The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 17

HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.

Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain, And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs, When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes, For whom the world's allurements I disdain, But when I see that gentle smile again, That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise, It pours on every sense a blest surprise; Lost in delight is all my torturing pain.

Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies: When all thy soothing charms my fate removes At thy departure from my ravish'd view.

To that sole refuge its firm faith approves My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies, And wing'd with fond remembrance follows you.

CAPEL LOFFT.

Tears, bitter tears adown my pale cheek rain, Bursts from mine anguish'd breast a storm of sighs, Whene'er on you I turn my pa.s.sionate eyes, For whom alone this bright world I disdain.

True! to my ardent wishes and old pain That mild sweet smile a peaceful balm supplies, Rescues me from the martyr fire that tries, Rapt and intent on you whilst I remain; Thus in your presence--but my spirits freeze When, ushering with fond acts a warm adieu, My fatal stars from life's quench'd heaven decay.

My soul released at last with Love's apt keys But issues from my heart to follow you, Nor tears itself without much thought away.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XVI.

_Quand' io son tutto volto in quella parte._

HE FLIES, BUT Pa.s.sION PURSUES HIM.

When I reflect and turn me to that part Whence my sweet lady beam'd in purest light, And in my inmost thought remains that light Which burns me and consumes in every part, I, who yet dread lest from my heart it part And see at hand the end of this my light, Go lonely, like a man deprived of light, Ignorant where to go; whence to depart.

Thus flee I from the stroke which lays me dead, Yet flee not with such speed but that desire Follows, companion of my flight alone.

Silent I go:--but these my words, though dead, Others would cause to weep--this I desire, That I may weep and waste myself alone.

CAPEL LOFFT.

When all my mind I turn to the one part Where sheds my lady's face its beauteous light, And lingers in my loving thought the light That burns and racks within me ev'ry part, I from my heart who fear that it may part, And see the near end of my single light, Go, as a blind man, groping without light, Who knows not where yet presses to depart.

Thus from the blows which ever wish me dead I flee, but not so swiftly that desire Ceases to come, as is its wont, with me.

Silent I move: for accents of the dead Would melt the general age: and I desire That sighs and tears should only fall from me.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XVII.

_Son animali al mondo di s altera._

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A MOTH.

Creatures there are in life of such keen sight That no defence they need from noonday sun, And others dazzled by excess of light Who issue not abroad till day is done, And, with weak fondness, some because 'tis bright, Who in the death-flame for enjoyment run, Thus proving theirs a different virtue quite-- Alas! of this last kind myself am one; For, of this fair the splendour to regard, I am but weak and ill--against late hours And darkness gath'ring round--myself to ward.

Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers, My destiny condemns me still to turn Where following faster I but fiercer burn.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XVIII.

_Vergognando talor ch' ancor si taccia._

THE PRAISES OF LAURA TRANSCEND HIS POETIC POWERS.

Ashamed sometimes thy beauties should remain As yet unsung, sweet lady, in my rhyme; When first I saw thee I recall the time, Pleasing as none shall ever please again.

But no fit polish can my verse attain, Not mine is strength to try the task sublime: My genius, measuring its power to climb, From such attempt doth prudently refrain.

Full oft I oped my lips to chant thy name; Then in mid utterance the lay was lost: But say what muse can dare so bold a flight?

Full oft I strove in measure to indite; But ah, the pen, the hand, the vein I boast, At once were vanquish'd by the mighty theme!

NOTT.

Ashamed at times that I am silent, yet, Lady, though your rare beauties prompt my rhyme, When first I saw thee I recall the time Such as again no other can be met.

But, with such burthen on my shoulders set.

My mind, its frailty feeling, cannot climb, And shrinks alike from polish'd and sublime, While my vain utterance frozen terrors let.

Often already have I sought to sing, But midway in my breast the voice was stay'd, For ah! so high what praise may ever spring?

And oft have I the tender verse essay'd, But still in vain; pen, hand, and intellect In the first effort conquer'd are and check'd.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XIX.

_Mille fiate, o dolce mia guerrera._

HIS HEART, REJECTED BY LAURA, WILL PERISH, UNLESS SHE RELENT.

A thousand times, sweet warrior, have I tried, Proffering my heart to thee, some peace to gain From those bright eyes, but still, alas! in vain, To such low level stoops not thy chaste pride.

If others seek the love thus thrown aside, Vain were their hopes and labours to obtain; The heart thou spurnest I alike disdain, To thee displeasing, 'tis by me denied.

But if, discarded thus, it find not thee Its joyless exile willing to befriend, Alone, untaught at others' will to wend, Soon from life's weary burden will it flee.

How heavy then the guilt to both, but more To thee, for thee it did the most adore.

MACGREGOR.

A thousand times, sweet warrior, to obtain Peace with those beauteous eyes I've vainly tried, Proffering my heart; but with that lofty pride To bend your looks so lowly you refrain: Expects a stranger fair that heart to gain, In frail, fallacious hopes will she confide: It never more to me can be allied; Since what you scorn, dear lady, I disdain.