TO
ANNA
MATILDA
.
NOR
will
I
more
of
Fate
complain
;
For
I
have
liv'd
to
feel
thy
strain
;
To
feel
its
sun-like
force
divine
,
Swift
darting
through
the
clouds
of
woe
,
Shoot
to
my
soul
a
sainted
glow
.
Yet
,
yet
,
MATILDA
,
spare
to
shine
!
One
moment
be
the
blaze
supprest
!
Lest
from
this
clod
my
spirit
spring
,
And
borne
by
Zephyrs'
trembling
wing
,
Seek
a
new
Heaven
upon
thy
BREAST
.
But
say
,
does
calm
INDIFFERENCE
dwell
On
the
low
mead
or
mountain
swell
,
Or
at
grey
Evening's
solemn
gloom
,
Bend
her
bosom
to
the
tomb
?
Or
when
the
weak
dawn's
orient
rose
,
In
silv'ry
foliage
deck'd
,
appears
;
Tell
me
,
if
perchance
she
goes
To
the
fresh
garden's
proud
array
,
Where
,
doubtful
of
the
coming
day
,
Each
drooping
flow'ret
sheds
translucent
tears
.
Ah
!
tell
me
,
tell
me
where
,
For
thou
shalt
find
me
there
,
Like
her
own
son
,
in
vestment
pure
,
With
deep
disguise
of
smile
secure
:
So
shall
I
once
thy
form
descry
,
For
once
,
hold
converse
with
thine
eye
.
Vain
is
the
thought
,
for
at
thy
sight
,
Soon
as
thy
potent
voice
were
found
,
Could
I
conceal
the
vast
delight
,
Could
I
be
tranquil
at
the
sound
,
Could
I
repress
quick
Rapture's
start
,
Or
hide
the
bursting
of
my
heart
?
Let
but
thy
lyre
impatient
seize
Departing
Twilight's
filmy
breeze
,
That
winds
th'
enchanting
chords
among
,
In
ling'ring
labyrinth
of
song
:
Anon
,
the
amorous
Bird
of
Woe
Shall
steal
the
tones
that
quiv'ring
flow
,
And
with
them
sooth
the
sighing
woods
,
And
with
them
charm
the
slumb'ring
floods
;
Till
,
all
exhausted
by
the
lay
,
He
hang
in
silence
on
the
spray
,
Drop
to
his
idle
flow'r
beneath
,
And
,
'midst
her
blushes
,
cease
to
breathe
.
Warn'd
by
his
Fate
,
'twere
surely
well
To
shun
the
fascinating
spell
;
Nor
still
,
presumptuous
,
dare
to
fling
My
rude
hand
o'er
the
sounding
string
;
As
though
I
fondly
would
aspire
,
To
match
MATILDA's
heavenly
fire
.
Yet
may
I
sometimes
,
far
remote
,
Hear
the
lov'd
cadence
of
her
note
,
And
though
the
Laurel
I
resign
,
O
may
the
bliss
of
TASTE
be
mine
!
DELLA
CRUSCA
.