The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 62

THE HISTORY OF HIS LOVE; AND PRAYER FOR HELP.

Life's three first stages train'd my soul in part To place its care on objects high and new, And to disparage what men often prize, But, left alone, and of her fatal course As yet uncertain, frolicsome, and free, She enter'd at spring-time a lovely wood.

A tender flower there was, born in that wood The day before, whose root was in a part High and impervious e'en to spirit free; For many snares were there of forms so new, And such desire impell'd my sanguine course, That to lose freedom were to gain a prize.

Dear, sweet, yet perilous and painful prize!

Which quickly drew me to that verdant wood, Doom'd to mislead me midway in life's course; The world I since have ransack'd part by part, For rhymes, or stones, or sap of simples new, Which yet might give me back the spirit, free.

But ah! I feel my body must be free From that hard knot which is its richest prize, Ere medicine old or incantations new Can heal the wounds which pierced me in that wood, Th.o.r.n.y and troublous, where I play'd such part, Leaving it halt who enter'd with hot course.

Yes! full of snares and sticks, a difficult course Have I to run, where easy foot and sure Were rather needed, healthy in each part; Thou, Lord, who still of pity hast the prize, Stretch to me thy right hand in this wild wood, And let thy sun dispel my darkness new.

Look on my state, amid temptations new, Which, interrupting my life's tranquil course, Have made me denizen of darkling wood; If good, restore me, fetterless and free, My wand'ring consort, and be thine the prize If yet with thee I find her in blest part.

Lo! thus in part I put my questions new, If mine be any prize, or run its course, Be my soul free, or captived in close wood.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLXXIX.

_In n.o.bil sangue vita umile e queta._

SHE UNITES IN HERSELF THE HIGHEST EXCELLENCES OF VIRTUE AND BEAUTY.

High birth in humble life, reserved yet kind, On youth's gay flower ripe fruits of age and rare, A virtuous heart, therewith a lofty mind, A happy spirit in a pensive air; Her planet, nay, heaven's king, has fitly shrined All gifts and graces in this lady fair, True honour, purest praises, worth refined, Above what rapt dreams of best poets are.

Virtue and Love so rich in her unite, With natural beauty dignified address, Gestures that still a silent grace express, And in her eyes I know not what strange light, That makes the noonday dark, the dusk night clear, Bitter the sweet, and e'en sad absence dear.

MACGREGOR.

Though n.o.bly born, so humbly calm she dwells, So bright her intellect--so pure her mind-- The blossom and its bloom in her we find; With pensive look, her heart with mirth rebels: Thus by her planets' union she excels, (Nay--His, the stars' proud sov'reign, who enshrined There honour, worth, and fort.i.tude combined!) Which to the bard inspired, his hope dispels.

Love blooms in her, but 'tis his home most pure; Her daily virtues blend with native grace; Her noiseless movements speak, though she is mute: Such power her eyes, they can the day obscure, Illume the night,--the honey's sweetness chase, And wake its stream, where gall doth oft pollute.

WOLLASTON.

SONNET CLx.x.x.

_Tutto 'l di piango; e poi la notte, quando._

HER CRUELTY RENDERS LIFE WORSE THAN DEATH TO HIM.

Through the long lingering day, estranged from rest, My sorrows flow unceasing; doubly flow, Painful prerogative of lover's woe!

In that still hour, when slumber soothes th' unblest.

With such deep anguish is my heart opprest, So stream mine eyes with tears! Of things below Most miserable I; for Cupid's bow Has banish'd quiet from this heaving breast.

Ah me! while thus in suffering, morn to morn And eve to eve succeeds, of death I view (So should this life be named) one-half gone by-- Yet this I weep not, but another's scorn; That she, my friend, so tender and so true, Should see me hopeless burn, and yet her aid deny.

WRANGHAM.

SONNET CLx.x.xI.

_Gia desiai con s giusta querela._

HE LIVES DESt.i.tUTE OF ALL HOPE SAVE THAT OF RENDERING HER IMMORTAL.

Erewhile I labour'd with complaint so true, And in such fervid rhymes to make me heard, Seem'd as at last some spark of pity stirr'd In the hard heart which frost in summer knew.

Th' unfriendly cloud, whose cold veil o'er it grew, Broke at the first breath of mine ardent word Or low'ring still she others' blame incurr'd Her bright and killing eyes who thus withdrew No ruth for self I crave, for her no hate; I wish not this--_that_ pa.s.ses power of mine: Such was mine evil star and cruel fate.

But I shall ever sing her charms divine, That, when I have resign'd this mortal breath, The world may know how sweet to me was death.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLx.x.xII.

_Tra quantunque leggiadre donne e belle._

ALL NATURE WOULD BE IN DARKNESS WERE SHE, ITS SUN, TO PERISH.

Where'er she moves, whatever dames among, Beauteous or graceful, matchless she below.

With her fair face she makes all others show Dim, as the day's bright orb night's starry throng.

And Love still whispers, with prophetic tongue,-- "Long as on earth is seen that glittering brow, Shall life have charms: but she shall cease to glow And with her all my power shall fleet along, Should Nature from the skies their twin-lights wrest; Hush every breeze, each herb and flower destroy; Strip man of reason--speech; from Ocean's breast His tides, his tenants chase--such, earth's annoy; Yea, still more darken'd were it and unblest, Had she, thy Laura, closed her eyes to love and joy."

WRANGHAM.

Whene'er amidst the damsels, blooming bright, She shows herself, whose like was never made, At her approach all other beauties fade, As at morn's orient glow the gems of night.

Love seems to whisper,--"While to mortal sight Her graces shall on earth be yet display'd, Life shall be blest; 'till soon with her decay'd, The virtues, and my reign shall sink outright."

Of moon and sun, should nature rob the sky, The air of winds, the earth of herbs and leaves, Mankind of speech and intellectual eye, The ocean's bed of fish, and dancing waves; Even so shall all things dark and lonely lye, When of her beauty Death the world bereaves!

CHARLEMONT.