The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch

CANZONE III

Standomi un giorno solo alla finestra

UNDER VARIOUS ALLEGORIES HE PAINTS THE VIRTUE, BEAUTY, AND UNTIMELY DEATH OF LAURA

 
While at my window late I stood alone,
So new and many things there cross'd my sight,
To view them I had almost weary grown.
A dappled hind appear'd upon the right,
In aspect gentle, yet of stately stride,
By two swift greyhounds chased, a black and white,
Who tore in the poor side
Of that fair creature wounds so deep and wide,
That soon they forced her where ravine and rock
The onward passage block:
Then triumph'd Death her matchless beauties o'er,
And left me lonely there her sad fate to deplore.
 
 
Upon the summer wave a gay ship danced,
Her cordage was of silk, of gold her sails,
Her sides with ivory and ebon glanced,
The sea was tranquil, favouring were the gales,
And heaven as when no cloud its azure veils.
A rich and goodly merchandise is hers;
But soon the tempest wakes,
And wind and wave to such mad fury stirs,
That, driven on the rocks, in twain she breaks;
My heart with pity aches,
That a short hour should whelm, a small space hide,
Riches for which the world no equal had beside.
 
 
In a fair grove a bright young laurel made
—Surely to Paradise the plant belongs!—
Of sacred boughs a pleasant summer shade,
From whose green depths there issued so sweet songs
Of various birds, and many a rare delight
Of eye and ear, what marvel from the world
They stole my senses quite!
While still I gazed, the heavens grew black around,
The fatal lightning flash'd, and sudden hurl'd,
Uprooted to the ground,
That blessed birth. Alas! for it laid low,
And its dear shade whose like we ne'er again shall know.
 
 
A crystal fountain in that very grove
Gush'd from a rock, whose waters fresh and clear
Shed coolness round and softly murmur'd love;
Never that leafy screen and mossy seat
Drew browsing flock or whistling rustic near
But nymphs and muses danced to music sweet.
There as I sat and drank
With infinite delight their carols gay,
And mark'd their sport, the earth before me sank
And bore with it away
The fountain and the scene, to my great grief,
Who now in memory find a sole and scant relief.
 
 
A lovely and rare bird within the wood,
Whose crest with gold, whose wings with purple gleam'd,
Alone, but proudly soaring, next I view'd,
Of heavenly and immortal birth which seem'd,
Flitting now here, now there, until it stood
Where buried fount and broken laurel lay,
And sadly seeing there
The fallen trunk, the boughs all stripp'd and bare,
The channel dried—for all things to decay
So tend—it turn'd away
As if in angry scorn, and instant fled,
While through me for her loss new love and pity spread.
 
 
At length along the flowery sward I saw
So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine
Seem'd gold and snow together there to join:
But, ah! each charm above
Was veil'd from sight in an unfriendly cloud:
Stung by a lurking snake, as flowers that pine
Her head she gently bow'd,
And joyful pass'd on high, perchance secure:
Alas! that in the world grief only should endure.
 
 
My song! in each sad change,
These visions, as they rise, sweet, solemn, strange,
But show how deeply in thy master's breast
The fond desire abides to die and be at rest.
 

Macgregor.

BALLATA I

Amor, quando fioria

HIS GRIEF AT SURVIVING HER IS MITIGATED BY THE CONSCIOUSNESS THAT SHE NOW KNOWS HIS HEART

 
Yes, Love, at that propitious time
When hope was in its bloomy prime,
And when I vainly fancied nigh
The meed of all my constancy;
Then sudden she, of whom I sought
Compassion, from my sight was caught.
O ruthless Death! O life severe!
The one has sunk me deep in care,
And darken'd cruelly my day,
That shone with hope's enlivening ray:
The other, adverse to my will,
Doth here on earth detain me still;
And interdicts me to pursue
Her, who from all its scenes withdrew:
Yet in my heart resides the fair,
For ever, ever present there;
Who well perceives the ills that wait
Upon my wretched, mortal state.
 

Nott.

 
Yes, Love, while hope still bloom'd with me in pride,
While seem'd of all my faith the guerdon nigh,
She, upon whom for mercy I relied,
Was ravish'd from my doting desolate eye.
O ruthless Death! O life unwelcome! this
Plunged me in deepest woe,
And rudely crush'd my every hope of bliss;
Against my will that keeps me here below,
Who else would yearn to go,
And join the sainted fair who left us late;
Yet present every hour
In my heart's core there wields she her old power,
And knows, whate'er my life, its every state!
 

