Elegiac sonnets. Volume 2 of 2

Elegiac sonnets. Volume 2 of 2
contents | previous | next

APRIL.

GREEN o'er the copses Spring's soft hues are spreading,
High wave the Reeds in the transparent floods,
The Oak its fear and sallow soliage shedding,
From their moss'd cradles start its infant buds.

[Note:] From their moss'd cradles, &c.
The Oak, and, in sheltered situations, the Beech, retain the leaves of the preceding year till the new foliage appears.
The return of the Spring, which awakens many to new sentiments of pleasure, now serves only to remind me of past misery.
This sensation is common to the wretched — and too many Poets have felt it in all its force.
"Zefiro torno, e'l bel tempo rimena
"E i fiori. e l'erbe, sua dolce famiglia; &c. &c.
— "Ma per me lasso!" —
Petrarch on the Death of Laura.

And these lines of Guarini have always been celebrated.
"O primavera giovent dell' ano,
"Bella madre de fiori
C'erbe novelle e di novelli amori;
Tu torni ben, ma teco
"Non tornan i fereni
"E forunati di, delle mie gioje;
"Tu torni ben, tu torni,
"Ma teco altro non torna
"Che del perduto mio caro tesoro,
"La rimembraza misera e dolente."

Pale as the tranquil tide of Summer's ocean,
The Willow now its slender leaf unveils;
And thro' the sky with swiftly fleeting motion,
Driv'n by the wind, the rack of April fails.

Then, as the gust declines, the stealing showers
         Fall fresh and noiseless; while at closing day
The low Sun gleams on moist and half-blown flowers
         That promise garlands for approaching May.
Blest are yon peasant children, simply singing.
         Who thro' the new-sprung grass rejoicing rove;
More blest! to whom the Time, fond thought is bringing.
         Of friends expected, or returning love.
The pensive wanderer blest, to whom reflection
         Points out some future views that sooth his mind;
Me how unlike! — whom cruel recollection
         But tells of comfort I shall never find!

Hope, that on Nature's you this still attending,
         No more to me her syren song shall sing;
Never to me her influence extending,
         Shall I again enjoy the days of Spring!
Yet, how I lov'd them once these scenes remind me,
         When light of heart, in childhood's thoughtless mirth,
I reck'd not that the cruel lot assign'd me
         Should make me curse the hour that gave me birth!
Then, from thy wild-wood banks, Aruna! roving,
         Thy thymy downs with sportive steps I sought,
And Nature's charms, with artless transport loving,
         Sung like the birds, unheeded and untaught.

But now the Springtide's pleasant hours returning,
         Serve to awaken me to sharper pain;
Recalling scenes of agony and mourning,
         Of baffled hope and prayers preferr'd in vain.
Thus shone the sun, his vernal rays displaying,
         Thus did the woods in early verdure wave,
While dire Disease on all I lov'd was preying,
         And flowers seem'd rising but to strew her grave!
Now, 'mid reviving blooms, I coldy languish,
         Spring seems devoid of joy to me alone;
Each sound of pleasure aggravates my anguish,
         And speaks of beauty, youth, and sweetness gone!

Yet, as stern Duty bids, with faint endeavour
         I drag on life, contending with my woe,
Tho' conscious Misery still repeats, that never
         My soul one pleasureable hour shall know.
Lost in the tomb, when Hope no more appeases
         The fester'd wounds that prompt the eternal sigh,
Grief, the most fatal of the heart's diseases,
         Soon teaches, whom it fastens on, to die.
The wretch undone, for pain alone existing,
         The abject dread of Death shall sure subdue,
And far from his decisive hand resisting,
         Rejoice to bid a world like this, adieu!

contents | previous | next

HOME
INTRODUCTION