The Poems Of Giacomo Leopardi Part 5

That flame still lives, and that affection pure; Still in my thought that lovely image breathes, From which, save heavenly, I no other joy,

Have ever known; my only comfort, now!

THE LONELY SPARROW.

Thou from the top of yonder antique tower, O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone, Thy song repeating till the day is done, And through this valley strays the harmony.

How Spring rejoices in the fields around, And fills the air with light, So that the heart is melted at the sight!

Hark to the bleating flocks, the lowing herds!

In sweet content, the other birds Through the free sky in emulous circles wheel, In pure enjoyment of their happy time: Thou, pensive, gazest on the scene apart, Nor wilt thou join them in the merry round; Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart; And with thy plaintive music, dost consume Both of the year, and of thy life, the bloom.

Alas, how much my ways Resemble thine! The laughter and the sport, That fill with glee our youthful days, And thee, O love, who art youth's brother still, Too oft the bitter sigh of later years, I care not for; I know not why, But from them ever distant fly: Here in my native place, As if of alien race, My spring of life I like a hermit pa.s.s.

This day, that to the evening now gives way, Is in our town an ancient holiday.

Hark, through the air, that voice of festal bell, While rustic guns in frequent thunders sound, Reverberated from the hills around.

In festal robes arrayed, The neighboring youth, Their houses leaving, o'er the roads are spread; They pleasant looks exchange, and in their hearts Rejoice. I, lonely, in this distant spot, Along the country wandering, Postpone all pleasure and delight To some more genial time: meanwhile, As through the sunny air around I gaze, My brow is smitten by his rays, As after such a day serene, Dropping behind yon distant hills, He vanishes, and seems to say, That thus all happy youth must pa.s.s away.

Thou, lonely little bird, when thou Hast reached the evening of the days Thy stars a.s.sign to thee, Wilt surely not regret thy ways; For all thy wishes are Obedient to Nature's law. But ah!

If I, in spite of all my prayers, Am doomed the hateful threshold of old age To cross, when these dull eyes will give No response to another's heart, The world to them a void will be, Each day become more full of misery, How then, will this, my wish appear In those dark hours, that dungeon drear?

My blighted youth, my sore distress, Alas, will _then_ seem happiness!

THE INFINITE.

This lonely hill to me was ever dear, This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part Of the remote horizon. As I sit And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive The boundless s.p.a.ces that beyond it range, The silence supernatural, and rest Profound; and for a moment I am calm.

And as I listen to the wind, that through These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice I with that infinite compare; And things eternal I recall, and all The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives, And utters its complaint. Thus wandering My thought in this immensity is drowned; And sweet to me is s.h.i.+pwreck on this sea.

THE EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY.

The night is mild and clear, and without wind, And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round The moon s.h.i.+nes soft, and from afar reveals Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine, Hushed now is every path, and few and dim The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.

Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart Consumes; and little dost thou know or think, How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made.

Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn, That seems to greet me with a loving smile, And to that Nature old, omnipotent, That doomed me still to suffer. "I to thee All hope deny," she said, "e'en hope; nor may Those eyes of thine e'er s.h.i.+ne, save through their tears."

This was a holiday; its pleasures o'er, Thou seek'st repose; and happy in thy dreams Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day, And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,-- I hoped it not,--unto thy thoughts occur.

Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains To me; and on the earth I cast myself, And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days, And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear, Not far away, the solitary song Of workman, who returns at this late hour, In merry mood, unto his humble home; And in my heart a cruel pang I feel, At thought, how all things earthly pa.s.s away, And leave no trace behind. This festal day Hath fled; a working-day now follows it, And all, alike, are swept away by Time.

Where is the glory of the antique nations now?

Where now the fame of our great ancestors?

The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms?

Now all is peace and silence, all the world At rest; their very names are heard no more.

E'en from my earliest years, when we Expect so eagerly a holiday, The moment it was past, I sought my couch, Wakeful and sad; and at the midnight hour, When I the song heard of some pa.s.ser-by, That slowly in the distance died away, The same deep anguish felt I in my heart.

TO THE MOON.

O lovely moon, how well do I recall The time,--'tis just a year--when up this hill I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee: And thou suspended wast o'er yonder grove, As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.

