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And softly bend as balmy breezes blow, And where, with liquid lapse, the lucid stream Across the fretted rock is heard to flow, Pensive I lay: when she whom Earth conceals, As if still living, to my eyes appears, And pitying Heaven her angel form reveals, To say 'Unhappy Petrarch, dry your tears; 'Ah! why, sad lover! thus before your time, 'In grief and sadness should your life decay. 'And like a blighted flower, your manly prime 'In vain and hopeless sorrow, fade away? 'Ah! yield not thus to culpable despair, 'But raise thine eyes to Heaven and think I wait 'thee there.' |
