For I remember not t’ have seen your face.”
He thus replied: “It is the dusky place
That dulls thy sight, and this hard yoke I bear:
Else I a Tuscan am; thy friend, and dear
To thy remembrance.” His wonted phrase
And voice did then discover what he was.
So we retired aside, and left the throng,
When thus he spake: “I have expected long
To see you here with us; your face did seem
To threaten you no less. I do esteem
Your prophesies; but I have seen what care
Attends a lover’s life; and must beware.”
“Yet have I oft been beaten in the field,
And sometimes hurt,” said I, “but scorn’d to yield.”
He smiled and said: “Alas! thou dost not see,
My son, how great a flame’s prepared for thee.”
I knew not then what by his words he meant:
But since I find it by the dire event;
And in my memory ’tis fix’d so fast,
That marble gravings cannot firmer last.
Meanwhile my forward youth did thus inquire:
“What may these people be? I much desire
To know their names; pray, give me leave to ask.”
“I think ere long ‘twill be a needless task,”
Replied my friend; “thou shalt be of the train,
And know them all; this captivating chain
Thy neck must bear, (though thou dost little fear,)
And sooner change thy comely form and hair,
Than be unfetter’d from the cruel tie,
Howe’er thou struggle for thy liberty;
Yet to fulfil thy wish, I will relate
What I have learn’d. The first that keeps such state,
By whom our lives and freedoms we forego,
The world hath call’d him Love; and he (you know,
But shall know better when he comes to be
A lord to you, as now he is to me)
Is in his childhood mild, fierce in his age;
’Tis best believed of those that feel his rage.
The truth of this thou in thyself shalt find,
I warn thee now, pray keep it in thy mind.
Of idle looseness he is oft the child;
With pleasant fancies nourish’d, and is styled
Or made a god by vain and foolish men:
And for a recompense, some meet their bane;
Others, a harder slavery must endure
Than many thousand chains and bolts procure.
That other gallant lord is conqueror
Of conquering Rome, led captive by the fair
Egyptian queen, with her persuasive art,
Who in his honours claims the greatest part;
For binding the world’s victor with her charms,
His trophies are all hers by right of arms.
The next is his adoptive son, whose love
May seem more just, but doth no better prove;
For though he did his lovèd Livia wed,
She was seducèd from her husband’s bed.
Nero is third, disdainful, wicked, fierce,
And yet a woman found a way to pierce
His angry soul. Behold, Marcus, the grave
Wise emperor, is fair Faustina’s slave.
These two are tyrants: Dionysius,
And Alexander, both suspicious,
And yet both loved: the last a just reward
Found of his causeless fear. I know y’ have heard
Of him, who for Creüsa on the rock
Antandrus mourn’d so long; whose warlike stroke
At once revenged his friend and won his love:
And of the youth whom Phædra could not move
T’ abuse his father’s bed; he left the place,
And by his virtue lost his life (for base
Unworthy loves to rage do quickly change).
It kill’d her too; perhaps in just revenge
Of wrong’d Theseus, slain Hippolytus,
And poor forsaken Ariadne: thus
It often proves that they who falsely blame
Another, in one breath themselves condemn:
And who have guilty been of treachery,
Need not complain, if they deceivèd be.
Behold the brave hero a captive made
With all his fame, and twixt these sisters led:
Who, as he joy’d the death of th’ one to see,
His death did ease the other’s misery.
The next that followeth, though the world admire
His strength, Love bound him. Th’ other full of ire
Is great Achilles, he whose pitied fate
Was caused by Love. Demophoon did not hate
Impatient Phyllis, yet procured her death.
This Jason is, he whom Medea hath
Obliged by mischief; she to her father proved
False, to her brother cruel; t’ him she loved
Grew furious, by her merit over-prized.
Hypsipyle comes next, mournful, despised,
Wounded to see a stranger’s love prevail
More than her own, a Greek. Here is the frail
Fair Helena, with her the shepherd boy,
Whose gazing looks hurt Greece, and ruin’d Troy.
‘Mongst other weeping souls, you hear the moan
Oenone makes, her Paris being gone;
And Menelaus, for the woe he had
To lose his wife. Hermione is sad,
And calls her dear Orestes to her aid.
And Laodamia, that hapless maid,
Bewails Protesilaus. Argia proved
To Polynice more faithful than the loved
(But false and covetous) Amphiaraus’ wife.
The groans and sighs of those who lose their life
By this kind lord, in unrelenting flames
You hear: I cannot tell you half their names.
