The Sonnets Of Michael Angelo Buonarroti And Tommaso Campanella - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_O tu ch' ami la parte._
O you who love the part more than the whole, And love yourself more than all human kind, Who persecute good men with prudence blind Because they combat your malign control, See Scribes and Pharisees, each impious school, Each sect profane, o'erthrown by his great mind, Whose best our good to Deity refined, The while they thought Death triumphed o'er his soul.
Deem you that only you have thought and sense, While heaven and all its wonders, sun and earth, Scorned in your dullness, lack intelligence?
Fool! what produced you? These things gave you birth: So have they mind and G.o.d. Repent; be wise!
Man fights but ill with Him who rules the skies.
XX.
_ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST._
No. 2.
_Quinci impara a stupirti._
Here bend in boundless wonder; bow your head: Think how G.o.d's deathless Mind, that men might be Robed in celestial immortality (O Love divine!), in flesh was raimented: How He was killed and buried; from the dead How He arose to life with victory, And reigned in heaven; how all of us shall be Glorious like Him whose hearts to His are wed: How they who die for love of reason, give Hypocrites, tyrants, sophists--all who sell Their neighbours ill for holiness--to h.e.l.l: How the dead saint condemns the bad who live; How all he does becomes a law for men; How he at last to judge shall come again!
XXI.
_THE RESURRECTION._
_Se sol sei ore._
If Christ was only six hours crucified After few years of toil and misery, Which for mankind He suffered willingly, While heaven was won for ever when He died; Why should He still be shown on every side, Painted and preached, in nought but agony, Whose pains were light matched with His victory, When the world's power to harm Him was defied?
Why rather speak and write not of the realm He rules in heaven, and soon will bring below Unto the praise and glory of His name?
Ah foolish crowd! This world's thick vapours whelm Your eyes unworthy of that glorious show, Blind to His splendour, bent upon His shame.
XXII.
_IDEAL LOVE._
_Il vero amante._
He who loves truly, grows in force and might; For beauty and the image of his love Expand his spirit: whence he burns to prove Adventures high, and holds all perils light.
If thus a lady's love dilate the knight, What glories and what joy all joys above Shall not the heavenly splendour, joined by love Unto our flesh-imprisoned soul, excite?
Once freed, she would become one sphere immense Of love, power, wisdom, filled with Deity, Elate with wonders of the eternal Sense.
But we like sheep and wolves war ceaselessly: That love we never seek, that light intense, Which would exalt us to infinity.
XXIII.
_THE MODERN CUPID._
_Son tremil' anni._
Through full three thousand years the world reveres Blind Love that bears the quiver and hath wings: Now too he's deaf, and to the sufferings Of folk in anguish turns impiteous ears.
Of gold he's greedy, and dark raiment wears; A child no more, that naked sports and sings, But a sly greybeard; no gold shaft he flings, Now that fire-arms have cursed these latter years.
Charcoal and sulphur, thunder, lead, and smoke, That leave the flesh with plagues of h.e.l.l diseased, And drive the craving spirit deaf and blind, These are his weapons. But my bell hath broke Her silence. Yield, thou deaf, blind, tainted beast, To the wise fervour of a blameless mind!
XXIV.
_TRUE AND FALSE n.o.bILITY._
_In noi dal senno._
Valour and mind form real n.o.bility, The which bears fruit and shows a fair increase By doughty actions: these and nought but these Confer true patents of gentility.
Money is false and light unless it be Bought by a man's own worthy qualities; And blood is such that its corrupt disease And ignorant pretence are foul to see.
Honours that ought to yield more true a type, Europe, thou measurest by fortune still, To thy great hurt; and this thy foe perceives: He rates the tree by fruits mature and ripe, Not by mere shadows, roots, and verdant leaves:-- Why then neglect so grave a cause of ill?
XXV.
_THE PEOPLE._
_Il popolo e una bestia._
The people is a beast of muddy brain, That knows not its own force, and therefore stands Loaded with wood and stone; the powerless hands Of a mere child guide it with bit and rein: One kick would be enough to break the chain; But the beast fears, and what the child demands, It does; nor its own terror understands, Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain.
Most wonderful! with its own hand it ties And gags itself--gives itself death and war For pence doled out by kings from its own store.
Its own are all things between earth and heaven; But this it knows not; and if one arise To tell this truth, it kills him unforgiven.
XXVI.
_CONSCIENCE._
_Seco ogni coif a e doglia._
All crime is its own torment, bearing woe To mind or body or decrease of fame; If not at once, still step by step our name Or blood or friends or fortune it brings low.
But if our will do not resent the blow, We have not sinned. That penance hath no blame Which Magdalen found sweet: purging our shame, Self-punishment is virtue, all men know.
The consciousness of goodness pure and whole Makes a man fully blest; but misery Springs from false conscience, blinded in its pride.
This Simon Peter meant when he replied To Simon Magus, that the prescient soul Hath her own proof of immortality.
