The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 59

SONNET CLXX.

_La.s.so, ch' i' ardo, ed altri non mel crede!_

POSTERITY WILL ACCORD TO HIM THE PITY WHICH LAURA REFUSES.

Alas, with ardour past belief I glow!

None doubt this truth, except one only fair, Who all excels, for whom alone I care; She plainly sees, yet disbelieves my woe.

O rich in charms, but poor in faith! canst thou Look in these eyes, nor read my whole heart there?

Were I not fated by my baleful star, For me from pity's fount might favour flow.

My flame, of which thou tak'st so little heed, And thy high praises pour'd through all my song, O'er many a breast may future influence spread: These, my sweet fair, so warns prophetic thought, Closed thy bright eye, and mute thy poet's tongue, E'en after death shall still with sparks be fraught.

NOTT.

Alas! I burn, yet credence fail to gain All others credit it save only she All others who excels, alone for me; She seems to doubt it still, yet sees it plain Infinite beauty, little faith and slow, Perceive ye not my whole heart in mine eyes?

Well might I hope, save for my hostile skies, From mercy's fount some pitying balm to flow.

Yet this my flame which scarcely moves your care, And your warm praises sung in these fond rhymes, May thousands yet inflame in after times; These I foresee in fancy, my sweet fair, Though your bright eyes be closed and cold my breath, Shall lighten other loves and live in death.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLXXI.

_Anima, che diverse cose tante._

HE REJOICES AT BEING ON EARTH WITH HER, AS HE IS THEREBY ENABLED BETTER TO IMITATE HER VIRTUES.

Soul! with such various faculties endued To think, write, speak, to read, to see, to hear; My doting eyes! and thou, my faithful ear!

Where drinks my heart her counsels wise and good; Your fortune smiles; if after or before, The path were won so badly follow'd yet, Ye had not then her bright eyes' l.u.s.tre met, Nor traced her light feet earth's green carpet o'er.

Now with so clear a light, so sure a sign, 'Twere shame to err or halt on the brief way Which makes thee worthy of a home divine.

That better course, my weary will, essay!

To pierce the cloud of her sweet scorn be thine, Pursuing her pure steps and heavenly ray.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLXXII.

_Dolci ire, dolci sdegni e dolci paci._

HE CONSOLES HIMSELF WITH THE THOUGHT THAT HE WILL BE ENVIED BY POSTERITY.

Sweet scorn, sweet anger, and sweet misery, Forgiveness sweet, sweet burden, and sweet ill; Sweet accents that mine ear so sweetly thrill, That sweetly bland, now sweetly fierce can be.

Mourn not, my soul, but suffer silently; And those embitter'd sweets thy cup that fill With the sweet honour blend of loving still Her whom I told: "Thou only pleasest me."

Hereafter, moved with envy, some may say: "For that high-boasted beauty of his day Enough the bard has borne!" then heave a sigh.

Others: "Oh! why, most hostile Fortune, why Could not these eyes that lovely form survey?

Why was she early born, or wherefore late was I?"

NOTT.

Sweet anger, sweet disdain, and peace as sweet, Sweet ill, sweet pain, sweet burthen that I bear, Sweet speech as sweetly heard; sweet speech, my fair!

That now enflames my soul, now cools its heat.

Patient, my soul! endure the wrongs you meet; And all th' embitter'd sweets you're doomed to share Blend with that sweetest bliss, the maid to greet In these soft words, "Thou only art my care!"

Haply some youth shall sighing envious say, "Enough has borne the bard so fond, so true, For that bright beauty, brightest of his day!"

While others cry, "Sad eyes! how hard your fate, Why could I ne'er this matchless beauty view?

Why was she born so soon, or I so late?"

ANON. 1777.

CANZONE XIX.

_S' il dissi mai, ch' i' venga in odio a quella._

HE VEHEMENTLY REBUTS THE CHARGE OF LOVING ANOTHER.

Perdie! I said it not, Nor never thought to do: As well as I, ye wot I have no power thereto.

And if I did, the lot That first did me enchain May never slake the knot, But strait it to my pain.

And if I did, each thing That may do harm or woe, Continually may wring My heart, where so I go!

Report may always ring Of shame on me for aye, If in my heart did spring The words that you do say.

And if I did, each star That is in heaven above, May frown on me, to mar The hope I have in love!

And if I did, such war As they brought unto Troy, Bring all my life afar From all his l.u.s.t and joy!

And if I did so say, The beauty that me bound Increase from day to day, More cruel to my wound!

With all the moan that may To plaint may turn my song; My life may soon decay, Without redress, by wrong!

If I be clear from thought, Why do you then complain?

Then is this thing but sought To turn my heart to pain.

Then this that you have wrought, You must it now redress; Of right, therefore, you ought Such rigour to repress.

And as I have deserved, So grant me now my hire; You know I never swerved, You never found me liar.

For Rachel have I served, For Leah cared I never; And her I have reserved Within my heart for ever.

WYATT.