The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 73

ANON., OX., 1795.

Alas! that touching glance, that beauteous face!

Alas! that dignity with sweetness fraught!

Alas! that speech which tamed the wildest thought!

That roused the coward, glory to embrace!

Alas! that smile which in me did encase That fatal dart, whence here I hope for nought-- Oh! hadst thou earlier our regions sought, The world had then confess'd thy sovereign grace!

In thee I breathed, life's flame was nursed by thee, For I was thine; and since of thee bereaved, Each other woe hath lost its venom'd sting: My soul's blest joy! when last thy voice on me In music fell, my heart sweet hope conceived; Alas! thy words have sped on zephyrs' wings!

WOLLASTON.

CANZONE I.

_Che debb' io far? che mi consigli, Amore?_

HE ASKS COUNSEL OF LOVE, WHETHER HE SHOULD FOLLOW LAURA, OR STILL ENDURE EXISTENCE.

What should I do? what, Love, dost thou advise?

Full time it is to die: And longer than I wish have I delay'd.

My mistress is no more, and with her gone my heart; To follow her, I must need Break short the course of my afflictive years: To view her here below I ne'er can hope; and irksome 'tis to wait.

Since that my every joy By her departure unto tears is turn'd, Of all its sweets my life has been deprived.

Thou, Love, dost feel, therefore to thee I plain, How grievous is my loss; I know my sorrows grieve and weigh thee down, E'en as our common cause: for on one rock We both have wreck'd our bark; And in one instant was its sun obscured.

What genius can with words Rightly describe my lamentable state?

Ah, blind, ungrateful world!

Thou hast indeed just cause with me to mourn; That beauty thou didst hold with her is fled!

Fall'n is thy glory, and thou seest it not; Unworthy thou with her, While here she dwelt, acquaintance to maintain.

Or to be trodden by her saintly feet; For that, which is so fair, Should with its presence decorate the skies But I, a wretch who, reft Of her, prize nor myself nor mortal life, Recall her with my tears: This only of my hope's vast sum remains; And this alone doth still support me here.

Ah, me! her charming face is earth become, Which wont unto our thought To picture heaven and happiness above!

Her viewless form inhabits paradise, Divested of that veil, Which shadow'd while below her bloom of life, Once more to put it on, And never then to cast it off again; When so much more divine, And glorious render'd, 'twill by us be view'd, As mortal beauty to eternal yields.

More bright than ever, and a lovelier fair, Before me she appears, Where most she's conscious that her sight will please This is one pillar that sustains my life; The other her dear name, That to my heart sounds so delightfully.

But tracing in my mind, That she who form'd my choicest hope is dead E'en in her blossom'd prime; Thou knowest, Love, full well what I become: She I trust sees it too, who dwells with truth.

Ye sweet a.s.sociates, who admired her charms, Her life angelical, And her demeanour heavenly upon earth For me lament, and be by pity wrought No wise for her, who, risen To so much peace, me has in warfare left; Such, that should any shut The road to follow her, for some length of time, What Love declares to me Alone would check my cutting through the tie; But in this guise he reasons from within:

"The mighty grief transporting thee restrain; For pa.s.sions uncontroll'd Forfeit that heaven, to which thy soul aspires, Where she is living whom some fancy dead; While at her fair remains She smiles herself, sighing for thee alone; And that her fame, which lives In many a clime hymn'd by thy tongue, may ne'er Become extinct, she prays; But that her name should harmonize thy voice; If e'er her eyes were lovely held, and dear."

Fly the calm, green retreat; And ne'er approach where song and laughter dwell, O strain; but wail be thine!

It suits thee ill with the glad throng to stay, Thou sorrowing widow wrapp'd in garb of woe.

NOTT.

SONNET II.

_Rotta e l' alta Colonna, e 'l verde Lauro._

HE BEWAILS HIS DOUBLE LOSS IN THE DEATHS OF LAURA, AND OF COLONNA.

Fall'n that proud Column, fall'n that Laurel tree, Whose shelter once relieved my wearied mind; I'm reft of what I ne'er again shall find, Though ransack'd every sh.o.r.e and every sea: Double the treasure death has torn from me, In which life's pride was with its pleasure join'd; Not eastern gems, nor the world's wealth combined, Can give it back, nor land, nor royalty.

