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.