The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 103

When all beneath the ample cope of heaven I saw, like clouds before the tempest driven, In sad vicissitude's eternal round, Awhile I stood in holy horror bound; And thus at last with self-exploring mind, Musing, I ask'd, "What basis I could find To fix my trust?" An inward voice replied, "Trust to the Almighty: He thy steps shall guide; He never fails to hear the faithful prayer, But worldly hope must end in dark despair."

Now, what I am, and what I was, I know; I see the seasons in procession go With still increasing speed; while things to come, Unknown, unthought, amid the growing gloom Of long futurity, perplex my soul, While life is posting to its final goal.

Mine is the crime, who ought with clearer light To watch the winged years' incessant flight; And not to slumber on in dull delay Till circling seasons bring the doomful day.

But grace is never slow in that, I trust, To wake the mind, before I sink to dust, With those strong energies that lift the soul To scenes unhoped, unthought, above the pole.

While thus I ponder'd, soon my working thought Once more that ever-changing picture brought Of sublunary things before my view, And thus I question'd with myself anew:-- "What is the end of this incessant flight Of life and death, alternate day and night?

When will the motion on these orbs impress'd Sink on the bosom of eternal rest?"

At once, as if obsequious to my will, Another prospect shone, unmoved and still; Eternal as the heavens that glow'd above, A wide resplendent scene of light and love.

The wheels of Phoebus from the zodiac turn'd; No more the nightly constellations burn'd; Green earth and undulating ocean roll'd Away, by some resistless power controll'd; Immensity conceived, and brought to birth A grander firmament, and more luxuriant earth.

What wonder seized my soul when first I view'd How motionless the restless racer stood, Whose flying feet, with winged speed before, Still mark'd with sad mutation sea and sh.o.r.e.

No more he sway'd the future and the past, But on the moveless present fix'd at last; As at a goal reposing from his toils, Like earth unclothed of all its vernal foils.

Unvaried scene! where neither change nor fate, Nor care, nor sorrow, can our joys abate; Nor finds the light of thought resistance here, More than the sunbeams in a crystal sphere.

But no material things can match their flight, In speed excelling far the race of light.

Oh! what a glorious lot shall then be mine If Heaven to me these nameless joys a.s.sign!

For there the sovereign good for ever reigns, Nor evil yet to come, nor present pains; No baleful birth of time its inmates fear, That comes, the burthen of the pa.s.sing year; No solar chariot circles through the signs, And now too near, and now too distant, s.h.i.+nes; To wretched man and earth's devoted soil Dispensing sad variety of toil.

Oh! happy are the blessed souls that sing Loud hallelujahs in eternal ring!

Thrice happy he, who late, at last shall find A lot in the celestial climes a.s.sign'd!

He, led by grace, the auspicious ford explores, Where, cross the plains, the wintry torrent roars; That troublous tide, where, with incessant strife, Weak mortals struggle through, and call it life.

In love with Vanity, oh, doubly blind Are they that final consolation find In things that fleet on dissolution's wing, Or dance away upon the transient ring Of seasons, as they roll. No sound they hear From that still voice that Wisdom's sons revere; No vestment they procure to keep them warm Against the menace of the wintry storm; But all exposed, in naked nature lie, A s.h.i.+vering crowd beneath the inclement sky, Of reason void, by every foe subdued, Self-ruin'd, self-deprived of sovereign good; Reckless of Him, whose universal sway, Matter, and all its various forms, obey; Whether they mix in elemental strife, Or meet in married calm, and foster life.

His nature baffles all created mind, In earth or heaven, to fathom, or to find.

One glimpse of glory on the saints bestow'd, With eager longings fills the courts of G.o.d For deeper views, in that abyss of light, While mortals slumber here, content with night: Though nought, we find, below the moon, can fill The boundless cravings of the human will.

And yet, what fierce desire the fancy wings To gain a grasp of perishable things; Although one fleeting hour may scatter far The fruit of many a year's corroding care; Those s.p.a.cious regions where our fancies roam, Pain'd by the past, expecting ills to come, In some dread moment, by the fates a.s.sign'd, Shall pa.s.s away, nor leave a rack behind; And Time's revolving wheels shall lose at last The speed that spins the future and the past; And, sovereign of an undisputed throne, Awful eternity shall reign alone.

Then every darksome veil shall fleet away That hides the prospects of eternal day: Those cloud-born objects of our hopes and fears, Whose air-drawn forms deluded memory bears As of substantial things, away so fast Shall fleet, that mortals, at their speed aghast, Watching the change of all beneath the moon, Shall ask, what once they were, and will be soon?

The time will come when every change shall cease, This quick revolving wheel shall rest in peace: No summer then shall glow, nor winter freeze; Nothing shall be to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now shall ever last.

Though time shall be no more, yet s.p.a.ce shall give A n.o.bler theatre to love and live The winged courier then no more shall claim The power to sink or raise the notes of Fame, Or give its glories to the noontide ray: True merit then, in everlasting day, Shall s.h.i.+ne for ever, as at first it shone At once to G.o.d and man and angels known.

Happy are they who in this changing sphere Already have begun the bright career That reaches to the goal which, all in vain, The Muse would blazon in her feeble strain: But blest above all other blest is he Who from the trammels of mortality, Ere half the vital thread ran out, was free, Mature for Heaven; where now the matchless fair Preserves those features, that seraphic air, And all those mental charms that raised my mind, To judge of heaven while yet on earth confined.

That soft attractive glance that won my heart When first my bosom felt unusual smart, Now beams, now glories, in the realms above, Fed by the eternal source of light and love.

