The Sonnets Of Michael Angelo Buonarroti And Tommaso Campanella - LightNovelsOnl.com
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XXVII.
_THE BAD PRINCE._
_Mentola al comun corpo._
Organ of rut, not reason, is the lord Who from the body politic doth drain l.u.s.t for himself, instead of toil and pain, Leaving us lean as crickets on dry sward.
Well too if he like Love would filch our h.o.a.rd With pleasure to ourselves, sluicing our vein And vigour to perpetuate the strain Of life by spilth of life within us stored!
Love's cheat yields joy and profit. Kings, less kind, Harm those they hoodwink; sow bare rock with seed; Nor use our waste to propagate the breed.
Heaven help that body which a little mind, Housed in a head, lacking ears, tongue, and eyes, And senseless but for smell, can tyrannise!
XXVIII.
_ON ITALY._
_La gran Donna._
That Lady who to Caesar came in state Upon the Rubicon, what time she feared Ruin from those strange races who appeared Erewhile to build her empire strong and great, Now stays with limbs dispersed and lacerate, A bondslave, shorn of all her pomp revered: Nor seems it now that Dinah's shame can gird Simeon or Levi to avenge her fate.
If then Jerusalem doth not repair To Nazareth or Athens, where did reign Wisdom of G.o.d or man in days of yore, None shall arise her honours to restore: For Herods are all strangers; when they swear To save the Saviour's seed, their oath is vain.
XXIX.
_TO VENICE._
_Nuova arca di Noe._
New Ark of Noah! when the cruel scourge Of that barbarian tyrant like a wave Went over Italy, thou then didst save The seed of just men on the weltering surge.
Here, still by discord and foul servitude Untainted, thou a hero brood dost raise, Powerful and prudent. Due to thee their praise Of maiden pure, of teeming motherhood!
Thou wonder of the world, Rome's loyal heir, Thou pride and strong support of Italy, Dial of princes, school of all things wise!
Thou like Arcturus steadfast in the skies, With tardy sense guidest thy kingdom fair, Bearing alone the load of liberty.
x.x.x.
_TO GENOA._
_Le Ninfe d'Arno._
The nymphs of Arno; Adria's G.o.ddess-queen; Greece, where the Latin banner floated free; The lands that border on the Syrian sea; The Euxine, and fair Naples; these have been Thine, by the right of conquest; these should be Still thine by empire: Asia's broad demesne, Afric, America--realms never seen But by thy venture--all belong to thee.
But thou, thyself not knowing, leavest all For a poor price to strangers; since thy head Is weak, albeit thy limbs are stout and good.
Genoa, mistress of the world, recall Thy soul magnanimous! Nay, be not led Slave to base gold, thou and thy tameless brood!
x.x.xI.
_TO POLAND._
_Sopra i regni._
High o'er those realms that make blind chance the heir Of empire, Poland, dost thou lift thy head: For while thou mournest for thy monarch dead, Thou wilt not let his son the sceptre bear, Lest he prove weak perchance to do or dare.
Yet art thou even more by luck misled, Choosing a prince of fortune, courtly-bred, Uncertain whether he will spend or spare.
Oh, quit this pride! In hut or shepherd's pen Seek Cato, Minos, Numa! For of such G.o.d still makes kings in plenty: and these men Will squander little substance and gain much, Knowing that virtue and not blood shall be Their t.i.tles to true immortality.
x.x.xII.
_TO THE SWISS._
_Se voi piu innalza._
Ye Alpine rocks! If less your peaks elate To heaven exalt you than that gift divine, Freedom; why do your children still combine To keep the despots in their stolen state?
Lo, for a piece of bread from windows wide You fling your blood, taking no thought what cause, Righteous or wrong, your strength to battle draws; So is your valour spurned and vilified.
All things belong to free men; but the slave Clothes and feeds poorly. Even so from you Broad lands and Malta's knighthood men withhold.
Up, free yourselves, and act as heroes do!
Go, take your own from tyrants, which you gave So recklessly, and they so dear have sold!
x.x.xIII.
_THE SAMARITAN._
_Da Roma ad Ostia._
From Rome to Ostia a poor man went; Thieves robbed and wounded him upon the way; Some monks, great saints, observed him where he lay, And left him, on their breviaries intent.
A Bishop pa.s.sed thereby, and careless bent To sign the cross, a blessing brief to say; But a great Cardinal, to clutch their prey, Followed the thieves, falsely benevolent.
At last there came a German Lutheran, Who builds on faith, merit of works withstands; He raised and clothed and healed the dying man.
Now which of these was worthiest, most humane?
The heart is better than the head, kind hands Than cold lip-service; faith without works is vain.
Who understands What creed is good and true for self and others?-- But none can doubt the good he doth his brothers.
