The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 20

Far in the hardy north a land there lies, Buried in thick-ribb'd ice and constant snows, Where scant the days and clouded are the skies, And seldom the bright sun his glad warmth throws; There, enemy of peace by nature, springs A people to whom death no terror brings; If these, with new devotedness, we see In Gothic fury baring the keen glaive, Turk, Arab, and Chaldee!

All, who, between us and the Red Sea wave, To heathen G.o.ds bow the idolatrous knee, Arm and advance! we heed not your blind rage; A naked race, timid in act, and slow, Unskill'd the war to wage, Whose far aim on the wind contrives a coward blow.

Now is the hour to free from the old yoke Our galled necks, to rend the veil away Too long permitted our dull sight to cloak: Now too, should all whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s the heavenly ray Of genius lights, exert its powers sublime, And or in bold harangue, or burning rhyme, Point the proud prize and fan the generous flame.

If Orpheus and Amphion credit claim, Legends of distant time, Less marvel 'twere, if, at thy earnest call, Italia, with her children, should awake, And wield the willing lance for Christ's dear sake.

Our ancient mother, read she right, in all Her fortune's history ne'er A cause of combat knew so glorious and so fair!

Thou, whose keen mind has every theme explored, And truest ore from Time's rich treasury won, On earthly pinion who hast heavenward soar'd, Well knowest, from her founder, Mars' bold son, To great Augustus, he, whose brow around Thrice was the laurel green in triumph bound, How Rome was ever lavish of her blood, The right to vindicate, the weak redress; And now, when grat.i.tude, When piety appeal, shall she do less To avenge the injury and end the scorn By blessed Mary's glorious offspring borne?

What fear we, while the heathen for success Confide in human powers, If, on the adverse side, be Christ, and his side ours?

Turn, too, when Xerxes our free sh.o.r.es to tread Rush'd in hot haste, and dream'd the perilous main With scourge and fetter to chastise and chain, --What see'st? Wild wailing o'er their husbands dead, Persia's pale matrons wrapt in weeds of woe, And red with gore the gulf of Salamis!

To prove our triumph certain, to foreshow The utter ruin of our Eastern foe, No single instance this; Miltiades and Marathon recall, See, with his patriot few, Leonidas Closing, Thermopylae, thy b.l.o.o.d.y pa.s.s!

Like them to dare and do, to G.o.d let all With heart and knee bow down, Who for our arms and age has kept this great renown.

Thou shalt see Italy, that honour'd land, Which from my eyes, O Song! nor seas, streams, heights, So long have barr'd and bann'd, But love alone, who with his haughty lights The more allures me as he worse excites, Till nature fails against his constant wiles.

Go then, and join thy comrades; not alone Beneath fair female zone Dwells Love, who, at his will, moves us to tears or smiles.

MACGREGOR.

CANZONE III.

_Verdi panni, sanguigni, oscuri o persi._

WHETHER OR NOT HE SHOULD CEASE TO LOVE LAURA.

Green robes and red, purple, or brown, or gray No lady ever wore, Nor hair of gold in sunny tresses twined, So beautiful as she, who spoils my mind Of judgment, and from freedom's lofty path So draws me with her that I may not bear Any less heavy yoke.

And if indeed at times--for wisdom fails Where martyrdom breeds doubt-- The soul should ever arm it to complain Suddenly from each reinless rude desire Her smile recalls, and razes from my heart Every rash enterprise, while all disdain Is soften'd in her sight.

For all that I have ever borne for love, And still am doom'd to bear, Till she who wounded it shall heal my heart, Rejecting homage e'en while she invites, Be vengeance done! but let not pride nor ire 'Gainst my humility the lovely pa.s.s By which I enter'd bar.

The hour and day wherein I oped my eyes On the bright black and white, Which drive me thence where eager love impell'd Where of that life which now my sorrow makes New roots, and she in whom our age is proud, Whom to behold without a tender awe Needs heart of lead or wood.

The tear then from these eyes that frequent falls-- HE thus my pale cheek bathes Who planted first within my fenceless flank Love's shaft--diverts me not from my desire; And in just part the proper sentence falls; For her my spirit sighs, and worthy she To staunch its secret wounds.

Spring from within me these conflicting thoughts, To weary, wound myself, Each a sure sword against its master turn'd: Nor do I pray her to be therefore freed, For less direct to heaven all other paths, And to that glorious kingdom none can soar Certes in sounder bark.

Benignant stars their bright companions.h.i.+p Gave to the fortunate side When came that fair birth on our nether world, Its sole star since, who, as the laurel leaf, The worth of honour fresh and fragrant keeps, Where lightnings play not, nor ungrateful winds Ever o'ersway its head.

Well know I that the hope to paint in verse Her praises would but tire The worthiest hand that e'er put forth its pen: Who, in all Memory's richest cells, e'er saw Such angel virtue so rare beauty shrined, As in those eyes, twin symbols of all worth, Sweet keys of my gone heart?

Lady, wherever s.h.i.+nes the sun, than you Love has no dearer pledge.

MACGREGOR.

SESTINA II

_Giovane donna sott' un verde lauro._

THOUGH DESPAIRING OF PITY, HE VOWS TO LOVE HER UNTO DEATH.

A youthful lady 'neath a laurel green Was seated, fairer, colder than the snow On which no sun has shone for many years: Her sweet speech, her bright face, and flowing hair So pleased, she yet is present to my eyes, And aye must be, whatever fate prevail.

These my fond thoughts of her shall fade and fail When foliage ceases on the laurel green; Nor calm can be my heart, nor check'd these eyes Until the fire shall freeze, or burns the snow: Easier upon my head to count each hair Than, ere that day shall dawn, the parting years.

But, since time flies, and roll the rapid years, And death may, in the midst, of life, a.s.sail, With full brown locks, or scant and silver hair, I still the shade of that sweet laurel green Follow, through fiercest sun and deepest snow, Till the last day shall close my weary eyes.

Oh! never sure were seen such brilliant eyes, In this our age or in the older years, Which mould and melt me, as the sun melts snow, Into a stream of tears adown the vale, Watering the hard roots of that laurel green, Whose boughs are diamonds and gold whose hair.

I fear that Time my mien may change and hair, Ere, with true pity touch'd, shall greet my eyes My idol imaged in that laurel green: For, unless memory err, through seven long years Till now, full many a sh.o.r.e has heard my wail, By night, at noon, in summer and in snow.

Thus fire within, without the cold, cold snow, Alone, with these my thoughts and her bright hair, Alway and everywhere I bear my ail, Haply to find some mercy in the eyes Of unborn nations and far future years, If so long flourishes our laurel green.

The gold and topaz of the sun on snow Are shamed by the bright hair above those eyes, Searing the short green of my life's vain years.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XXIV.

_Quest' anima gentil che si diparte._

ON LAURA DANGEROUSLY ILL.

That graceful soul, in mercy call'd away Before her time to bid the world farewell, If welcomed as she ought in the realms of day, In heaven's most blessed regions sure shall dwell.

There between Mars and Venus if she stay, Her sight the brightness of the sun will quell, Because, her infinite beauty to survey, The spirits of the blest will round her swell.

If she decide upon the fourth fair nest Each of the three to dwindle will begin, And she alone the fame of beauty win, Nor e'en in the fifth circle may she rest; Thence higher if she soar, I surely trust Jove with all other stars in darkness will be thrust.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XXV.

_Quanto piu m' avvicino al giorno estremo._

HE CONSOLES HIMSELF THAT HIS LIFE IS ADVANCING TO ITS CLOSE.