The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Wretch that I am! full oft I urge in vain To heedless beings all those pangs I bear; Of the false world, of an unpitying fair, Of Love, and fickle fortune I complain!
From eve's last glance, till morning's earliest ray, Sleep shuns my couch; rest quits my tearful eye; And my rack'd breast heaves many a plaintive sigh.
Then bright Aurora cheers the rising day, But cheers not me--for to my sorrowing heart One sun alone can cheering light impart!
ANON. 1777.
SONNET CLXXVIII.
_S' una fede amorosa, un cor non finto._
THE MISERY OF HIS LOVE.
If faith most true, a heart that cannot feign, If Love's sweet languishment and chasten'd thought, And wishes pure by n.o.bler feelings taught, If in a labyrinth wanderings long and vain, If on the brow each pang pourtray'd to bear, Or from the heart low broken sounds to draw, Withheld by shame, or check'd by pious awe, If on the faded cheek Love's hue to wear, If than myself to hold one far more dear, If sighs that cease not, tears that ever flow, Wrung from the heart by all Love's various woe, In absence if consumed, and chill'd when near,-- If these be ills in which I waste my prime, Though I the sufferer be, yours, lady, is the crime.
DACRE.
If fondest faith, a heart to guile unknown, By melting languors the soft wish betray'd; If chaste desires, with temper'd warmth display'd; If weary wanderings, comfortless and lone; If every thought in every feature shown, Or in faint tones and broken sounds convey'd, As fear or shame my pallid cheek array'd In violet hues, with Love's thick blushes strown; If more than self another to hold dear; If still to weep and heave incessant sighs, To feed on pa.s.sion, or in grief to pine, To glow when distant, and to freeze when near,-- If hence my bosom's anguish takes its rise, Thine, lady, is the crime, the punishment is mine.
WRANGHAM.
SONNET CLx.x.xIX.
_Dodici donne onestamente la.s.se._
HAPPY WHO STEERED THE BOAT, OR DROVE THE CAR, WHEREIN SHE SAT AND SANG.
Twelve ladies, their rare toil who lightly bore, Rather twelve stars encircling a bright sun, I saw, gay-seated a small bark upon, Whose like the waters never cleaved before: Not such took Jason to the fleece of yore, Whose fatal gold has ev'ry heart now won, Nor such the shepherd boy's, by whom undone Troy mourns, whose fame has pa.s.s'd the wide world o'er.
I saw them next on a triumphal car, Where, known by her chaste cherub ways, aside My Laura sate and to them sweetly sung.
Things not of earth to man such visions are!
Blest Tiphys! blest Automedon! to guide The bark, or car of band so bright and young.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXC
_Pa.s.ser mai solitario in alcun tetto._
FAR FROM HIS BELOVED, LIFE IS MISERABLE BY NIGHT AS BY DAY.
Never was bird, spoil'd of its young, more sad, Or wild beast in his lair more lone than me, Now that no more that lovely face I see, The only sun my fond eyes ever had.
In ceaseless sorrow is my chief delight: My food to poison turns, to grief my joy; The night is torture, dark the clearest sky, And my lone pillow a hard field of fight.
Sleep is indeed, as has been well express'd.
Akin to death, for it the heart removes From the dear thought in which alone I live.
Land above all with plenty, beauty bless'd!
Ye flowery plains, green banks and shady groves!
Ye hold the treasure for whose loss I grieve!
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CXCI.
_Aura, che quelle chiome bionde e crespe._
HE ENVIES THE BREEZE WHICH SPORTS WITH HER, THE STREAM THAT FLOWS TOWARDS HER.
Ye laughing gales, that sporting with my fair, The silky tangles of her locks unbraid; And down her breast their golden treasures spread; Then in fresh mazes weave her curling hair, You kiss those bright destructive eyes, that bear The flaming darts by which my heart has bled; My trembling heart! that oft has fondly stray'd To seek the nymph, whose eyes such terrors wear.
Methinks she's found--but oh! 'tis fancy's cheat!
Methinks she's seen--but oh! 'tis love's deceit!
Methinks she's near--but truth cries "'tis not so!"
Go happy gale, and with my Laura dwell!
Go happy stream, and to my Laura tell What envied joys in thy clear crystal flow!
ANON. 1777.
Thou gale, that movest, and disportest round Those bright crisp'd locks, by them moved sweetly too, That all their fine gold scatter'st to the view, Then coil'st them up in beauteous braids fresh wound; About those eyes thou playest, where abound The am'rous swarms, whose stings my tears renew!
And I my treasure tremblingly pursue, Like some scared thing that stumbles o'er the ground.
Methinks I find her now, and now perceive She's distant; now I soar, and now descend; Now what I wish, now what is true believe.
Stay and enjoy, blest air, the living beam; And thou, O rapid, and translucent stream, Why can't I change my course, and thine attend?
NOTT.
SONNET CXCII.
_Amor con la man destra il lato manco._
UNDER THE FIGURE OF A LAUREL, HE RELATES THE GROWTH OF HIS LOVE.
My poor heart op'ning with his puissant hand, Love planted there, as in its home, to dwell A Laurel, green and bright, whose hues might well In rivalry with proudest emeralds stand: Plough'd by my pen and by my heart-sighs fann'd, Cool'd by the soft rain from mine eyes that fell, It grew in grace, upbreathing a sweet smell, Unparallel'd in any age or land.