Macgregor.

CANZONE IV

Tacer non posso, e temo non adopre

HE RECALLS HER MANY GRACES

 
Fain would I speak—too long has silence seal'd
Lips that would gladly with my full heart move
With one consent, and yield
Homage to her who listens from above;
Yet how can I, without thy prompting, Love,
With mortal words e'er equal things divine,
And picture faithfully
The high humility whose chosen shrine
Was that fair prison whence she now is free?
Which held, erewhile, her gentle spirit, when
So in my conscious heart her power began.
That, instantly, I ran,
—Alike o' th' year and me 'twas April then—
From these gay meadows round sweet flowers to bind,
Hoping rich pleasure at her eyes to find.
 
 
The walls were alabaster, the roof gold,
Ivory the doors, the sapphire windows lent
Whence on my heart of old
Its earliest sigh, as shall my last, was sent;
In arrowy jets of fire thence came and went
Arm'd messengers of love, whereof to think
As then they were, with awe
—Though now for them with laurel crown'd—I shrink
Of one rare diamond, square, without a flaw,
High in the midst a stately throne was placed
Where sat the lovely lady all alone:
In front a column shone
Of crystal, and thereon each thought was traced
In characters so clear, and quick, and true,
By turns it gladden'd me and grieved to view.
 
 
To weapons such as these, sharp, burning, bright,
To the green glorious banner waved above,
—'Gainst which would fail in fight
Mars, Polypheme, Apollo, mighty Jove—
While still my sorrow fresh and verdant throve,
I stood defenceless, doom'd; her easy prey
She led me as she chose
Whence to escape I knew nor art nor way;
But, as a friend, who, haply, grieves yet goes,
Sees something still to lure his eyes and heart,
Just so on her, for whom I am in thrall,
Sole perfect work of all
That graced her age, unable to depart,
With such desire my rapt regards I set,
As soon myself and misery to forget.
 
 
On earth myself, my heart in Eden dwelt,
Lost in sweet Lethe every other care,
As my live frame I felt
To marble turn, watching that wonder rare;
When old in years, but youthful still in air,
A lady briefly, quietly drew nigh,
And thus beholding me,
With reverent aspect and admiring eye,
Kind offer made my counsellor to be:
"My power," she said, "is more than mortals know—
Lighter than air, I, in an instant, make
Their hearts exult or ache,
I loose and bind whate'er is seen below;
Thine eyes, upon that sun, as eagles', bend,
But to my words with willing ears attend.
 
 
"The day when she was born, the stars that win
Prosperity for man shone bright above;
Their high glad homes within
Each on the other smiled with gratulant love;
Fair Venus, and, with gentle aspect, Jove
The beautiful and lordly mansions held:
Seem'd as each adverse light
Throughout all heaven was darken'd and dispell'd,
The sun ne'er look'd upon a day so bright;
The air and earth rejoiced; the waves had rest
By lake and river, and o'er ocean green:
'Mid the enchanting scene
One distant cloud alone my thought distress'd,
Lest sometime it might be of tears the source
Unless kind Heaven should elsewhere turn its course.
 
 
"When first she enter'd on this life below,
Which, to say sooth, not worthy was to hold,
'Twas strange to see her so
Angelical and dear in baby mould;
A snowy pearl she seem'd in finest gold;
Next as she crawl'd, or totter'd with short pace,
Wood, water, earth, and stone
Grew green, and clear, and soft; with livelier grace
The sward beneath her feet and fingers shone;
With flowers the champain to her bright eyes smiled;
At her sweet voice, babbling through lips that yet
From Love's own fount were wet,
The hoarse wind silent grew, the tempest mild:
Thus clearly showing to the dull blind world
How much in her was heaven's own light unfurl'd.
 
 
"At length, her life's third flowery epoch won,
She, year by year, so grew in charms and worth,
That ne'er, methinks, the sun
Such gracefulness and beauty saw on earth;
Her eyes so full of modesty and mirth,
Music and welcome on her words so hung,
That mute in her high praise,
Which thine alone may sound, is every tongue:
So bright her countenance with heavenly rays,
Not long thy dazzled vision there may rest;
From this her fair and fleshly tenement
Such fire through thine is sent
(Though gentler never kindled human breast),
That yet I fear her sudden flight may be
Too soon the cause of bitter grief to thee."
 
