The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 15

"Whom doth the laurel please, or myrtle now?

Naked and poor, Philosophy, art thou!"

The worthless crowd, intent on lucre, cries.

Few on thy chosen road will thee attend; Yet let it more incite thee, gentle friend, To prosecute thy high-conceived emprize.

NOTT.

SONNET VIII.

_A pie de' colli ove la bella vesta._

HE FEIGNS AN ADDRESS FROM SOME BIRDS WHICH HE HAD PRESENTED.

Beneath the verdant hills--where the fair vest Of earthly mould first took the Lady dear, Who him that sends us, feather'd captives, here Awakens often from his tearful rest-- Lived we in freedom and in quiet, blest With everything which life below might cheer, No foe suspecting, hara.s.s'd by no fear That aught our wanderings ever could molest; But s.n.a.t.c.h'd from that serener life, and thrown To the low wretched state we here endure, One comfort, short of death, survives alone: Vengeance upon our captor full and sure!

Who, slave himself at others' power, remains Pent in worse prison, bound by sterner chains.

MACGREGOR.

Beneath those very hills, where beauty threw Her mantle first o'er that earth-moulded fair, Who oft from sleep, while shedding many a tear, Awakens him that sends us unto you, Our lives in peacefulness and freedom flew, E'en as all creatures wish who hold life dear; Nor deem'd we aught could in its course come near, Whence to our wanderings danger might accrue.

But from the wretched state to which we're brought, Leaving another with sereneness fraught, Nay, e'en from death, one comfort we obtain; That vengeance follows him who sent us here; Another's utmost thraldom doomed to bear, Bound he now lies with a still stronger chain.

NOTT.

SONNET IX.

_Quando 'l pianeta che distingue l' ore._

WITH A PRESENT OF FRUIT IN SPRING.

When the great planet which directs the hours To dwell with Taurus from the North is borne, Such virtue rays from each enkindled horn, Rare beauty instantly all nature dowers; Nor this alone, which meets our sight, that flowers Richly the upland and the vale adorn, But Earth's cold womb, else l.u.s.treless and lorn, Is quick and warm with vivifying powers, Till herbs and fruits, like these I send, are rife.

--So she, a sun amid her fellow fair, Shedding the rays of her bright eyes on me, Thoughts, acts, and words of love wakes into life-- But, ah! for me is no new Spring, nor e'er, Smile they on whom she will, again can be.

MACGREGOR.

When Taurus in his house doth Phoebus keep, There pours so bright a virtue from his crest That Nature wakes, and stands in beauty drest, The flow'ring meadows start with joy from sleep: Nor they alone rejoice--earth's bosom deep (Though not one beam illumes her night of rest) Responsive smiles, and from her fruitful breast Gives forth her treasures for her sons to reap.

Thus she, who dwells amid her s.e.x a sun, Shedding upon my soul her eyes' full light, Each thought creates, each deed, each word of love: But though my heart's proud mastery she hath won Alas! within me dwells eternal night: My spirit ne'er Spring's genial breath doth prove.

WOLLASTON.

SONNET X.

_Gloriosa Colonna, in cui s' appoggia._

TO STEFANO COLONNA THE ELDER, INVITING HIM TO THE COUNTRY.

Glorious Colonna! still the strength and stay Of our best hopes, and the great Latin name Whom power could never from the true right way Seduce by flattery or by terror tame: No palace, theatres, nor arches here, But, in their stead, the fir, the beech, and pine On the green sward, with the fair mountain near Paced to and fro by poet friend of thine; Thus unto heaven the soul from earth is caught; While Philomel, who sweetly to the shade The livelong night her desolate lot complains, Fills the soft heart with many an amorous thought: --Ah! why is so rare good imperfect made While severed from us still my lord remains.

MACGREGOR.

Glorious Colonna! thou, the Latins' hope, The proud supporter of our lofty name, Thou hold'st thy path of virtue still the same, Amid the thunderings of Rome's Jove--the Pope.

Not here do human structures interlope The fir to rival, or the pine-tree's claim, The soul may revel in poetic flame Upon yon mountain's green and gentle slope.

And thus from earth to heaven the spirit soars, Whilst Philomel her tale of woe repeats Amid the sympathising shades of night, Thus through man's breast love's current sweetly pours: Yet still thine absence half the joy defeats,-- Alas! my friend, why dim such radiant light?

WOLLASTON.

BALLATA I.

_La.s.sare il velo o per sole o per ombra._

PERCEIVING HIS Pa.s.sION, LAURA'S SEVERITY INCREASES.

Never thy veil, in sun or in the shade, Lady, a moment I have seen Quitted, since of my heart the queen Mine eyes confessing thee my heart betray'd While my enamour'd thoughts I kept conceal'd.

Those fond vain hopes by which I die, In thy sweet features kindness beam'd: Changed was the gentle language of thine eye Soon as my foolish heart itself reveal'd; And all that mildness which I changeless deem'd-- All, all withdrawn which most my soul esteem'd.

Yet still the veil I must obey, Which, whatsoe'er the aspect of the day, Thine eyes' fair radiance hides, my life to overshade.

CAPEL LOFFT.

Wherefore, my unkind fair one, say, Whether the sun fierce darts his ray, Or whether gloom o'erspreads the sky, That envious veil is ne'er thrown by; Though well you read my heart, and knew How much I long'd your charms to view?

While I conceal'd each tender thought, That my fond mind's destruction wrought, Your face with pity sweetly shone; But, when love made my pa.s.sion known, Your sunny locks were seen no more, Nor smiled your eyes as heretofore; Behind a jealous cloud retired Those beauties which I most admired.

And shall a veil thus rule my fate?

O cruel veil, that whether heat Or cold be felt, art doom'd to prove Fatal to me, shadowing the lights I love!

NOTT.

SONNET XI.

_Se la mia vita dall' aspro tormento._