The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 95

MACGREGOR.

SONNET Lx.x.xIX.

_Deh porgi mano all' affannato ingegno._

HE BEGS LOVE TO a.s.sIST HIM, THAT HE MAY WORTHILY CELEBRATE HER.

Ah, Love! some succour to my weak mind deign, Lend to my frail and weary style thine aid, To sing of her who is immortal made, A citizen of the celestial reign.

And grant, Lord, that my verse the height may gain Of her great praises, else in vain essay'd, Whose peer in worth or beauty never stay'd In this our world, unworthy to retain.

Love answers: "In myself and Heaven what lay, By conversation pure and counsel wise, All was in her whom death has s.n.a.t.c.h'd away.

Since the first morn when Adam oped his eyes, Like form was ne'er--suffice it this to say, Write down with tears what scarce I tell for sighs."

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XC.

_Vago augelletto che cantando vai._

THE PLAINTIVE SONG OF A BIRD RECALLS TO HIM HIS OWN KEENER SORROW.

Poor solitary bird, that pour'st thy lay; Or haply mournest the sweet season gone: As chilly night and winter hurry on, And day-light fades and summer flies away; If as the cares that swell thy little throat Thou knew'st alike the woes that wound my rest.

Ah, thou wouldst house thee in this kindred breast, And mix with mine thy melancholy note.

Yet little know I ours are kindred ills: She still may live the object of thy song: Not so for me stern death or Heaven wills!

But the sad season, and less grateful hour, And of past joy and sorrow thoughts that throng Prompt my full heart this idle lay to pour.

DACRE.

Sweet bird, that singest on thy airy way, Or else bewailest pleasures that are past; What time the night draws nigh, and wintry blast; Leaving behind each merry month, and day; Oh, couldst thou, as thine own, my state survey, With the same gloom of misery o'ercast; Unto my bosom thou mightst surely haste And, by partaking, my sad griefs allay.

Yet would thy share of woe not equal mine, Since the loved mate thou weep'st doth haply live, While death, and heaven, me of my fair deprive: But hours less gay, the season's drear decline; With thoughts on many a sad, and pleasant year, Tempt me to ask thy piteous presence here.

NOTT.

CANZONE VIII.

_Vergine bella che di sol vest.i.ta._

TO THE VIRGIN MARY.

Beautiful Virgin! clothed with the sun, Crown'd with the stars, who so the Eternal Sun Well pleasedst that in thine his light he hid; Love p.r.i.c.ks me on to utter speech of thee, And--feeble to commence without thy aid-- Of Him who on thy bosom rests in love.

Her I invoke who gracious still replies To all who ask in faith, Virgin! if ever yet The misery of man and mortal things To mercy moved thee, to my prayer incline; Help me in this my strife, Though I am but of dust, and thou heaven's radiant Queen!

Wise Virgin! of that lovely number one Of Virgins blest and wise, Even the first and with the brightest lamp: O solid buckler of afflicted hearts!

'Neath which against the blows of Fate and Death, Not mere deliverance but great victory is; Relief from the blind ardour which consumes Vain mortals here below!

Virgin! those l.u.s.trous eyes, Which tearfully beheld the cruel prints In the fair limbs of thy beloved Son, Ah! turn on my sad doubt, Who friendless, helpless thus, for counsel come to thee!

O Virgin! pure and perfect in each part, Maiden or Mother, from thy honour'd birth, This life to lighten and the next adorn; O bright and lofty gate of open'd heaven!

By thee, thy Son and His, the Almighty Sire, In our worst need to save us came below: And, from amid all other earthly seats, Thou only wert elect, Virgin supremely blest!

The tears of Eve who turnedst into joy; Make me, thou canst, yet worthy of his grace, O happy without end, Who art in highest heaven a saint immortal shrined.

O holy Virgin! full of every good, Who, in humility most deep and true, To heaven art mounted, thence my prayers to hear, That fountain thou of pity didst produce, That sun of justice light, which calms and clears Our age, else clogg'd with errors dark and foul.

Three sweet and precious names in thee combine, Of mother, daughter, wife, Virgin! with glory crown'd, Queen of that King who has unloosed our bonds, And free and happy made the world again, By whose most sacred wounds, I pray my heart to fix where true joys only are!

Virgin! of all unparallel'd, alone, Who with thy beauties hast enamour'd Heaven, Whose like has never been, nor e'er shall be; For holy thoughts with chaste and pious acts To the true G.o.d a sacred living shrine In thy fecund virginity have made: By thee, dear Mary, yet my life may be Happy, if to thy prayers, O Virgin meek and mild!

Where sin abounded grace shall more abound!

With bended knee and broken heart I pray That thou my guide wouldst be, And to such prosperous end direct my faltering way.

Bright Virgin! and immutable as bright, O'er life's tempestuous ocean the sure star Each trusting mariner that truly guides, Look down, and see amid this dreadful storm How I am tost at random and alone, And how already my last shriek is near, Yet still in thee, sinful although and vile, My soul keeps all her trust; Virgin! I thee implore Let not thy foe have triumph in my fall; Remember that our sin made G.o.d himself, To free us from its chain, Within thy virgin womb our image on Him take!

Virgin! what tears already have I shed, Cherish'd what dreams and breathed what prayers in vain But for my own worse penance and sure loss; Since first on Arno's sh.o.r.e I saw the light Till now, whate'er I sought, wherever turn'd, My life has pa.s.s'd in torment and in tears, For mortal loveliness in air, act, speech, Has seized and soil'd my soul: O Virgin! pure and good, Delay not till I reach my life's last year; Swifter than shaft and shuttle are, my days 'Mid misery and sin Have vanish'd all, and now Death only is behind!

Virgin! She now is dust, who, living, held My heart in grief, and plunged it since in gloom; She knew not of my many ills this one, And had she known, what since befell me still Had been the same, for every other wish Was death to me and ill renown for her; But, Queen of Heaven, our G.o.ddess--if to thee Such homage be not sin-- Virgin! of matchless mind, Thou knowest now the whole; and that, which else No other can, is nought to thy great power: Deign then my grief to end, Thus honour shall be thine, and safe my peace at last!

Virgin! in whom I fix my every hope, Who canst and will'st a.s.sist me in great need, Forsake me not in this my worst extreme, Regard not me but Him who made me thus; Let his high image stamp'd on my poor worth Towards one so low and lost thy pity move: Medusa spells have made me as a rock Distilling a vain flood; Virgin! my hara.s.s'd heart With pure and pious tears do thou fulfil, That its last sigh at least may be devout, And free from earthly taint, As was my earliest vow ere madness fill'd my veins!

Virgin! benevolent, and foe of pride, Ah! let the love of our one Author win, Some mercy for a contrite humble heart: For, if her poor frail mortal dust I loved With loyalty so wonderful and long, Much more my faith and grat.i.tude for thee.

From this my present sad and sunken state If by thy help I rise, Virgin! to thy dear name I consecrate and cleanse my thoughts, speech, pen, My mind, and heart with all its tears and sighs; Point then that better path, And with complacence view my changed desires at last.

The day must come, nor distant far its date, Time flies so swift and sure, O peerless and alone!

When death my heart, now conscience struck, shall seize: Commend me, Virgin! then to thy dear Son, True G.o.d and Very Man, That my last sigh in peace may, in his arms, be breathed!

MACGREGOR.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PETRARCH'S HOUSE AT ARQUA.]

PETRARCH'S TRIUMPHS.

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.

PART I.