Then, cheerful orb, I shall not look on thee.
Fair as thou art, a fairer still than thou

Will all my 'tendance win. Sweet is thy smile,
But sweeter her's. For as thy beauteous light
O'ercomes the feebler glories of the sky,

So will her fair appearance thy poor ray With ease subdue, and make it pale and faint As at the dawn of all-eclipsing day.

CANZONET III.

WHEN the maid that possesses my heart
Was content at my mansion to stay,

Rapid time was in haste to depart,

And the moments fled laughing away.

But now since I see her not near,

And to seek her is not in my pow'r,

Ev'ry day is as long as a year,

Ev'ry moment as slow as an hour.

Tardy time, thy fleet pinions repair,

To be swifter than ever was known; Let the hours while I wait for my fair Dance away upon sandals of down.

But wheu, her gay fellows among,
door my sweet angel appears,

At my

Bid the moments steal softly along,

And lengthen the days into

years.

TO HAPPINESS.

O HAPPINESS, thou puny short-liv'd plant, Whose tender branch this world's inclement sky

But ill endures, and bears abundant bloom

In the pacific clime of Heaven alone,

Let me thy transient beauty strive to rear,
Not without hope, uncertain as thou art,
That thy sweet blossom shall at length be mine.
I'll give thee shelter from all winds that blow,

Diffuse eternal summer round thy head,

And satisfy thy root with gentle drops,
Warm as the dew the tender mother sheds
Upon her drooping child. And in return
Do thou, sweet stranger, to my longing eye
At least one blossom leisurely unfold,

To be transported, when occasion smiles,

Into the bosom of the maid I love.

There to abide, perchance, shall please thee well,
For 'tis a mansion like thy native seat,

The fair abode of innocence and truth.
Be it thy home, and satisfy mankind
That happiness can flourish here below,
And is not always like the cereus' bloom,
Alive at night, and wither'd ere the morn.

CANZONET IV.

CAN aught be more fair to the eye
Than the blush of the maidenly year?
Can aught with the orchard-bloom vie,

When in May its sweet blossoms appear? Can aught like the eglantine please,

Or the rose budding? Tell me, what can ?

O thrice more attracting than these

Is the cheek of my sweet little Anne.

What can charm like the spring of the field, When it trickles transparently by?

Or what sweeter pleasure can yield,

Than to look on the gems of the sky?

What can win like the tremulous dew

Which the Zephyrs on gossamer fan ?

O thrice more enchanting to view
Is the eye of my sweet little Anne.

Can aught like the morning delight,
When it dawns toward peaceable day?
Or bewitch like the planet of night,

When she steals in good humour away ?
Is there aught like the sweetness of eve,
When, serene as when nature began,

The soft sun takes his mellow last leave ?
Yes, the smile of my sweet little Anne.

Can aught more delicious be nam'd

Than the exquisite fruit of the pine?
More inviting can aught be proclaim'd

Than the elegant bunch of the vine?
Is there aught can in flavour exceed
Ev'ry beverage precious to man ?
O yes, these are tasteless indeed

To the kiss of my sweet little Anne.

Thrice more than the sun-setting hour,
Or the dawn of the morning, benign,
More delightful than spring's sweetest flow'r,

Or the mirth-making juice of the vine,