Then shall I see her as I first beheld, But lovelier far, and by herself excell'd; And I distinguish'd in the bands above Shall hear this plaudit in the choirs of love:-- "Lo! this is he who sung in mournful strains For many years a lover's doubts and pains; Yet in this soul-expanding, sweet employ, A sacred transport felt above all vulgar joy."

She too shall wonder at herself to hear Her praises ring around the radiant sphere: But of that hour it is not mine to know; To her, perhaps, the period of my woe Is manifest; for she my fate may find In the pure mirror of the eternal mind.

To me it seems at hand a sure presage, Denotes my rise from this terrestrial stage; Then what I gain'd and lost below shall lie Suspended in the balance of the sky, And all our anxious sublunary cares Shall seem one tissue of Arachne's snares; And all the lying vanities of life, The sordid source of envy, hate, and strife, Ign.o.ble as they are, shall then appear Before the searching beam of truth severe; Then souls, from sense refined, shall see the fraud That led them from the living way of G.o.d.

From the dark dungeon of the human breast All direful secrets then shall rise confess'd, In honour multiplied--a dreadful show To hierarchies above, and saints below.

Eternal reason then shall give her doom; And, sever'd wide, the tenants of the tomb Shall seek their portions with instinctive haste, Quick as the savage speeds along the waste.

Then shall the golden h.o.a.rd its trust betray, And they, that, mindless of that dreadful day, Boasted their wealth, its vanity shall know In the dread avenue of endless woe: While they whom moderation's wholesome rule Kept still unstain'd in Virtue's heavenly school, Who the calm suns.h.i.+ne of the soul beneath Enjoy'd, will share the triumph of the Faith.

These pageants five the world and I beheld, The sixth and last, I hope, in heaven reveal'd (If Heaven so will), when Time with speedy hand The scene despoils, and Death's funereal wand The triumph leads. But soon they both shall fall Under that mighty hand that governs all, While they who toil for true renown below, Whom envious Time and Death, a mightier foe, Relentless plunged in dark oblivion's womb, When virtue seem'd to seek the silent tomb, Spoil'd of her heavenly charms once more shall rise, Regain their beauty, and a.s.sert the skies; Leaving the dark sojourn of time beneath, And the wide desolated realms of Death.

But she will early seek these glorious bounds, Whose long-lamented fall the world resounds In unison with me. And heaven will view That awful day her heavenly charms renew, When soul with body joins. Gebenna's strand Saw me enroll'd in Love's devoted band, And mark'd my toils through many hard campaigns And wounds, whose scars my memory yet retains.

Blest is the pile that marks the hallow'd dust!-- There, at the resurrection of the just, When the last trumpet with earth-shaking sound Shall wake her sleepers from their couch profound; Then, when that spotless and immortal mind In a material mould once more enshrined, With wonted charms shall wake seraphic love, How will the beatific sight improve Her heavenly beauties in the climes above!

BOYD.

[LINES 82-99.]

Happy those souls who now are on their way, Or shall hereafter, to attain that end, Theme of my argument, come when it will; And, 'midst the other fair, and fraught with grace, Most happy she whom Death has s.n.a.t.c.h'd away, On this side far the natural bound of life.

The angel manners then will clearly s.h.i.+ne, The meet and pure discourse, the chasten'd thought, Which nature planted in her youthful breast.

Unnumber'd beauties, worn by time and death, Shall then return to their best state of bloom; And how thou hast bound me, love, will then be seen, Whence I by every finger shall be shown!-- Behold who ever wept, and in his tears Was happier far than others in their smiles!

And she, of whom I yet lamenting sing, Shall wonder at her own transcendant charms, Seeing herself far above all admired.

CHARLEMONT.

SONNET FOUND IN LAURA'S TOMB.

_Qui reposan quei caste e felice ossa._

Here peaceful sleeps the chaste, the happy shade Of that pure spirit, which adorn'd this earth: Pure fame, true beauty, and transcendent worth, Rude stone! beneath thy rugged breast are laid.

Death sudden s.n.a.t.c.h'd the dear lamented maid!

Who first to all my tender woes gave birth, Woes! that estranged my sorrowing soul to mirth, While full four l.u.s.tres time completely made.

Sweet plant! that nursed on Avignon's sweet soil, There bloom'd, there died; when soon the weeping Muse Threw by the lute, forsook her wonted toil.

Bright spark of beauty, that still fires my breast!

What pitying mortal shall a prayer refuse, That Heaven may number thee amid the blest?

ANON. 1777.

Here rest the chaste, the dear, the blest remains Of her most lovely; peerless while on earth: What late was beauty, spotless honour, worth, Stern marble, here thy chill embrace retains.

The freshness of the laurel Death disdains; And hath its root thus wither'd.--Such the dearth O'ertakes me. Here I bury ease and mirth, And hope from twenty years of cares and pains.

This happy plant Avignon lonely fed With Life, and saw it die.--And with it lies My pen, my verse, my reason;--useless, dead.

O graceful form!--Fire, which consuming flies Through all my frame!--For blessings on thy head Oh, may continual prayers to heaven rise!

CAPEL LOFFT.

Here now repose those chaste, those blest remains Of that most gentle spirit, sole in earth!

Harsh monumental stone, that here confinest True honour, fame, and beauty, all o'erthrown!

Death has destroy'd that Laurel green, and torn Its tender roots; and all the n.o.ble meed Of my long warfare, pa.s.sing (if aright My melancholy reckoning holds) four l.u.s.tres.

O happy plant! Avignon's favour'd soil Has seen thee spring and die;--and here with thee Thy poet's pen, and muse, and genius lies.

O lovely, beauteous limbs! O vivid fire, That even in death hast power to melt the soul!

Heaven be thy portion, peace with G.o.d on high!

WOODHOUSELEE.