Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarch

  Which round them make the atmosphere serene.

  A solid form of adamant, I ween,

  Would sooner shrink in lapse of time away,

  Than from my mind that sweet salute decay,

  Dear to my heart, in memory ever green.

  And oft as I return to view this spot,

  In its fair scenes I’ll fondly stoop to seek

  Where yet the traces of her light foot lie.

  But if in valorous heart Love sleepeth not,

  Whene’er you meet her, friend, for me bespeak

  Some passing tears, perchance one pitying sigh.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET LXXXVI.

  Lasso! quante fiate Amor m’ assale.

  WHEN LOVE DISTURBS HIM, HE CALMS HIMSELF BY THINKING OF THE EYES AND WORDS OF LAURA.

  Alas! how ceaselessly is urged Love’s claim,

  By day, by night, a thousand times I turn

  Where best I may behold the dear lights burn

  Which have immortalized my bosom’s flame.

  Thus grow I calm, and to such state am brought,

  At noon, at break of day, at vesper-bell,

  I find them in my mind so tranquil dwell,

  I neither think nor care beside for aught.

  The balmy air, which, from her angel mien,

  Moves ever with her winning words and wise,

  Makes wheresoe’er she breathes a sweet serene

  As ‘twere a gentle spirit from the skies,

  Still in these scenes some comfort brings to me,

  Nor elsewhere breathes my harass’d heart so free.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET LXXXVII.

  Perseguendomi Amor al luogo usato.

  HE IS BEWILDERED AT THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL OF LAURA.

  As Love his arts in haunts familiar tried,

  Watchful as one expecting war is found,

  Who all foresees and guards the passes round,

  I in the armour of old thoughts relied:

  Turning, I saw a shadow at my side

  Cast by the sun, whose outline on the ground

  I knew for hers, who — be my judgment sound —

  Deserves in bliss immortal to abide.

  I whisper’d to my heart, Nay, wherefore fear?

  But scarcely did the thought arise within

  Than the bright rays in which I burn were here.

  As thunders with the lightning-flash begin,

  So was I struck at once both blind and mute,

  By her dear dazzling eyes and sweet salute.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET LXXXVIII.

  La donna che ‘l mio cor nel viso porta.

  HER KIND AND GENTLE SALUTATION THRILLS HIS HEART WITH PLEASURE.

  She, in her face who doth my gone heart wear,

  As lone I sate ‘mid love-thoughts dear and true,

  Appear’d before me: to show honour due,

  I rose, with pallid brow and reverent air.

  Soon as of such my state she was aware,

  She turn’d on me with look so soft and new

  As, in Jove’s greatest fury, might subdue

  His rage, and from his hand the thunders tear.

  I started: on her further way she pass’d

  Graceful, and speaking words I could not brook,

  Nor of her lustrous eyes the loving look.

  When on that dear salute my thoughts are cast,

  So rich and varied do my pleasures flow,

  No pain I feel, nor evil fear below.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET LXXXIX.

  Sennuccio, i’ vo’ che sappi in qual maniera.

  HE RELATES TO HIS FRIEND SENNUCCIO HIS UNHAPPINESS, AND THE VARIED MOOD OF LAURA.

  To thee, Sennuccio, fain would I declare,

  To sadden life, what wrongs, what woes I find:

  Still glow my wonted flames; and, though resign’d

  To Laura’s fickle will, no change I bear.

  All humble now, then haughty is my fair;

  Now meek, then proud; now pitying, then unkind:

  Softness and tenderness now sway her mind;

  Then do her looks disdain and anger wear.

  Here would she sweetly sing, there sit awhile,

  Here bend her step, and there her step retard;

  Here her bright eyes my easy heart ensnared;

  There would she speak fond words, here lovely smile;

  There frown contempt; — such wayward cares I prove

  By night, by day; so wills our tyrant Love!

  ANON. 1777.

  Alas, Sennuccio! would thy mind could frame

  What now I suffer! what my life’s drear reign;

  Consumed beneath my heart’s continued pain,

  At will she guides me — yet am I the same.

  Now humble — then doth pride her soul inflame;

  Now harsh — then gentle; cruel — kind again;

  Now all reserve — then borne on frolic’s vein;

  Disdain alternates with a milder claim.

  Here once she sat, and there so sweetly sang;

  Here turn’d to look on me, and lingering stood;

  There first her beauteous eyes my spirit stole:

  And here she smiled, and there her accents rang,

  Her speaking face here told another mood.

  Thus Love, our sovereign, holds me in control.

  WOLLASTON.

  SONNET XC.

  Qui dove mezzo son, Sennuccio mio.

  THE MERE SIGHT OF VAUCLUSE MAKES HIM FORGET ALL THE PERILS OF HIS

  JOURNEY.

  Friend, on this spot, I life but half endure

  (Would I were wholly here and you content),

  Where from the storm and wind my course I bent,

  Which suddenly had left the skies obscure.

