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56

VIII. SONNET. To the SPIRIT of LAURA.

Shade of delight! shade whom my sighs revere!
Oh lead thy love where blissful phantoms dwell:
Whether in radiant bowers or lonely cell
Thy spirit rest, there let his form appear;
There haply feel, if spirits feel, the tear
Warm from relenting eyes spontaneous swell,
Bathe his wan cheek and all his woes dispel.
Vain are his hopes on earth and vain his fear:
A purer realm the mourner's toil repays,
Where spotless pleasure blooms eternal youth.
Not long his lingering flight thy love delays,
Not long laments thy loss in strain uncouth—
Hark! angels wake their harps, while he displays
Angelic charms—simplicity and truth!