Fortunate Vale! Exulting Hill! Dear Plain! Where Morn, And Eve, My Soul'S Fair Idol Stray'D, While All Your Winds, That Murmur'D Thro' The Glade, Stole Her Sweet Breath; Yet, Yet Your Paths Retain Prints Of Her Step, By Fount, Whose Floods Remain In Depth Unfathom'D; 'Mid The Rocks, That Shade, With Cavern'D Arch, Their Sleep. - Ye Streams, That Play'D Around Her Limbs In Summer'S Ardent Reign, The Soft Resplendence Of Those Azure Eyes Ting'D Ye With Living Light. - The Envied Claim These Blest Distinctions Give, My Lyre, My Sighs, My Songs Record; And, From Their Poet'S Flame, Bid This Wild Vale, Its Rocks, And Streams Arise, Associates Still Of Their Bright Mistress' Fame. 1: This Sonnet Is Not A Translation Or Paraphrase, But Is Written In The Character Of Petrarch, And In Imitation Of His Manner.