But, if so fate decrees, what can I more, Than with unceasing tears these eyes bedew, Abase my visage, and my lot deplore?

Ah, what is life, so lovely to the view!

How quickly in one little morn is lost What years have won with labour and with cost!

NOTT.

My laurell'd hope! and thou, Colonna proud!

Your broken strength can shelter me no more!

Nor Boreas, Auster, Indus, Afric's sh.o.r.e, Can give me that, whose loss my soul hath bow'd: My step exulting, and my joy avow'd, Death now hath quench'd with ye, my heart's twin store; Nor earth's high rule, nor gems, nor gold's bright ore, Can e'er bring back what once my heart endow'd But if this grief my destiny hath will'd, What else can I oppose but tearful eyes, A sorrowing bosom, and a spirit quell'd?

O life! whose vista seems so brightly fill'd, A sunny breath, and that exhaling, dies The hope, oft, many watchful years have swell'd.

WOLLASTON.

CANZONE II.

_Amor, se vuoi ch' i' torni al giogo antico._

UNLESS LOVE CAN RESTORE HER TO LIFE, HE WILL NEVER AGAIN BE HIS SLAVE.

If thou wouldst have me, Love, thy slave again, One other proof, miraculous and new, Must yet be wrought by you, Ere, conquer'd, I resume my ancient chain-- Lift my dear love from earth which hides her now, For whose sad loss thus beggar'd I remain; Once more with warmth endow That wise chaste heart where wont my life to dwell; And if as some divine, thy influence so, From highest heaven unto the depths of h.e.l.l, Prevail in sooth--for what its scope below, 'Mid us of common race, Methinks each gentle breast may answer well-- Rob Death of his late triumph, and replace Thy conquering ensign in her lovely face!

Relume on that fair brow the living light, Which was my honour'd guide, and the sweet flame.

Though spent, which still the same Kindles me now as when it burn'd most bright; For thirsty hind with such desire did ne'er Long for green pastures or the crystal brook, As I for the dear look, Whence I have borne so much, and--if aright I read myself and pa.s.sion--more must bear: This makes me to one theme my thoughts thus bind, An aimless wanderer where is pathway none, With weak and wearied mind Pursuing hopes which never can be won.

Hence to thy summons answer I disdain, Thine is no power beyond thy proper reign.

Give me again that gentle voice to hear, As in my heart are heard its echoes still, Which had in song the skill Hate to disarm, rage soften, sorrow cheer, To tranquillize each tempest of the mind, And from dark lowering clouds to keep it clear; Which sweetly then refined And raised my verse where now it may not soar.

And, with desire that hope may equal vie, Since now my mind is waked in strength, restore Their proper business to my ear and eye, Awanting which life must All tasteless be and harder than to die.

Vainly with me to your old power you trust, While my first love is shrouded still in dust.

Give her dear glance again to bless my sight, Which, as the sun on snow, beam'd still for me; Open each window bright Where pa.s.s'd my heart whence no return can be; Resume thy golden shafts, prepare thy bow, And let me once more drink with old delight Of that dear voice the sound, Whence what love is I first was taught to know.

And, for the lures, which still I covet so, Were rifest, richest there my soul that bound, Waken to life her tongue, and on the breeze Let her light silken hair, Loosen'd by Love's own fingers, float at ease; Do this, and I thy willing yoke will bear, Else thy hope faileth my free will to snare.

Oh! never my gone heart those links of gold, Artlessly negligent, or curl'd with grace, Nor her enchanting face, Sweetly severe, can captive cease to hold; These, night and day, the amorous wish in me Kept, more than laurel or than myrtle, green, When, doff'd or donn'd, we see Of fields the gra.s.s, of woods their leafy screen.

And since that Death so haughty stands and stern The bond now broken whence I fear'd to flee, Nor thine the art, howe'er the world may turn, To bind anew the chain, What boots it, Love, old arts to try again?

Their day is pa.s.s'd: thy power, since lost the arms Which were my terror once, no longer harms.