 
This said, she turn'd her to the rapid wheel
Whereon she winds of mortal life the thread;
Too true did she reveal
The doom of woe which darken'd o'er my head!
A few brief years flew by,
When she, for whom I so desire to die,
By black and pitiless Death, who could not slay
A fairer form than hers, was snatch'd away!
 

Macgregor.

SONNET LV

Or hai fatto l' estremo di tua possa

DEATH MAY DEPRIVE HIM OF THE SIGHT OF HER BEAUTIES, BUT NOT OF THE MEMORY OF HER VIRTUES

 
Now hast thou shown, fell Death! thine utmost might.
Through Love's bright realm hast want and darkness spread,
Hast now cropp'd beauty's flower, its heavenly light
Quench'd, and enclosed in the grave's narrow bed;
Now hast thou life despoil'd of all delight,
Its ornament and sovereign honour shed:
But fame and worth it is not thine to blight;
These mock thy power, and sleep not with the dead.
Be thine the mortal part; heaven holds the best,
And, glorying in its brightness, brighter glows,
While memory still records the great and good.
O thou, in thine high triumph, angel blest!
Let thy heart yield to pity of my woes,
E'en as thy beauty here my soul subdued.
 

Dacre.

 
Now hast thou shown the utmost of thy might,
O cruel Death! Love's kingdom hast thou rent,
And made it poor; in narrow grave hast pent
The blooming flower of beauty and its light!
Our wretched life thou hast despoil'd outright
Of every honour, every ornament!
But then her fame, her worth, by thee unblent,
Shall still survive!—her dust is all thy right;
The rest heaven holds, proud of her charms divine
As of a brighter sun. Nor dies she here—
Her memory lasts, to good men ever dear!
O angel new, in thy celestial sphere
Let pity now thy sainted heart incline,
As here below thy beauty vanquish'd mine!
 

Charlemont.

SONNET LVI

L' aura e l' odore e 'l refrigerio e l' ombra

HER OWN VIRTUES IMMORTALISE HER IN HEAVEN, AND HIS PRAISES ON EARTH

 
The air and scent, the comfort and the shade
Of my sweet laurel, and its flowery sight,
That to my weary life gave rest and light,
Death, spoiler of the world, has lowly laid.
As when the moon our sun's eclipse has made,
My lofty light has vanish'd so in night;
For aid against himself I Death invite;
With thoughts so dark does Love my breast invade.
Thou didst but sleep, bright lady, a brief sleep,
In bliss amid the chosen spirits to wake,
Who gaze upon their God, distinct and near:
And if my verse shall any value keep,
Preserved and praised 'mid noble minds to make
Thy name, its memory shall be deathless here.
 

Macgregor.

 
The fragrant gale, and the refreshing shade
Of my sweet laurel, and its verdant form,
That were my shelter in life's weary storm,
Have felt the power that makes all nature fade:
Now has my light been lost in gloomy shade,
E'en as the sun behind his sister's form:
I call for Death to free me from Death's storm,
But Love descends and brings me better aid!
He tells me, lady, that one moment's sleep
Alone was thine, and then thou didst awake
Among the elect, and in thy Maker's arms:
And if my verse oblivion's power can keep
Aloof, thy name its place on earth-will take
Where Genius still will dote upon thy charms!
 

Morehead.

SONNET LVII

L' ultimo, lasso! de' miei giorni allegri

HE REVERTS TO THEIR LAST MEETING

 
The last, alas! of my bright days and glad
—Few have been mine in this brief life below—
Had come; I felt my heart as tepid snow,
Presage, perchance, of days both dark and sad.
As one in nerves, and pulse, and spirits bad,
Who of some frequent fever waits the blow,
E'en so I felt—for how could I foreknow
Such near end of the half-joys I have had?
Her beauteous eyes, in heaven now bright and bless'd
With the pure light whence health and life descends,
(Wretched and beggar'd leaving me behind,)
With chaste and soul-lit beams our grief address'd:
"Tarry ye here in peace, beloved friends,
Though here no more, we yet shall there be join'd."
 

Macgregor.

