The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
_Mille piagge in un giorno e mille rivi._
TO BE NEAR HER RECOMPENSES HIM FOR ALL THE PERILS OF THE WAY.
Love, who his votary wings in heart and feet, To the third heaven that lightly he may soar, In one short day has many a stream and sh.o.r.e Given to me, in famed Ardennes, to meet.
Unarm'd and single to have pa.s.s'd is sweet Where war in earnest strikes, nor tells before-- A helmless, sail-less s.h.i.+p 'mid ocean's roar-- My breast with dark and fearful thoughts replete; But reach'd my dangerous journey's far extreme, Remembering whence I came, and with whose wings, From too great courage conscious terror springs.
But this fair country and beloved stream With smiling welcome rea.s.sures my heart, Where dwells its sole light ready to depart.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXLV.
_Amor mi sp.r.o.na in un tempo ed affrena._
HE HEARS THE VOICE OF REASON, BUT CANNOT OBEY.
Love in one instant spurs me and restrains, a.s.sures and frightens, freezes me and burns, Smiles now and scowls, now summons me and spurns, In hope now holds me, plunges now in pains: Now high, now low, my weary heart he hurls, Until fond pa.s.sion loses quite the path, And highest pleasure seems to stir but wrath-- My hara.s.s'd mind on such strange errors feeds!
A friendly thought there points the proper track, Not of such grief as from the full eye breaks, To go where soon it hopes to be at ease, But, as if greater power thence turn'd it back, Despite itself, another way it takes, And to its own slow death and mine agrees.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXLVI.
_Geri, quando talor meco s' adira._
HE APPEASES HER BY HUMILITY, AND EXHORTS A FRIEND TO DO LIKEWISE.
When my sweet foe, so haughty oft and high, Moved my brief ire no more my sight can thole, One comfort is vouchsafed me lest I die, Through whose sole strength survives my hara.s.s'd soul; Where'er her eyes--all light which would deny To my sad life--in scorn or anger roll, Mine with such true humility reply, Soon their meek glances all her rage control, Were it not so, methinks I less could brook To gaze on hers than on Medusa's mien, Which turn'd to marble all who met her look.
My friend, act thus with thine, for closed I ween All other aid, and nothing flight avails Against the wings on which our master sails.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXLVII.
_Po, ben puo' tu portartene la scorza._
TO THE RIVER PO, ON QUITTING LAURA.
Thou Po to distant realms this frame mayst bear, On thy all-powerful, thy impetuous tide; But the free spirit that within doth bide Nor for thy might, nor any might doth care: Not varying here its course, nor s.h.i.+fting there, Upon the favouring gale it joys to glide; Plying its wings toward the laurel's pride, In spite of sails or oars, of sea or air.
Monarch of floods, magnificent and strong, That meet'st the sun as he leads on the day, But in the west dost quit a fairer light; Thy curved course this body wafts along; My spirit on Love's pinions speeds its way, And to its darling home directs its flight!
NOTT.
Po, thou upon thy strong and rapid tide, This frame corporeal mayst onward bear: But a free spirit is concealed there, Which nor thy power nor any power can guide.
That spirit, light on breeze auspicious buoy'd, With course unvarying backward cleaves the air-- Nor wave, nor wind, nor sail, nor oar its care-- And plies its wings, and seeks the laurel's pride.
'Tis thine, proud king of rivers, eastward borne To meet the sun, as he leads on the day; And from a brighter west 'tis thine to turn: Thy horned flood these pa.s.sive limbs obey-- But, uncontrolled, to its sweet sojourn On Love's untiring plumes my spirit speeds its way.
WRANGHAM.
SONNET CXLVIII.
_Amor fra l' orbe una leggiadra rete._
HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A BIRD CAUGHT IN A NET.
Love 'mid the gra.s.s beneath a laurel green-- The plant divine which long my flame has fed, Whose shade for me less bright than sad is seen-- A cunning net of gold and pearls had spread: Its bait the seed he sows and reaps, I ween Bitter and sweet, which I desire, yet dread: Gentle and soft his call, as ne'er has been Since first on Adam's eyes the day was shed: And the bright light which disenthrones the sun Was flas.h.i.+ng round, and in her hand, more fair Than snow or ivory, was the master rope.
So fell I in the snare; their slave so won Her speech angelical and winning air, Pleasure, and fond desire, and sanguine hope.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXLIX.
_Amor che 'ncende 'l cor d' ardente zelo._
LOVE AND JEALOUSY.
'Tis Love's caprice to freeze the bosom now With bolts of ice, with shafts of flame now burn; And which his lighter pang, I scarce discern-- Or hope or fear, or whelming fire or snow.
In heat I s.h.i.+ver, and in cold I glow, Now thrill'd with love, with jealousy now torn: As if her thin robe by a rival worn, Or veil, had screen'd him from my vengeful blow But more 'tis mine to burn by night, by day; And how I love the death by which I die, Nor thought can grasp, nor tongue of bard can sing: Not so my freezing fire--impartially She s.h.i.+nes to all; and who would speed his way To that high beam, in vain expands his fluttering wing.
WRANGHAM.
Love with hot zeal now burns the heart within, Now holds it fetter'd with a frozen fear, Leaving it doubtful to our judgment here If hope or dread, if flame or frost, shall win.
In June I s.h.i.+ver, burn December in, Full of desires, from jealousy ne'er clear; E'en as a lady who her loving fee Hides 'neath a little veil of texture thin.
Of the two ills the first is all mine own, By day, by night to burn; how sweet that pain Dwells not in thought, nor ever poet sings: Not so the other, my fair flame, is shown, She levels all: who hopes the crest to gain Of that proud light expands in vain his wings.
MACGREGOR.
