The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 18

In its sad exile if no aid you lend Banish'd by me; and it can neither stay Alone, nor yet another's call obey; Its vital course must hasten to its end: Ah me, how guilty then we both should prove, But guilty you the most, for you it most doth love.

NOTT.

SESTINA I.

_A qualunque animale alberga in terra._

NIGHT BRINGS HIM NO REST. HE IS THE PREY OF DESPAIR.

To every animal that dwells on earth, Except to those which have in hate the sun, Their time of labour is while lasts the day; But when high heaven relumes its thousand stars, This seeks his hut, and that its native wood, Each finds repose, at least until the dawn.

But I, when fresh and fair begins the dawn To chase the lingering shades that cloak'd the earth, Wakening the animals in every wood, No truce to sorrow find while rolls the sun; And, when again I see the glistening stars, Still wander, weeping, wis.h.i.+ng for the day.

When sober evening chases the bright day, And this our darkness makes for others dawn, Pensive I look upon the cruel stars Which framed me of such pliant pa.s.sionate earth, And curse the day that e'er I saw the sun, Which makes me native seem of wildest wood.

And yet methinks was ne'er in any wood, So wild a denizen, by night or day, As she whom thus I blame in shade and sun: Me night's first sleep o'ercomes not, nor the dawn, For though in mortal coil I tread the earth, My firm and fond desire is from the stars.

Ere up to you I turn, O l.u.s.trous stars, Or downwards in love's labyrinthine wood, Leaving my fleshly frame in mouldering earth, Could I but pity find in her, one day Would many years redeem, and to the dawn With bliss enrich me from the setting sun!

Oh! might I be with her where sinks the sun, No other eyes upon us but the stars, Alone, one sweet night, ended by no dawn, Nor she again transfigured in green wood, To cheat my clasping arms, as on the day, When Phoebus vainly follow'd her on earth.

I shall lie low in earth, in crumbling wood.

And cl.u.s.tering stars shall gem the noon of day, Ere on so sweet a dawn shall rise that sun.

MACGREGOR.

Each creature on whose wakeful eyes The bright sun pours his golden fire, By day a destined toil pursues; And, when heaven's lamps illume the skies, All to some haunt for rest retire, Till a fresh dawn that toil renews.

But I, when a new morn doth rise, Chasing from earth its murky shades, While ring the forests with delight, Find no remission of my sighs; And, soon as night her mantle spreads, I weep, and wish returning light Again when eve bids day retreat, O'er other climes to dart its rays; Pensive those cruel stars I view, Which influence thus my amorous fate; And imprecate that beauty's blaze, Which o'er my form such wildness threw.

No forest surely in its glooms Nurtures a savage so unkind As she who bids these sorrows flow: Me, nor the dawn nor sleep o'ercomes; For, though of mortal mould, my mind Feels more than pa.s.sion's mortal glow.

Ere up to you, bright orbs, I fly, Or to Love's bower speed down my way, While here my mouldering limbs remain; Let me her pity once espy; Thus, rich in bliss, one little day Shall recompense whole years of pain.

Be Laura mine at set of sun; Let heaven's fires only mark our loves, And the day ne'er its light renew; My fond embrace may she not shun; Nor Phoebus-like, through laurel groves, May I a nymph transform'd pursue!

But I shall cast this mortal veil on earth, And stars shall gild the noon, ere such bright scenes have birth.

NOTT.

CANZONE I.

_Nel dolce tempo della prima etade._

HIS SUFFERINGS SINCE HE BECAME THE SLAVE OF LOVE.

In the sweet season when my life was new, Which saw the birth, and still the being sees Of the fierce pa.s.sion for my ill that grew, Fain would I sing--my sorrow to appease-- How then I lived, in liberty, at ease, While o'er my heart held slighted Love no sway; And how, at length, by too high scorn, for aye, I sank his slave, and what befell me then, Whereby to all a warning I remain; Although my sharpest pain Be elsewhere written, so that many a pen Is tired already, and, in every vale, The echo of my heavy sighs is rife, Some credence forcing of my anguish'd life; And, as her wont, if here my memory fail, Be my long martyrdom its saving plea, And the one thought which so its torment made, As every feeling else to throw in shade, And make me of myself forgetful be-- Ruling life's inmost core, its bare rind left for me.

Long years and many had pa.s.s'd o'er my head, Since, in Love's first a.s.sault, was dealt my wound, And from my brow its youthful air had fled, While cold and cautious thoughts my heart around Had made it almost adamantine ground, To loosen which hard pa.s.sion gave no rest: No sorrow yet with tears had bathed my breast, Nor broke my sleep: and what was not in mine A miracle to me in others seem'd.

Life's sure test death is deem'd, As cloudless eve best proves the past day fine; Ah me! the tyrant whom I sing, descried Ere long his error, that, till then, his dart Not yet beneath the gown had pierced my heart, And brought a puissant lady as his guide, 'Gainst whom of small or no avail has been Genius, or force, to strive or supplicate.

These two transform'd me to my present state, Making of breathing man a laurel green, Which loses not its leaves though wintry blasts be keen.

What my amaze, when first I fully learn'd The wondrous change upon my person done, And saw my thin hairs to those green leaves turn'd (Whence yet for them a crown I might have won); My feet wherewith I stood, and moved, and run-- Thus to the soul the subject members bow-- Become two roots upon the sh.o.r.e, not now Of fabled Peneus, but a stream as proud, And stiffen'd to a branch my either arm!

