Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarch

  Of Love with honour match’d, in dire debate,

  Whenever he beheld my lovely mate;

  Else gentle Love, subdued by filial dread,

  Had sent him down among th’ untimely dead.” —

  Then, like a man that feels a sudden thought

  His purpose change, the mingling crowd he sought,

  And left the question, which a moment hung

  Scarce half suppress’d upon my faltering tongue.

  Suspended for a moment, still I stood,

  With various thoughts oppress’d in musing mood.

  At length a voice was heard, “The passing day

  Is yours, but it permits not long delay.” —

  I turn’d in haste, and saw a fleeting train

  Outnumbering those who pass’d the surging main

  By Xerxes led — a naked wailing crew,

  Whose wretched plight the drops of sorrow drew

  From my full eyes. — Of many a clime and tongue

  Commix’d the mournful pageant moved along

  While scarce the fortunes or the name of one

  Among a thousand passing forms was known.

  I spied that Ethiopian’s dusky charms,

  Which woke in Perseus’ bosom Love’s alarms;

  And next was he who for a shadow burn’d,

  Which the deceitful watery glass return’d;

  Enamour’d of himself, in sad decay —

  Amid abundance, poor — he look’d his life away;

  And now transform’d through passion’s baneful power,

  He o’er the margin hangs, a drooping flower;

  While, by her hopeless love congeal’d to stone,

  His mistress seems to look in silence on;

  Then he that loved, by too severe a fate,

  The cruel maid who met his love with hate,

  Pass’d by; with many more who met their doom

  By female pride, and fill’d an early tomb. —

  There too, the victim of her plighted vows,

  Halcyone for ever mourns her spouse;

  Who now, in feathers clad, as poets feign,

  Makes a short summer on the wintry main. —

  Then he that to the cliffs the maid pursued,

  And seem’d by turns to soar, and swim the flood; —

  And she, who, snared by Love, her father sold,

  With her, who fondly snared the rolling gold;

  And her young paramour, who made his boast

  That he had gain’d the prize his rival lost. —

  Acis and Galatea next were seen,

  And Polyphemus with infuriate mien; —

  And Glaucus there, by rival arts assail’d,

  Fell Circe’s hate and Scylla’s doom bewail’d. —

  Then sad Carmenta, with her royal lord,

  Whom the fell sorceress clad, by arts abhorr’d,

  With plumes; but still the regal stamp impress’d

  On his imperial wings and lofty crest. —

  Then she, whose tears the springing fount supplied; —

  And she whose form above the rolling tide

  Hangs a portentous cliff — the royal fair,

  Who wrote the dictates of her last despair

  To him whose ships had left the friendly strand.

  With the keen steel in her determined hand. —

  There, too, Pygmalion, with his new-made spouse,

  With many more, I spied, whose amorous vows

  And fates in never-dying song resound

  Where Aganippe laves the sacred ground: —

  And, last of all, I saw the lovely maid

  Of Love unconscious, by an oath betray’d.

  BOYD.

  PART III.

  Like one by wonder reft of speech, I stood

  Pond’ring the mournful scene in pensive mood,

  As one that waits advice. My guide in haste

  Began:— “You let the moments run to waste

  What objects hold you here? — my doom you know;

  Compell’d to wander with the sons of woe!” —

  “Oh, yet awhile afford your friendly aid!

  You see my inmost soul;” submiss I said.

  “The strong unsated wish you there can read;

  The restless cravings of my mind to feed

  With tidings of the dead.” — In gentler tone

  He said, “Your longings in your looks are known;

  You wish to learn the names of those behind

  Who through the vale in long procession wind:

  I grant your prayer, if fate allows a space,”

  He said, “their fortunes, as they come, to trace. —

  See that majestic shade that moves along,

  And claims obeisance from the ghostly throng:

  ’Tis Pompey; with the partner of his vows,

  Who mourns the fortunes of her slaughter’d spouse,

  By Egypt’s servile band. — The next is he

  Whom Love’s tyrannic spell forbade to see

  The danger by his cruel consort plann’d;

  Till Fate surprised him by her treacherous hand. —

  Let constancy and truth exalt the name

  Of her, the lovely candidate for fame,

  Who saved her spouse! — Then Pyramus is seen,

  And Thisbe, through the shade, with pensive mien; —

  Then Hero with Leander moves along, —

  And great Ulysses, towering in the throng:

  His visage wears the signs of anxious thought

  There sad Penelope laments her lot:

  With trickling tears she seems to chide his stay,

  While fond Calypso charms her love-delay. —

  Next he who braved in many a bloody fight.

  For years on years, the whole collected might

  Of Rome, but sunk at length in Cupid’s snare

  The shameful victim of th’ Apulian fair! —

  Then she, that, in a servile dress pursued,

  (Reft of her golden locks) o’er field and flood,

  With peerless faith, her exiled spouse unknown,

  With whom of old she fill’d a lofty throne. —

  Then Portia comes, who fire and steel defied,

  And Julia, grieved to see a second bride

  Engage her consort’s love. — The Hebrew swain

  Appears, who sold himself his love to gain

  For seven long summers — a vivacious flame,

  Which neither years nor constant toil could tame! —

  Then Isaac, with his father, joins the band,

  Who, with his consort, left at God’s command,

  Led by the lamp of faith, his native land. —

  David is next, by lawless passion sway’d;

  And, adding crime to crime, at last betray’d

  To deeds of blood, till solitude and tears

  Wash’d his dire guilt away, and calm’d his fears.