But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared Thy countenance to me, because my eyes Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed; For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome, And _is_ so still, unchanged, beloved moon!

And yet this recollection pleases me, This computation of my sorrow's age.

How pleasant is it, in the days of youth, When hope a long career before it hath, And memories are few, upon the past To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!

THE DREAM.

It was the morning; through the shutters closed, Along the balcony, the earliest rays Of sunlight my dark room were entering; When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes Its softest and most grateful shadows casts, There stood beside me, looking in my face, The image dear of her, who taught me first To love, then left me to lament her loss.

To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such A countenance as the unhappy wear.

Her right hand near my head she sighing placed; "Dost thou still live," she said to me, "and dost Thou still remember what we _were_ and are?"

And I replied: "Whence comest thou, and how, Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think Thou e'er couldst know it more; and oh, that thought My sorrow rendered more disconsolate!

But art thou now again to leave me?

I fear so. Say, what hath befallen thee?

Art thou the same? What preys upon thee thus?"

"Oblivion weighs upon thy thoughts, and sleep Envelops them," she answered; "I am dead, And many months have pa.s.sed, since last we met."

What grief oppressed me, as these words I heard!

And she continued: "In the flower of youth Cut off, when life is sweetest, and before The heart that lesson sad and sure hath learnt, The utter vanity of human hope!

The sick man may e'en covet, as a boon, That which withdraws him from all suffering; But to the young, Death comes, disconsolate; And hard the fate of hope, that in the grave Is quenched! And yet, how vain that knowledge is, That Nature from the inexperienced hides!

And a blind sorrow is to be preferred To wisdom premature!"--"Hush, hus.h.!.+" I cried, "Unhappy one, and dear! My heart is crushed With these thy words! And art thou dead, indeed, O my beloved? and am I still alive?

And was it, then, in heaven decreed, that this, Thy tender body the last damps of death Should feel, and my poor, wretched frame remain Unharmed? Oh, often, often as I think That thou no longer livest, and that I Shall never see thee on the earth again, Incredible it seems! Alas, alas!

What _is_ this thing, that they call death? Oh, would That I, this day, the mystery could solve, And my defenceless head withdraw from Fate's Relentless hate! I still am young, and still Feel all the blight and misery of age, Which I so dread; and distant far it seems; But, ah, how little different from age, The flower of my years!"--"We both were born,"

She said, "to weep; unhappy were our lives, And heaven took pleasure in our sufferings."

"Oh if my eyes with tears," I added, "then, My face with pallor veiled thou seest, for loss Of thee, and anguish weighing on my heart; Tell me, was any spark of pity or of love For the poor lover kindled in thy heart, While thou didst live? I, then, between my hope And my despair, pa.s.sed weary nights and days; And now, my mind is with vain doubts oppressed.

Oh if but once compa.s.sion smote thee for My darkened life, conceal it not from me, I pray thee; let the memory console me, Since of their future our young days were robbed!"

And she: "Be comforted, unhappy one!

I was not churlish of my pity whilst I lived, and am not now, myself so wretched!

Oh, do not chide this most unhappy child!"

"By all our sufferings, and by the love Which preys upon me," I exclaimed, "and by Our youth, and by the hope that faded from Our lives, O let me, dearest, touch thy hand!"

And sweetly, sadly, she extended it.

And while I covered it with kisses, while With sorrow and with rapture quivering, I to my panting bosom fondly pressed it, With fervent pa.s.sion glowed my face and breast, My trembling voice refused its utterance, And all things swam before my sight; when she, Her eyes fixed tenderly on mine, replied: "And dost thou, then, forget, dear friend, that I Am of my beauty utterly deprived?

And vainly thou, unhappy one, dost yield To pa.s.sion's transports. Now, a last farewell!

Our wretched minds, our feeble bodies, too, Eternally are parted. Thou to me No longer livest, nevermore shall live.

Fate hath annulled the faith that thou hast sworn."

Then, in my anguish as I seemed to cry Aloud, convulsed, my eyes o'erflowing with The tears of utter, helpless misery, I started from my sleep. The image still Was seen, and in the sun's uncertain light Above my couch she seemed to linger still.