Nor less was my alarm, When next my frame white down was seen to shroud, While, 'neath the deadly leven, shatter'd lay My first green hope that soar'd, too proud, in air, Because, in sooth, I knew not when nor where I left my latter state; but, night and day, Where it was struck, alone, in tears, I went, Still seeking it alwhere, and in the wave; And, for its fatal fall, while able, gave My tongue no respite from its one lament, For the sad snowy swan both form and language lent.

Thus that loved wave--my mortal speech put by For birdlike song--I track'd with constant feet, Still asking mercy with a stranger cry; But ne'er in tones so tender, nor so sweet, Knew I my amorous sorrow to repeat, As might her hard and cruel bosom melt: Judge, still if memory sting, what then I felt!

But ah! not now the past, it rather needs Of her my lovely and inveterate foe The present power to show, Though such she be all language as exceeds.

She with a glance who rules us as her own, Opening my breast my heart in hand to take, Thus said to me: "Of this no mention make."

I saw her then, in alter'd air, alone, So that I recognised her not--O shame Be on my truant mind and faithless sight!

And when the truth I told her in sore fright, She soon resumed her old accustom'd frame, While, desperate and half dead, a hard rock mine became.

As spoke she, o'er her mien such feeling stirr'd, That from the solid rock, with lively fear, "Haply I am not what you deem," I heard; And then methought, "If she but help me here, No life can ever weary be, or drear; To make me weep, return, my banish'd Lord!"

I know not how, but thence, the power restored, Blaming no other than myself, I went, And, nor alive, nor dead, the long day past.

But, because time flies fast, And the pen answers ill my good intent, Full many a thing long written in my mind I here omit; and only mention such Whereat who hears them now will marvel much.

Death so his hand around my vitals twined, Not silence from its grasp my heart could save, Or succour to its outraged virtue bring: As speech to me was a forbidden thing, To paper and to ink my griefs I gave-- Life, not my own, is lost through you who dig my grave.

I fondly thought before her eyes, at length, Though low and lost, some mercy to obtain; And this the hope which lent my spirit strength.

Sometimes humility o'ercomes disdain, Sometimes inflames it to worse spite again; This knew I, who so long was left in night, That from such prayers had disappear'd my light; Till I, who sought her still, nor found, alas!

Even her shade, nor of her feet a sign, Outwearied and supine, As one who midway sleeps, upon the gra.s.s Threw me, and there, accusing the brief ray, Of bitter tears I loosed the prison'd flood, To flow and fall, to them as seem'd it good.

Ne'er vanish'd snow before the sun away, As then to melt apace it me befell, Till, 'neath a spreading beech a fountain swell'd; Long in that change my humid course I held,-- Who ever saw from Man a true fount well?

And yet, though strange it sound, things known and sure I tell.

The soul from G.o.d its n.o.bler nature gains (For none save He such favour could bestow) And like our Maker its high state retains, To pardon who is never tired, nor slow, If but with humble heart and suppliant show, For mercy for past sins to Him we bend; And if, against his wont, He seem to lend, Awhile, a cold ear to our earnest prayers, 'Tis that right fear the sinner more may fill; For he repents but ill His old crime for another who prepares.

Thus, when my lady, while her bosom yearn'd With pity, deign'd to look on me, and knew That equal with my fault its penance grew, To my old state and shape I soon return'd.

But nought there is on earth in which the wise May trust, for, wearying braving her afresh, To rugged stone she changed my quivering flesh.

So that, in their old strain, my broken cries In vain ask'd death, or told her one name to deaf skies.

A sad and wandering shade, I next recall, Through many a distant and deserted glen, That long I mourn'd my indissoluble thrall.

At length my malady seem'd ended, when I to my earthly frame return'd again, Haply but greater grief therein to feel; Still following my desire with such fond zeal That once (beneath the proud sun's fiercest blaze, Returning from the chase, as was my wont) Naked, where gush'd a font, My fair and fatal tyrant met my gaze; I whom nought else could pleasure, paused to look, While, touch'd with shame as natural as intense, Herself to hide or punish my offence, She o'er my face the crystal waters shook --I still speak true, though truth may seem a lie-- Instantly from my proper person torn, A solitary stag, I felt me borne In winged terrors the dark forest through, As still of my own dogs the rus.h.i.+ng storm I flew My song! I never was that cloud of gold Which once descended in such precious rain, Easing awhile with bliss Jove's amorous pain; I was a flame, kindled by one bright eye, I was the bird which gladly soar'd on high, Exalting her whose praise in song I wake; Nor, for new fancies, knew I to forsake My first fond laurel, 'neath whose welcome shade Ever from my firm heart all meaner pleasures fade.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XX.

_Se l' onorata fronde, che prescrive._

TO STRAMAZZO OF PERUGIA, WHO INVITED HIM TO WRITE POETRY.

If the world-honour'd leaf, whose green defies The wrath of Heaven when thunders mighty Jove, Had not to me prohibited the crown Which wreathes of wont the gifted poet's brow, I were a friend of these your idols too, Whom our vile age so shamelessly ignores: But that sore insult keeps me now aloof From the first patron of the olive bough: For Ethiop earth beneath its tropic sun Ne'er burn'd with such fierce heat, as I with rage At losing thing so comely and beloved.

Resort then to some calmer fuller fount, For of all moisture mine is drain'd and dry, Save that which falleth from mine eyes in tears.