  Fain would I tell — for here I feel me sure —

  Why lightnings now no fear to me present;

  And why unmitigated, much less spent,

  E’en as before my fierce desires allure.

  Soon as I reach’d these realms of love, and saw

  Where, sweet and pure, to life my Laura came,

  Who calms the air, at rest the thunder lays;

  Love in my soul, where she alone gives law,

  Quench’d the cold fear and kindled the fast flame;

  What were it then on her bright eyes to gaze!

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET XCI.

  Dell’ empia Babilonia, ond’ è fuggita.

  LEAVING ROME, HE DESIRES ONLY PEACE WITH LAURA AND PROSPERITY TO COLONNA.

  Yes, out of impious Babylon I’m flown,

  Whence flown all shame, whence banish’d is all good,

  That nurse of error, and of guilt th’ abode,

  To lengthen out a life which else were gone:

  There as Love prompts, while wandering alone,

  I now a garland weave, and now an ode;

  With him I commune, and in pensive mood

  Hope better times; this only checks my moan.

  Nor for the throng, nor fortune do I care,

  Nor for myself, nor sublunary things,

  No ardour outwardly, or inly springs:

  I ask two persons only: let my fair

  For me a kind and tender heart maintain;

  And be my friend secure in his high post again.

  NOTT.

  From impious Babylon, where all shame is dead,

  And every good is banish’d to far climes,

  Nurse of rank errors, centre of worst crimes,

  Haply to lengthen life, I too am fled:

  Alone, at last alone, and here, as led

  At Love’s sweet will, I posies weave or rhymes,

  Self-parleying, and still on better times

  Wrapt in fond thoughts whence only hope is fed.

  Cares for the world or fortune I have none,

  Nor much for self, nor any common theme:

  Nor feel I in me, nor without, great heat.


  Two friends alone I ask, and that the one

  More merciful and meek to me may seem,

  The other well as erst, and firm of feet.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET XCII.

  In mezzo di duo amanti onesta altera.

  LAURA TURNING TO SALUTE HIM, THE SUN, THROUGH JEALOUSY, WITHDREW BEHIND A CLOUD.

  ‘Tween two fond lovers I a lady spied,

  Virtuous but haughty, and with her that lord,

  By gods above and men below adored —

  The sun on this, myself upon that side —

  Soon as she found herself the sphere denied

  Of her bright friend, on my fond eyes she pour’d

  A flood of life and joy, which hope restored

  Less cold to me will be her future pride.

  Suddenly changed itself to cordial mirth

  The jealous fear to which at his first sight

  So high a rival in my heart gave birth;

  As suddenly his sad and rueful plight

  From further scrutiny a small cloud veil’d,

  So much it ruffled him that then he fail’d.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET XCIII.

  Pien di quella ineffabile dolcezza.

  WHEREVER HE IS, HE SEES ONLY LAURA.

  O’erflowing with the sweets ineffable,

  Which from that lovely face my fond eyes drew,

  What time they seal’d, for very rapture, grew.

  On meaner beauty never more to dwell,

  Whom most I love I left: my mind so well

  Its part, to muse on her, is train’d to do,

  None else it sees; what is not hers to view,

  As of old wont, with loathing I repel.

  In a low valley shut from all around,

  Sole consolation of my heart-deep sighs,

  Pensive and slow, with Love I walk alone:

  Not ladies here, but rocks and founts are found,

  And of that day blest images arise,

  Which my thought shapes where’er I turn mine eyes.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET XCIV.

  Se ‘l sasso ond’ è più chiusa questa valle.

  COULD HE BUT SEE THE HOUSE OF LAURA, HIS SIGHS MIGHT REACH HER MORE QUICKLY.

  If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,

  From which its present name we closely trace,

  Were by disdainful nature rased, and thrown

  Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;

  Then had my sighs a better pathway known

  To where their hope is yet in life and grace:

  They now go singly, yet my voice all own;

  And, where I send, not one but finds its place.

  There too, as I perceive, such welcome sweet

  They ever find, that none returns again,

  But still delightedly with her remain.

  My grief is from the eyes, each morn to meet —

  Not the fair scenes my soul so long’d to see —

  Toil for my weary limbs and tears for me.

  MACGREGOR.

  SONNET XCV.

  Rimansi addietro il sestodecim’ anno.

  THOUGH HE IS UNHAPPY, HIS LOVE REMAINS EVER UNCHANGED.

  My sixteenth year of sighs its course has run,

  I stand alone, already on the brow

  Where Age descends: and yet it seems as now

  My time of trial only were begun.

  ’Tis sweet to love, and good to be undone;

  Though life be hard, more days may Heaven allow

  Misfortune to outlive: else Death may bow

  The bright head low my loving praise that won.

  Here am I now who fain would be elsewhere;

  More would I wish and yet no more I would;

  I could no more and yet did all I could:

  And new tears born of old desires declare

  That still I am as I was wont to be,

  And that a thousand changes change not me.