For they appear not only men that love,
The gods themselves do fill this myrtle grove:
You see fair Venus caught by Vulcan’s art
With angry Mars; Proserpina apart
From Pluto, jealous Juno, yellow-hair’d
Apollo, who the young god’s courage dared:
And of his trophies proud, laugh’d at the bow
Which in Thessalia gave him such a blow.
What shall I say? — here, in a word, are all
The gods that Varro mentions, great and small;
Each with innumerable bonds detain’d,
And Jupiter before the chariot chain’d.”
ANNA HUME.
PART II.
Stanci già di mirar, non sazio ancora.
Wearied, not satisfied, with much delight,
Now here, now there, I turn’d my greedy sight,
And many things I view’d: to write were long,
The time is short, great store of passions throng
Within my breast; when lo, a lovely pair,
Join’d hand in hand, who kindly talking were,
Drew my attention that way: their attire
And foreign language quicken’d my desire
Of further knowledge, which I soon might gain.
My kind interpreter did all explain.
When both I knew, I boldly then drew near;
He loved our country, though she made it fear.
“O Masinissa! I adjure thee by
Great Scipio, and her who from thine eye
Drew manly tears,” said I; “let it not be
A trouble, what I must demand of thee.”
He look’d, and said: “I first desire to know
Your name and quality; for well you show
Y’ have heard the combat in my wounded soul,
When Love did Friendship, Friendship Love control.”
“I am not worth your knowledge, my poor flame
Gives little light,” said I: “your roya
l fame
Sets hearts on fire, that never see your face:
But, pray you, say; are you two led in peace
By him?” — (I show’d their guide)— “Your history
Deserves record: it seemeth strange to me,
That faith and cruelty should come so near.”
He said: “Thine own expressions witness bear,
Thou know’st enough, yet I will all relate
To thee; ‘t will somewhat ease my heavy state.
On that brave man my heart was fix’d so much,
That Lælius’ love to him could be but such;
Where’er his colours marchèd, I was nigh,
And Fortune did attend with victory:
Yet still his merit call’d for more than she
Could give, or any else deserve but he.
When to the West the Roman eagles came
Myself was also there, and caught a flame,
A purer never burnt in lover’s breast:
But such a joy could not be long possess’d!
Our nuptial knot, alas! he soon untied,
Who had more power than all the world beside.
He cared not for our sighs; and though ‘t be true
That he divided us, his worth I knew:
He must be blind that cannot see the sun,
But by strict justice Love is quite undone:
Counsel from such a friend gave such a stroke
To love, it almost split, as on a rock:
For as my father I his wrath did fear,
And as a son he in my love was dear;
Brothers in age we were, him I obey’d,
But with a troubled soul and look dismay’d:
Thus my dear half had an untimely death,
She prized her freedom far above her breath;
And I th’ unhappy instrument was made;
Such force th’ intreaty and intreater had!
I rather chose myself than him t’ offend,
And sent the poison brought her to her end:
With what sad thoughts I know, and she’ll confess
And you, if you have sense of love, may guess;
No heir she left me, but my tedious moan;
And though in her my hopes and joys were gone,
She was of lower value than my faith!
But now farewell, and try if this troop hath
Another wonder; for the time is less
Than is the task.” I pitied their distress,
Whose short joy ended in so sharp a woe:
My soft heart melted. As they onward go,
“This youth for his part, I perhaps could love,”
She said; “but nothing can my mind remove
From hatred of the nation.” He replied,
“Good Sophonisba, you may leave this pride;
Your city hath by us been three times beat,
The last of which, you know, we laid it flat.”
“Pray use these words t’ another, not to me,”
Said she; “if Africk mournèd, Italy
Needs not rejoice; search your records, and there
See what you gainèd by the Punic war.”
He that was friend to both, without reply
A little smiling, vanish’d from mine eye
Amongst the crowd. As one in doubtful way
At every step looks round, and fears to stray
(Care stops his journey), so the varied store
Of lovers stay’d me, to examine more,
And try what kind of fire burnt every breast:
When on my left hand strayèd from the rest
Was one, whose look express’d a ready mind
In seeking what he joy’d, yet shamed to find;
He freely gave away his dearest wife
(A new-found way to save a lover’s life);
She, though she joy’d, yet blushèd at the change.
As they recounted their affections strange,
And for their Syria mourn’d; I took the way
Of these three ghosts, who seem’d their course to stay
And take another path: the first I held
And bid him turn; he started, and beheld
Me with a troubled look, hearing my tongue
Was Roman, such a pause he made as sprung
From some deep thought; then spake as if inspired,
For to my wish, he told what I desired
To know: “Seleucus is,” said he, “my name,
This is Antiochus my son, whose fame
Hath reach’d your ear; he warrèd much with Rome,
But reason oft by power is overcome.
