Those eyes, whence Love diffused his purest light, Proud in such beaming orbs his reign to show; That face, with tints of mingling lustre bright, Where the rose mantled o’er the living snow; The rich redundance of that golden hair, Brighter than sunbeams of meridian day; That form so graceful, and that hand so fair, Where now those treasures?--mouldering into clay! Thus, like some blossom prematurely torn, Hath young Perfection wither’d in its morn, Touch’d by the hand that gathers but to blight? Oh, how could Love survive his bitter tears! Shed, not for her, who mounts to happier spheres, But for his own sad fate, thus wrapt in starless night! SONNET 108. “Brandas aguas do Tejo que passando.” Fair Tajo! thou whose calmly-flowing tide Bathes the fresh verdure of these lovely plains, Enlivening all where’er thy waves may glide, Flowers, herbage, flocks, and sylvan nymphs and swains. Sweet stream! I know not when my steps again Shall tread thy shores; and while to part I mourn, I have no hope to meliorate my pain, No dream that whispers--I may yet return! My frowning destiny, whose watchful care Forbids me blessings and ordains despair, Commands me thus to leave thee, and repine And I must vainly mourn the scenes I fly, And breathe on other gales my plaintive sigh, And blend my tears with other waves than thine! SONNET 23. TO A LADY WHO DIED AT SEA. “Chara minha inimiga, em cuja mao.” Thou to whose power my hopes, my joys I gave, O fondly loved! my bosom’s dearest care! Earth, which denied to lend thy form a grave, Yields not one spell to soothe my deep despair! Yes! the wild seas entomb those charms divine, Dark o’er thy head th’ eternal billows roll; But while one ray of life or thought is mine, Still shalt thou live, the inmate of my soul. And if the tones of my uncultured song Have power the sad remembrance to prolong, Of love so ardent, and of faith so pure; Still shall my verse thine epitaph remain, Still shall thy charms be deathless in my strain, While Time, and Love, and Memory shall endure. SONNET 19. “Alma minha gentil, que te partiste.” Spirit beloved! whose wing so soon hath flown The joyless precincts of this earthly sphere, How is yon Heaven eternally thine own, Whilst I deplore thy loss, a captive here! Oh! if allow’d in thy divine abode Of aught on earth an image to retain, Remember still the fervent love which glow’d In my fond bosom, pure from every stain. And if thou deem’d that all my faithful grief, Caused by thy loss, and hopeless of relief, Can merit thee, sweet native of the skies! Oh! ask of Heaven, which call’d thee soon away, That I may join thee in those realms of day, Swiftly as _thou_ hast vanish’d from mine eyes.