The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 79

SONNET XXVI.

_Soleasi nel mio cor star bella e viva._

SINCE HER DEATH, NOTHING IS LEFT TO HIM BUT GRIEF.

She stood within my heart, warm, young, alone, As in a humble home a lady bright; By her last flight not merely am I grown Mortal, but dead, and she an angel quite.

A soul whence every bliss and hope is flown, Love shorn and naked of its own glad light, Might melt with pity e'en a heart of stone: But none there is to tell their grief or write; These plead within, where deaf is every ear Except mine own, whose power its griefs so mar That nought is left me save to suffer here.

Verily we but dust and shadows are!

Verily blind and evil is our will!

Verily human hopes deceive us still!

MACGREGOR.

'Mid life's bright glow she dwelt within my soul, The sovereign tenant of a humble cell, But when for heaven she bade the world farewell, Death seem'd to grasp me in his fierce control: My wither'd love torn from its brightening goal-- My soul without its treasure doom'd to dwell-- Could I but trace their grief, their sorrow tell, A stone might wake, and fain with them condole.

They inly mourn, where none can hear their woe Save I alone, who too with grief oppress'd, Can only soothe my anguish by my sighs: Life is indeed a shadowy dream below; Our blind desires by Reason's chain unbless'd, Whilst Hope in treacherous wither'd fragments lies.

WOLLASTON.

SONNET XXVII.

_Soleano i miei pensier soavemente._

HE COMFORTS HIMSELF WITH THE HOPE THAT SHE HEARS HIM.

My thoughts in fair alliance and array Hold converse on the theme which most endears: Pity approaches and repents delay: E'en now she speaks of us, or hopes, or fears.

Since the last day, the terrible hour when Fate This present life of her fair being reft, From heaven she sees, and hears, and feels our state: No other hope than this to me is left.

O fairest miracle! most fortunate mind!

O unexampled beauty, stately, rare!

Whence lent too late, too soon, alas! rejoin'd.

Hers is the crown and palm of good deeds there, Who to the world so eminent and clear Made her great virtue and my pa.s.sion here.

MACGREGOR.

My thoughts were wont with sentiment so sweet To meditate their object in my breast-- Perhaps her sympathies my wishes meet With gentlest pity, seeing me distress'd: Nor when removed to that her sacred rest The present life changed for that blest retreat, Vanish'd in air my former visions fleet, My hopes, my tears, in vain to her address'd.

O lovely miracle! O favour'd mind!

Beauty beyond example high and rare, So soon return'd from us to whence it came!

There the immortal wreaths her temples bind; The sacred palm is hers: on earth so fair Who shone by her own virtues and my flame.

CAPEL LOFFT.

SONNET XXVIII.

_I' mi soglio accusare, ed or mi scuso._

HE GLORIES IN HIS LOVE.

I now excuse myself who wont to blame, Nay, more, I prize and even hold me dear, For this fair prison, this sweet-bitter shame, Which I have borne conceal'd so many a year.

O envious Fates! that rare and golden frame Rudely ye broke, where lightly twined and clear, Yarn of my bonds, the threads of world-wide fame Which lovely 'gainst his wont made Death appear.

For not a soul was ever in its days Of joy, of liberty, of life so fond, That would not change for her its natural ways, Preferring thus to suffer and despond, Than, fed by hope, to sing in others' praise, Content to die, or live in such a bond.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XXIX.

_Due gran nemiche insieme erano aggiunte._

THE UNION OF BEAUTY AND VIRTUE IS DISSOLVED BY HER DEATH.

Two mortal foes in one fair breast combined, Beauty and Virtue, in such peace allied That ne'er rebellion ruffled that pure mind, But in rare union dwelt they side by side; By Death they now are shatter'd and disjoin'd; One is in heaven, its glory and its pride, One under earth, her brilliant eyes now blind, Whence stings of love once issued far and wide.

That winning air, that rare discourse and meek, Surely from heaven inspired, that gentle glance Which wounded my poor heart, and wins it still, Are gone; if I am slow her road to seek, I hope her fair and graceful name perchance To consecrate with this worn weary quill.

MACGREGOR.

Within one mortal shrine two foes had met-- Beauty and Virtue--yet they dwelt so bright, That ne'er within the soul did they excite Rebellious thought, their union might beget: But, parted to fulfil great nature's debt, One blooms in heaven, exulting in its height; Its twin on earth doth rest, from whose veil'd night No more those eyes of love man's soul can fret.

That speech by Heaven inspired, so humbly wise-- That graceful air--her look so winning, meek, That woke and kindles still my bosom's pain-- They all have fled; but if to gain her skies I tardy seem, my weary pen would seek For her blest name a consecrated reign!

WOLLASTON.

SONNET x.x.x.

_Quand' io mi volgo indietro a mirar gli anni._

THE REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST ENHANCES HIS MISERY.

When I look back upon the many years Which in their flight my best thoughts have entomb'd, And spent the fire, that, spite her ice, consumed, And finish'd the repose so full of tears, Broken the faith which Love's young dream endears, And the two parts of all my blessing doom'd, This low in earth, while heaven has that resumed, And lost the guerdon of my pains and fears, I wake, and feel me to the bitter wind So bare, I envy the worst lot I see; Self-terror and heart-grief on me so wait.

O Death, O Fate, O Fortune, stars unkind!

O day for ever dark and drear to me!

How have ye sunk me in this abject state!