Del Mar Tirreno Alla Sinistra Riva. The Fall. Upon The Left Shore Of The Tyrrhene Sea, Where, Broken By The Winds, The Waves Complain, Sudden I Saw That Honour'D Green Again, Written For Whom So Many A Page Must Be: Love, Ever In My Soul His Flame Who Fed, Drew Me With Memories Of Those Tresses Fair; Whence, In A Rivulet, Which Silent There Through Long Grass Stole, I Fell, As One Struck Dead. Lone As I Was, 'Mid Hills Of Oak And Fir, I Felt Ashamed; To Heart Of Gentle Mould Blushes Suffice: Nor Needs It Other Spur. 'Tis Well At Least, Breaking Bad Customs Old, To Change From Eyes To Feet: From These So Wet By Those If Milder April Should Be Met. Macgregor.