Sonnet CCXVI.

I' pur ascolto, e non odo novella. HEARING NO TIDINGS OF HER, HE BEGINS TO DESPAIR. Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait, Of that sweet enemy I love so well: What now to think or say I cannot tell, 'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate: The beautiful are still the marks of fate; And sure her worth and beauty most excel: What if her God have call'd her hence, to dwell Where virtue finds a more congenial state? If so, she will illuminate that sphere Even as a sun: but I--'tis done with me! I then am nothing, have no business here! O cruel absence! why not let me see The worst? my little tale is told, I fear, My scene is closed ere it accomplish'd be. MOREHEAD. No tidings yet--I listen, but in vain; Of her, my beautiful belov'd foe, What or to think or say I nothing know, So thrills my heart, my fond hopes so sustain, Danger to some has in their beauty lain; Fairer and chaster she than others show; God haply seeks to snatch from earth below Virtue's best friend, that heaven a star may gain, Or rather sun. If what I dread be nigh, My life, its trials long, its brief repose Are ended all. O cruel absence! why Didst thou remove me from the menaced woes? My short sad story is already done, And midway in its course my vain race run. MACGREGOR.