This woman, once my wife, doth now belong
To him; I gave her, and it was no wrong
In our religion; it stay’d his death,
Threaten’d by Love; Stratonica she hath
To name: so now we may enjoy one state,
And our fast friendship shall outlast all date.
She from her height was willing to descend;
I quit my joy; he rather chose his end
Than our offence; and in his prime had died,
Had not the wise Physician been our guide;
Silence in love o’ercame his vital part;
His love was force, his silence virtuous art.
A father’s tender care made me agree
To this strange change.” This said, he turn’d from me,
As changing his design, with such a pace,
Ere I could take my leave, he had quit the place
After the ghost was carried from mine eye,
Amazedly I walk’d; nor could untie
My mind from his sad story; till my friend
Admonish’d me, and said, “You must not lend
Attention thus to everything you meet;
You know the number’s great, and time is fleet.”
More naked prisoners this triumph had
Than Xerxes soldiers in his army led:
And stretchèd further than my sight could reach;
Of several countries, and of differing speech.
One of a thousand were not known to me,
Yet might those few make a large history.
Perseus was one; and well you know the way
How he was catchèd by Andromeda:
She was a lovely brownet, black her hair
And eyes. Narcissus, too, the foolish fair,
Who for his own love did himself destroy;
He had so much, he nothing could enjoy.
And she, who for his loss, deep sorrow’s slave.
Changed to a voice, dwells in a hollow cave.
Iphis was there, who hasted his own fate,
He loved another, but himself did hate;
And many more condemn’d like woes to prove,
Whose life was made a curse by hapless love.
Some modern lovers in my mind remain,
But those to reckon here were needless pain:
The two, whose constant loves for ever last,
On whom the winds wait while they build their nest;
For halcyon days poor labouring sailors please.
And in rough winter calm the boisterous seas.
Far off the thoughtful Æsacus, in quest
Of his Hesperia, finds a rocky rest,
Then diveth in the floods, then mounts i’ th’ air;
And she who stole old Nisus’ purple hair
His cruel daughter, I observed to fly:
Swift Atalanta ran for victory,
But three gold apples, and a lovely face,
Slack’d her quick paces, till she lost the race;
She brought Hippomanes along, and joy’d
That he, as others, had not been destroyed,
But of the victory could singly boast.
I saw amidst the vain and fabulous host,
Fair Galatea lean’d on Acis’ breast;
Rude Polyphemus’ noise disturbs their rest.
Glaucus alone swims through the dangerou
s seas,
And missing her who should his fancy please,
Curseth the cruel’s Love transform’d her shape.
Canens laments that Picus could not ‘scape
The dire enchantress; he in Italy
Was once a king, now a pied bird; for she
Who made him such, changed not his clothes nor name,
His princely habit still appears the same.
Egeria, while she wept, became a well:
Scylla (a horrid rock by Circe’s spell)
Hath made infamous the Sicilian strand.
Next, she who holdeth in her trembling hand
A guilty knife, her right hand writ her name.
Pygmalion next, with his live mistress came.
Sweet Aganippe, and Castalia have
A thousand more; all there sung by the brave
And deathless poets, on their fair banks placed;
Cydippe by an apple fool’d at last.
ANNA HUME.
PART III
Era sì pieno il cor di maraviglie.
My heart was fill’d with wonder and amaze,
As one struck dumb, in silence stands at gaze
Expecting counsel, when my friend drew near,
And said: “What do you look? why stay you here?
What mean you? know you not that I am one
Of these, and must attend? pray, let’s be gone.”
“Dear friend,” said I, “consider what desire
To learn the rest hath set my heart on fire;
My own haste stops me.” “I believe ‘t,” said he,
“And I will help; ’tis not forbidden me.
This noble man, on whom the others wait
(You see) is Pompey, justly call’d The Great:
Cornelia followeth, weeping his hard fate,
And Ptolemy’s unworthy causeless hate.
You see far off the Grecian general;
His base wife, with Ægisthus wrought his fall:
Behold them there, and judge if Love be blind.
But here are lovers of another kind,
And other faith they kept. Lynceus was saved
By Hypermnestra: Pyramus bereaved
Himself of life, thinking his mistress slain:
Thisbe’s like end shorten’d her mourning pain.
Leander, swimming often, drown’d at last;
Hero her fair self from her window cast.
Courteous Ulysses his long stay doth mourn;
His chaste wife prayeth for his safe return;
While Circe’s amorous charms her prayers control,
And rather vex than please his virtuous soul.
Hamilcar’s son, who made great Rome afraid,
By a mean wench of Spain is captive led.
This Hypsicratea is, the virtuous fair,
Who for her husband’s dear love cut her hair,
Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch Page 39