  MACGREGOR.

  CANZONE XII.

  Una donna più bella assai che ‘l sole.

  GLORY AND VIRTUE.

  A lady, lovelier, brighter than the sun,

  Like him superior o’er all time and space,

  Of rare resistless grace,

  Me to her train in early life had won:

  She, from that hour, in act, and word and thought,

  — For still the world thus covets what is rare —

  In many ways though brought

  Before my search, was still the same coy fair:

  For her alone my plans, from what they were,

  Grew changed, since nearer subject to her eyes;

  Her love alone could spur

  My young ambition to each hard emprize:

  So, if in long-wish’d port I e’er arrive,

  I hope, for aye through her,

  When others deem me dead, in honour to survive.

  Full of first hope, burning with youthful love,

  She, at her will, as plainly now appears,

  Has led me many years,

  But for one end, my nature best to prove:

  Oft showing me her shadow, veil, and dress,

  But never her sweet face, till I, who right

  Knew not her power to bless,

  All my green youth for these, contented quite,

  So spent, that still the memory is delight:

  Since onward yet some glimpse of her is seen,

  I now may own, of late,

  Such as till then she ne’er for me had been,

  She shows herself, shooting through all my heart

  An icy cold so great

  That save in her dear arms it ne’er can thence depart.

  Not that in this cold fear I all did shrink,

  For still my heart was to such boldness strung

  That to her feet I clung,

  As if more rapture from her eyes to drink:

  And she — for now the veil was ta’en away

  Which barr’d my sight — thus spoke me, “Friend, you see

  How fair I am, and may

  Ask, for your years, whatever fittest be.”

  “Lady,” I said, “so long my love on thee

  Has fix’d, that now I feel myself on fire,

  What, in this state, to shun, and what desire.”

  She, thereon, with a voice so wond’rous sweet

  And earnest look replied,

  By turns with hope and fear it made my quick heart beat: —

  “Rarely has man, in this full crowd below,

  E’en partial knowledge of my worth possess’d

  Who felt not in his breast

  At least awhile some spark of spirit glow:

  But soon my foe, each germ of good abhorr’d,

  Quenches that light, and every virtue dies,

  While reigns some other lord

  Who promises a calmer life shall rise:

  Love, of your mind, to him that naked lies,

  So shows the great desire with which you burn,

  That safely I divine

  It yet shall win for you an honour’d urn;

  Already one of my few friends you are,

  And now shall see in sign

  A lady who shall make your fond eyes happier far.”

  “It may not, cannot be,” I thus began;

  — When she, “Turn hither, and in yon calm nook

  Upon the lady look

  So seldom seen, so little sought of man!”

  I turn’d, and o’er my brow the mantling shame,

  Within me as I felt that new fire swell,

  Of conscious treason came.

  She softly smiled, “I understand you well;

  E’en as the sun’s more powerful rays dispel

  And drive the meaner stars of heaven from sight,

  So I less fair appear,

  Dwindling and darken’d now in her more light;

  But not for this I bar you from my train,

  As one in jealou
s fear —

  One birth, the elder she, produced us, sisters twain.”

  Meanwhile the cold and heavy chain was burst

  Of silence, which a sense of shame had flung

  Around my powerless tongue,

  When I was conscious of her notice first:

  And thus I spoke, “If what I hear be true,

  Bless’d be the sire, and bless’d the natal day

  Which graced our world with you!

  Blest the long years pass’d in your search away!

  From the right path if e’er I went astray,

  It grieves me more than, haply, I can show:

  But of your state, if I

  Deserve more knowledge, more I long to know.”

  She paused, then, answering pensively, so bent

  On me her eloquent eye,

  That to my inmost heart her looks and language went: —

  “As seem’d to our Eternal Father best,

  We two were made immortal at our birth:

  To man so small our worth

  Better on us that death, like yours, should rest.

  Though once beloved and lovely, young and bright,

  So slighted are we now, my sister sweet

  Already plumes for flight

  Her wings to bear her to her own old seat;

  Myself am but a shadow thin and fleet;

  Thus have I told you, in brief words, whate’er

  You sought of us to find:

  And now farewell! before I mount in air

  This favour take, nor fear that I forget.”

  Whereat she took and twined

  A wreath of laurel green, and round my temples set.

  My song! should any deem thy strain obscure,

  Say, that I care not, and, ere long to hear,

  In certain words and clear,

  Truth’s welcome message, that my hope is sure;

  For this alone, unless I widely err

  Of him who set me on the task, I came,

  That others I might stir

  To honourable acts of high and holy aim.

  MACGREGOR.

  MADRIGALE IV.

  Or vedi, Amor, che giovinetta donna.

  A PRAYER TO LOVE THAT HE WILL TAKE VENGEANCE ON THE SCORNFUL PRIDE OF LAURA.

  Now, Love, at length behold a youthful fair,

  Who spurns thy rule, and, mocking all my care,