 
Ah me! the last of all my happy days
(Not many happy days my years can show)
Was come! I felt my heart as turn'd to snow,
Presage, perhaps, that happiness decays!
E'en as the man whose shivering frame betrays,
And fluttering pulse, the ague's coming blow;
'Twas thus I felt!—but could I therefore know
How soon would end the bliss that never stays?
Those eyes that now, in heaven's delicious light,
Drink in pure beams which life and glory rain,
Just as they left mine, blinded, sunk in night,
Seem'd thus to say, sparkling unwonted bright,—
"Awhile, beloved friends, in peace remain,
Oh, we shall yet elsewhere exchange fond looks again!"
 

Morehead.

SONNET LVIII

O giorno, o ora, o ultimo momento

HE MOURNS HIS WANT OF PERCEPTION AT THAT MEETING

 
O Day, O hour, O moment sweetest, last,
O stars conspired to make me poor indeed!
O look too true, in which I seem'd to read.
At parting, that my happiness was past;
Now my full loss I know, I feel at last:
Then I believed (ah! weak and idle creed!)
'Twas but a part alone I lost; instead,
Was there a hope that flew not with the blast?
For, even then, it was in heaven ordain'd
That the sweet light of all my life should die:
'Twas written in her sadly-pensive eye!
But mine unconscious of the truth remain'd;
Or, what it would not see, to see refrain'd,
That I might sink in sudden misery!
 

Morehead.

 
Dark hour, last moment of that fatal day!
Stars which to beggar me of bliss combined!
O faithful glance, too well which seem'dst to say
Farewell to me, farewell to peace of mind!
Awaken'd now, my losses I survey:
Alas! I fondly thought—thoughts weak and blind!—
That absence would take part, not all, away;
How many hopes it scatter'd to the wind.
Heaven had already doom'd it otherwise,
To quench for ever my life's genial light,
And in her sad sweet face 'twas written so.
Surely a veil was placed around mine eyes,
That blinded me to all before my sight,
And sank at once my life in deepest woe.
 

Macgregor.

SONNET LIX

Quel vago, dolce, caro, onesto sguardo

HE SHOULD HAVE FORESEEN HIS LOSS IN THE UNUSUAL LUSTRE OF HER EYES

 
That glance of hers, pure, tender, clear, and sweet,
Methought it said, "Take what thou canst while nigh;
For here no more thou'lt see me, till on high
From earth have mounted thy slow-moving feet."
O intellect than forest pard more fleet!
Yet slow and dull thy sorrow to descry,
How didst thou fail to see in her bright eye
What since befell, whence I my ruin meet.
Silently shining with a fire sublime,
They said, "O friendly lights, which long have been
Mirrors to us where gladly we were seen,
Heaven waits for you, as ye shall know in time;
Who bound us to the earth dissolves our bond,
But wills in your despite that you shall live beyond."
 

Macgregor.

CANZONE V

Solea dalla fontana di mia vita

MEMORY IS HIS ONLY SOLACE AND SUPPORT

 
I who was wont from life's best fountain far
So long to wander, searching land and sea,
Pursuing not my pleasure, but my star,
And alway, as Love knows who strengthen'd me,
Ready in bitter exile to depart,
For hope and memory both then fed my heart;
Alas! now wring my hands, and to unkind
And angry Fortune, which away has reft
That so sweet hope, my armour have resign'd;
And, memory only left,
I feed my great desire on that alone,
Whence frail and famish'd is my spirit grown.
 
 
As haply by the way, if want of food
Compel the traveller to relax his speed,
Losing that strength which first his steps endued,
So feeling, for my weary life, the need
Of that dear nourishment Death rudely stole,
Leaving the world all bare, and sad my soul,
From time to time fair pleasures pall, my sweet
To bitter turns, fear rises, and hopes fail,
My course, though brief, that I shall e'er complete:
Cloudlike before the gale,
To win some resting-place from rest I flee,
—If such indeed my doom, so let it be.
 
 
Never to mortal life could I incline,
—Be witness, Love, with whom I parley oft—
Except for her who was its light and mine.
And since, below extinguish'd, shines aloft
The life in which I lived, if lawful 'twere,
My chief desire would be to follow her:
But mine is ample cause of grief, for I
To see my future fate was ill supplied;
This Love reveal'd within her beauteous eye
Elsewhere my hopes to guide:
Too late he dies, disconsolate and sad,
Whom death a little earlier had made glad.
 
 
In those bright eyes, where wont my heart to dwell,
Until by envy my hard fortune stirr'd
Rose from so rich a temple to expel,
Love with his proper hand had character'd
In lines of pity what, ere long, I ween
The issue of my old desire had been.
Dying alone, and not my life with me,
Comely and sweet it then had been to die,
Leaving my life's best part unscathed and free;
But now my fond hopes lie
Dead in her silent dust: a secret chill
Shoots through me when I think that I live still.
 
