The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Fresh, shaded hill! with flowers and verdure crown'd, Where, in fond musings, or with music sweet, To earth a heaven-sent spirit takes her seat!
She who from all the world has honour found.
Forsaking me, to her my fond heart bound --Divorce for aye were welcome as discreet-- Notes where the turf is mark'd by her fair feet, Or from these eyes for her in sorrow drown'd, Then inly whispers as her steps advance, "Would for awhile that wreteh were here alone Who pines already o'er his bitter lot."
She conscious smiles. Not equal is the chance; An Eden thou, while I a heartless stone.
O holy, happy, and beloved spot!
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CCVI.
_Il mal mi preme, e mi spaventa il peggio._
TO A FRIEND, IN LOVE LIKE HIMSELF, HE CAN GIVE NO ADVICE BUT TO RAISE HIS SOUL TO G.o.d.
Evil oppresses me and worse dismay, To which a plain and ample way I find; Driven like thee by frantic pa.s.sion, blind, Urged by harsh thoughts I bend like thee my way.
Nor know I if for war or peace to pray: To war is ruin, shame to peace, a.s.sign'd.
But wherefore languish thus?--Rather, resign'd, Whate'er the Will Supreme ordains, obey.
However ill that honour me beseem By thee conferr'd, whom that affection cheats Which many a perfect eye to error sways, To raise thy spirit to that realm supreme My counsel is, and win those blissful seats: For short the time, and few the allotted days.
CAPEL LOFFT.
The bad oppresses me, the worse dismays, To which so broad and plain a path I see; My spirit, to like frenzy led with thee, Tried by the same hard thoughts, in dotage strays, Nor knows if peace or war of G.o.d it prays, Though great the loss and deep the shame to me.
But why pine longer? Best our lot will be, What Heaven's high will ordains when man obeys.
Though I of that great honour worthless prove Offer'd by thee--herein Love leads to err Who often makes the sound eye to see wrong-- My counsel this, instant on Heaven above Thy soul to elevate, thy heart to spur, For though the time be short, the way is long.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CCVII.
_Due rose fresche, e colte in paradiso._
THE TWO ROSES.
Two brilliant roses, fresh from Paradise, Which there, on May-day morn, in beauty sprung Fair gift, and by a lover old and wise Equally offer'd to two lovers young: At speech so tender and such winning guise, As transports from a savage might have wrung, A living l.u.s.tre lit their mutual eyes, And instant on their cheeks a soft blush hung.
The sun ne'er look'd upon a lovelier pair, With a sweet smile and gentle sigh he said, Pressing the hands of both and turn'd away.
Of words and roses each alike had share.
E'en now my worn heart thrill with joy and dread, O happy eloquence! O blessed day!
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CCVIII.
_L' aura che 'l verde Lauro e l' aureo crine._
HE PRAYS THAT HE MAY DIE BEFORE LAURA.
The balmy gale, that, with its tender sigh, Moves the green laurel and the golden hair, Makes with its graceful visitings and rare The gazer's spirit from his body fly.
A sweet and snow-white rose in hard thorns set!
Where in the world her fellow shall we find?
The glory of our age! Creator kind!
Grant that ere hers my death shall first be met.
So the great public loss I may not see, The world without its sun, in darkness left, And from my desolate eyes their sole light reft, My mind with which no other thoughts agree, Mine ears which by no other sound are stirr'd Except her ever pure and gentle word.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CCIX.
_Parra forse ad alcun, che 'n lodar quella._
HE INVITES THOSE TO WHOM HIS PRAISES SEEM EXCESSIVE TO BEHOLD THE OBJECT OF THEM.
Haply my style to some may seem too free In praise of her who holds my being's chain, Queen of her s.e.x describing her to reign, Wise, winning, good, fair, n.o.ble, chaste to be: To me it seems not so; I fear that she My lays as low and trifling may disdain, Worthy a higher and a better strain; --Who thinks not with me let him come and see.
Then will he say, She whom his wishes seek Is one indeed whose grace and worth might tire The muses of all lands and either lyre.
But mortal tongue for state divine is weak, And may not soar; by flattery and force, As Fate not choice ordains, Love rules its course.
MACGREGOR.
SONNET CCX.
_Chi vuol veder quantunque pu Natura._
WHOEVER BEHOLDS HER MUST ADMIT THAT HIS PRAISES CANNOT REACH HER PERFECTION.
Who wishes to behold the utmost might Of Heaven and Nature, on her let him gaze, Sole sun, not only in my partial lays, But to the dark world, blind to virtue's light!
And let him haste to view; for death in spite The guilty leaves, and on the virtuous preys; For this loved angel heaven impatient stays; And mortal charms are transient as they're bright!
Here shall he see, if timely he arrive, Virtue and beauty, royalty of mind, In one bless'd union join'd. Then shall he say That vainly my weak rhymes to praise her strive, Whose dazzling beams have struck my genius blind:-- He must for ever weep if he delay!
CHARLEMONT.
