The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 80

MACGREGOR.

When memory turns to gaze on time gone by (Which in its flight hath arm'd e'en thought with wings), And to my troubled rest a period brings, Quells, too, the flame which long could ice defy; And when I mark Love's promise wither'd lie, That treasure parted which my bosom wrings (For she in heaven, her shrine to nature clings), Whilst thus my toils' reward she doth deny;-- I then awake and feel bereaved indeed!

The darkest fate on earth seems bliss to mine-- So much I fear myself, and dread its woe!

O Fortune!--Death! O star! O fate decreed!

O bitter day! that yet must sweetly s.h.i.+ne, Alas! too surely thou hast laid me low!

WOLLASTON.

SONNET x.x.xI.

_Ov' e la fronte che con picciol cenno._

HE ENUMERATES AND EULOGISES THE GRACES OF LAURA.

Where is the brow whose gentlest beckonings led My raptured heart at will, now here, now there?

Where the twin stars, lights of this lower sphere, Which o'er my darkling path their radiance shed?

Where is true worth, and wit, and wisdom fled?

The courteous phrase, the melting accent, where?

Where, group'd in one rich form, the beauties rare, Which long their magic influence o'er me shed?

Where is the shade, within whose sweet recess My wearied spirit still forgot its sighs, And all my thoughts their constant record found?

Where, where is she, my life's sole arbitress?-- Ah, wretched world! and wretched ye, mine eyes (Of her pure light bereft) which aye with tears are drown'd.

WRANGHAM.

Where is that face, whose slightest air could move My trembling heart, and strike the springs of love?

That heaven, where two fair stars, with genial ray, Shed their kind influence on life's dim way?

Where are that science, sense, and worth confess'd?

That speech by virtue, by the graces dress'd?

Where are those beauties, where those charms combined, That caused this long captivity of mind?

Where the dear shade of all that once was fair, The source, the solace, of each amorous care-- My heart's sole sovereign, Nature's only boast?

--Lost to the world, to me for ever lost!

LANGHORNE.

SONNET x.x.xII.

_Quanta invidia ti porto, avara terra._

HE ENVIES EARTH, HEAVEN, AND DEATH THEIR POSSESSION OF HIS TREASURE.

O earth, whose clay-cold mantle shrouds that face, And veils those eyes that late so brightly shone, Whence all that gave delight on earth was known, How much I envy thee that harsh embrace!

O heaven, that in thy airy courts confined That purest spirit, when from earth she fled, And sought the mansions of the righteous dead; How envious, thus to leave my panting soul behind!

O angels, that in your seraphic choir Received her sister-soul, and now enjoy Still present, those delights without alloy, Which my fond heart must still in vain desire!

In her I lived--in her my life decays; Yet envious Fate denies to end my hapless days.

WOODHOUSELEE.

What envy of the greedy earth I bear, That holds from me within its cold embrace The light, the meaning, of that angel face, On which to gaze could soften e'en despair.

What envy of the saints, in realms so fair, Who eager seem'd, from that bright form of grace The spirit pure to summon to its place, Amidst those joys, which few can hope to share; What envy of the blest in heaven above, With whom she dwells in sympathies divine Denied to me on earth, though sought in sighs; And oh! what envy of stern Death I prove, That with her life has ta'en the light of mine, Yet calls me not,--though fixed and cold those eyes.

WROTTESLEY.

SONNET x.x.xIII.

_Valle che d' lamenti miei se' piena._

ON HIS RETURN TO VAUCLUSE AFTER LAURA'S DEATH.

Valley, which long hast echoed with my cries; Stream, which my flowing tears have often fed; Beasts, fluttering birds, and ye who in the bed Of Cabrieres' wave display your speckled dyes; Air, hush'd to rest and soften'd by my sighs; Dear path, whose mazes lone and sad I tread; Hill of delight--though now delight is fled-- To rove whose haunts Love still my foot decoys; Well I retain your old unchanging face!

Myself how changed! in whom, for joy's light throng, Infinite woes their constant mansion find!

Here bloom'd my bliss: and I your tracks retrace, To mark whence upward to her heaven she sprung, Leaving her beauteous spoil, her robe of flesh behind!

WRANGHAM.

Ye vales, made vocal by my plaintive lay; Ye streams, embitter'd with the tears of love; Ye tenants of the sweet melodious grove; Ye tribes that in the gra.s.s fringed streamlet play; Ye tepid gales, to which my sighs convey A softer warmth; ye flowery plains, that move Reflection sad; ye hills, where yet I rove, Since Laura there first taught my steps to stray;-- You, you are still the same! How changed, alas, Am I! who, from a state of life so blest, Am now the gloomy dwelling-place of woe!

'Twas here I saw my love: here still I trace Her parting steps, when she her mortal vest Cast to the earth, and left these scenes below.

ANON.

SONNET x.x.xIV.

_Levommi il mio pensier in parte ov' era._

SOARING IN IMAGINATION TO HEAVEN, HE MEETS LAURA, AND IS HAPPY.

Fond fancy raised me to the spot, where strays She, whom I seek but find on earth no more: There, fairer still and humbler than before, I saw her, in the third heaven's blessed maze.

She took me by the hand, and "Thou shalt trace, If hope not errs," she said, "this happy sh.o.r.e: I, I am she, thy breast with slights who tore, And ere its evening closed my day's brief s.p.a.ce.

What human heart conceives, my joys exceed; Thee only I expect, and (what remain Below) the charms, once objects of thy love."