best grace--
  My lengthen'd journey--life's capricious flame--
  I pause in withering fear, with purpose tame,
  Whilst down my cheek tears quick each other chase.
  My doubting heart thus questions in my grief:
  "Whence comes it that existence thou canst know
  When from thy spirit thou dost dwell entire?"
  Love, holy Love, my heart then answers brief:
  "Such privilege I do on all bestow
  Who feed my flame with nought of earthly fire!"

  WOLLASTON.