The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 75

O my sad eyes! our sun is overcast,-- Nay, rather borne to heaven, and there is s.h.i.+ning, Waiting our coming, and perchance repining At our delay; there shall we meet at last: And there, mine ears, her angel words float past, Those who best understand their sweet divining; Howe'er, my feet, unto the search inclining, Ye cannot reach her in those regions vast.

Why, then, do ye torment me thus, for, oh!

It is no fault of mine, that ye no more Behold, and hear, and welcome her below; Blame Death,--or rather praise Him and adore, Who binds and frees, restrains and letteth go, And to the weeping one can joy restore.

WROTTESLEY.

SONNET VIII.

_Poiche la vista angelica serena._

WITH HER, HIS ONLY SOLACE, IS TAKEN AWAY ALL HIS DESIRE OF LIFE.

Since her calm angel face, long beauty's fane, My beggar'd soul by this brief parting throws In darkest horrors and in deepest woes, I seek by uttering to allay my pain.

Certes, just sorrow leads me to complain: This she, who is its cause, and Love too shows; No other remedy my poor heart knows Against the troubles that in life obtain.

Death! thou hast s.n.a.t.c.h'd her hence with hand unkind, And thou, glad Earth! that fair and kindly face Now hidest from me in thy close embrace; Why leave me here, disconsolate and blind, Since she who of mine eyes the light has been, Sweet, loving, bright, no more with me is seen?

MACGREGOR.

SONNET IX.

_S' Amor novo consiglio non n' apporta._

HE DESCRIBES HIS SAD STATE.

If Love to give new counsel still delay, My life must change to other scenes than these; My troubled spirit grief and terror freeze, Desire augments while all my hopes decay.

Thus ever grows my life, by night and day, Despondent, and dismay'd, and ill at ease, Hara.s.s'd and helmless on tempestuous seas, With no sure escort on a doubtful way.

Her path a sick imagination guides, Its true light underneath--ah, no! on high, Whence on my heart she beams more bright than eye, Not on mine eyes; from them a dark veil hides Those lovely orbs, and makes me, ere life's span Is measured half, an old and broken man.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET X.

_Nell' eta sua piu bella e piu fiorita._

HE DESIRES TO DIE, THAT HIS SOUL MAY BE WITH HER, AS HIS THOUGHTS ALREADY ARE.

E'en in youth's fairest flower, when Love's dear sway Is wont with strongest power our hearts to bind, Leaving on earth her fleshly veil behind, My life, my Laura, pa.s.s'd from me away; Living, and fair, and free from our vile clay, From heaven she rules supreme my willing mind: Alas! why left me in this mortal rind That first of peace, of sin that latest day?

As my fond thoughts her heavenward path pursue, So may my soul glad, light, and ready be To follow her, and thus from troubles flee.

Whate'er delays me as worst loss I rue: Time makes me to myself but heavier grow: Death had been sweet to-day three years ago!

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XI.

_Se lamentar augelli, o Verdi fronde._

SHE IS EVER PRESENT TO HIM.

If the lorn bird complain, or rustling sweep Soft summer airs o'er foliage waving slow, Or the hoa.r.s.e brook come murmuring down the steep, Where on the enamell'd bank I sit below With thoughts of love that bid my numbers flow; 'Tis then I see her, though in earth she sleep!

Her, form'd in heaven! I see, and hear, and know!

Responsive sighing, weeping as I weep: "Alas," she pitying says, "ere yet the hour, Why hurry life away with swifter flight?

Why from thy eyes this flood of sorrow pour?

No longer mourn my fate! through death my days Become eternal! to eternal light These eyes, which seem'd in darkness closed, I raise!"

DACRE.

Where the green leaves exclude the summer beam, And softly bend as balmy breezes blow, And where with liquid lapse the lucid stream Across the fretted rock is heard to flow, Pensive I lay: when she whom earth conceals As if still living to my eye appears; And pitying Heaven her angel form reveals To say, "Unhappy Petrarch, dry your tears.

Ah! why, sad lover, thus before your time In grief and sadness should your life decay, And, like a blighted flower, your manly prime In vain and hopeless sorrow fade away?

Ah! yield not thus to culpable despair; But raise thine eyes to heaven and think I wait thee there!"

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

Moved by the summer wind when all is still, The light leaves quiver on the yielding spray; Sighs from its flowery bank the lucid rill, While the birds answer in their sweetest lay.

Vain to this sickening heart these scenes appear: No form but hers can meet my tearful eyes; In every pa.s.sing gale her voice I hear; It seems to tell me, "I have heard thy sighs.

But why," she cries, "in manhood's towering prime, In grief's dark mist thy days, inglorious, hide?

Ah! dost thou murmur, that my span of time Has join'd eternity's unchanging tide?

Yes, though I seem'd to shut mine eyes in night, They only closed to wake in everlasting light!"

ANNE BANNERMAN.

SONNET XII.

_Mai non fu' in parte ove s chiar' vedessi._

VAUCLUSE.