 
If my poor intellect had but the force
To help my need, and if no other lure
Had led it from the plain and proper course,
Upon my lady's brow 'twere easy sure
To have read this truth, "Here all thy pleasure dies,
And hence thy lifelong trial dates its rise."
My spirit then had gently pass'd away
In her dear presence from all mortal care;
Freed from this troublesome and heavy clay,
Mounting, before her, where
Angels and saints prepared on high her place,
Whom I but follow now with slow sad pace.
 
 
My song! if one there be
Who in his love finds happiness and rest,
Tell him this truth from me,
"Die, while thou still art bless'd,
For death betimes is comfort, not dismay,
And who can rightly die needs no delay."
 

Macgregor.

SESTINA I

Mia benigna fortuna e 'l viver lieto

IN HIS MISERY HE DESIRES DEATH THE MORE HE REMEMBERS HIS PAST CONTENTMENT AND COMFORT

 
My favouring fortune and my life of joy,
My days so cloudless, and my tranquil nights,
The tender sigh, the pleasing power of song,
Which gently wont to sound in verse and rhyme,
Suddenly darken'd into grief and tears,
Make me hate life and inly pray for death!
 
 
O cruel, grim, inexorable Death!
How hast thou dried my every source of joy,
And left me to drag on a life of tears,
Through darkling days and melancholy nights.
My heavy sighs no longer meet in rhyme,
And my hard martyrdom exceeds all song!
 
 
Where now is vanish'd my once amorous song?
To talk of anger and to treat with death;
Where the fond verses, where the happy rhyme
Welcomed by gentle hearts with pensive joy?
Where now Love's communings that cheer'd my nights?
My sole theme, my one thought, is now but tears!
 
 
Erewhile to my desire so sweet were tears
Their tenderness refined my else rude song,
And made me wake and watch the livelong nights;
But sorrow now to me is worse than death,
Since lost for aye that look of modest joy,
The lofty subject of my lowly rhyme!
 
 
Love in those bright eyes to my ready rhyme
Gave a fair theme, now changed, alas! to tears;
With grief remembering that time of joy,
My changed thoughts issue find in other song,
Evermore thee beseeching, pallid Death,
To snatch and save me from these painful nights!
 
 
Sleep has departed from my anguish'd nights,
Music is absent from my rugged rhyme,
Which knows not now to sound of aught but death;
Its notes, so thrilling once, all turn'd to tears,
Love knows not in his reign such varied song,
As full of sadness now as then of joy!
 
 
Man lived not then so crown'd as I with joy,
Man lives not now such wretched days and nights;
And my full festering grief but swells the song
Which from my bosom draws the mournful rhyme;
I lived in hope, who now live but in tears,
Nor against death have other hope save death!
 
 
Me Death in her has kill'd; and only Death
Can to my sight restore that face of joy,
Which pleasant made to me e'en sighs and tears,
Balmy the air, and dewy soft the nights,
Wherein my choicest thoughts I gave to rhyme
While Love inspirited my feeble song!
 
 
Would that such power as erst graced Orpheus' song
Were mine to win my Laura back from death,
As he Eurydice without a rhyme;
Then would I live in best excess of joy;
Or, that denied me, soon may some sad night
Close for me ever these twin founts of tears!
 
 
Love! I have told with late and early tears,
My grievous injuries in doleful song;
Not that I hope from thee less cruel nights;
And therefore am I urged to pray for death,
Which hence would take me but to crown with joy,
Where lives she whom I sing in this sad rhyme!
 
 
If so high may aspire my weary rhyme,
To her now shelter'd safe from rage and tears,
Whose beauties fill e'en heaven with livelier joy,
Well would she recognise my alter'd song,
Which haply pleased her once, ere yet by death
Her days were cloudless made and dark my nights!
 
 
O ye, who fondly sigh for better nights,
Who listen to love's will, or sing in rhyme,
Pray that for me be no delay in death,
The port of misery, the goal of tears,
But let him change for me his ancient song,
Since what makes others sad fills me with joy!
 
 
Ay! for such joy, in one or in few nights,
I pray in rude song and in anguish'd rhyme,
That soon my tears may ended be in death!
 

Macgregor.