  The sensual vapour, with Circean fume,

  Involved his royal son in deeper gloom,

  And dimm’d his glory, till, immersed in vice,

  His heart renounced the Ruler of the Skies,

  Adopting Stygian gods. — The changeful hue

  Of his incestuous brother meets your view,

  Who lurks behind: observe the sudden turn

  Of love and hatred blanch his cheek, and burn!

  His ruin’d sister there, with frantic speed,

  To Absalom recounts the direful deed. —

  Samson behold, a prey to female fraud!

  Strong, but unwise, he laid the pledge of God

  In her fallacious lap, who basely sold

  Her husband’s honour for Philistian gold. —

  Judith is nigh, who, mid a host in arms,

  With gentle accents and alluring charms

  Their chief o’ercame, and, at the noon of night,

  From his pavilion sped her venturous flight

  With one attendant slave, who bore along

  The tyrant’
s head amid the hostile throng;

  Adoring Him who arms the feeble hand.

  And bids the weak a mighty foe withstand. —

  Unhappy Sichem next is seen, who paid

  A bloody ransom for an injured maid:

  His guiltless sire and all his slaughter’d race,

  With many a life, attend the foul disgrace.

  Such was the ruin by a sudden gust

  Of passion caused, when murder follow’d lust! —

  That other, like a wise physician, cured

  An abject passion, long with pain endured:

  To Vashti for an easy boon he sued;

  She scorn’d his suit, and rage his love subdued:

  Soon to its aid a softer passion came,

  And from his breast expell’d the former flame:

  Like wedge by wedge displaced, the nuptial ties

  He breaks, and soon another bride supplies. —

  But if you wish to see the bosom (war

  Of Jealousy and Love) in deadly jar,

  Behold that royal Jew! the dire control

  Of Love and Hate by turns besiege his soul.

  Now Vengeance wins the day — the deed is done!

  And now, in fell remorse, he hates the sun,

  And calls his consort from the realms of night,

  To which his fatal hand had sped her flight —

  Behold yon hapless three, by passion lost,

  Procris, and Artemisia’s royal ghost;

  And her, whose son (his mother’s grief and joy)

  Razed with paternal rage the walls of Troy, —

  Another triple sisterhood is seen;

  This characters of Hades. Mark their mien

  With sin distain’d: their downcast looks disclose

  A conscience of their crimes, and dread of coming woes. —

  Semiramis, and Byblis (famed of old)

  Her mother’s rival there you next behold;

  With many a warrior, many a lovely dame

  Of old, ennobled by romantic fame. —

  There Lancelot and Tristram (famed in fight)

  Are seen, with many a dame and errant knight; —

  Genevra, Belle Isonde, and hundreds more;

  With those who mingled their incestuous gore

  Shed by paternal rage; and chant beneath,

  In baneful symphony, the Song of Death.”

  He scarce had spoken, when a chill presage

  (What warriors feel before the battle’s rage,

  When in the angry trump’s sonorous breath

  They hear, before it comes, the sound of Death)

  My heart possess’d; and, tinged with deadly pale,

  I seem’d escaped from Death’s eternal jail;

  When, fleeting to my side with looks of Love,

  A phantom brighter than the Cyprian dove

  My fingers clasp’d; which, though of power to wield

  The temper’d sabre in the bloody field

  Against an armed foe, a touch subdued;

  And gentle words, and looks that fired the blood,

  My friend addressed me (I remember well),

  And from his lips these dubious accents fell: —

  “Converse with whom you please, for all the train

  Are mark’d alike the slaves of Cupid’s reign.” —

  Thus, in security and peace trepann’d,

  I was enlisted in that wayward band,

  Who short-lived joys by anguish long obtain,

  And whom the pleasures of a rival pain

  More than their proper joys. Remembrance shows

  Too clear at last the source of all my woes,

  When Jealousy, and Love, and Envy drew

  That nurture from my heart by which they grew.

  As feverish eyes on air-drawn features dwell,

  My fascinated eyes, by magic spell,

  Dwell’d on the heavenly form with ardent look,

  And at a glance the dire contagion took

  That tinged my days to come; and each delight,

  But those that bore her stamp, consign’d to night.

  I blush with shame when to my inward view

  The devious paths return where Cupid drew

  His willing slave, with all my hopes and fears —

  When Phoebus seem’d to rise and set in tears

  For many a spring — and when I used to dwell

  A lonely hermit in a silent cell.

  How upwards oft I traced the purling rills

  To their pure fountains in the misty hills!

  The rocks I used to climb, the solemn woods,

  Where oft I wander’d by the winding floods!

  And often spent, whene’er I chanced to stray,

  In amorous ditties all the livelong day!

  What mournful rhymes I wrote and ‘rased again,

  Spending the precious hours of youth in vain!

  ’Twas in this school I learn’d the mystic things

  Of the blind god, and all the secret springs

  From which his hopes and fears alternate rise:

  ‘Graved on his frontlet, the detection lies,

  Which all may read, for I have oped their eyes.

  And she, the cause of all my lengthen’d toils,

  Disdains my passion, though she boasts my spoils.

  Of rigid honour proud, she smiles to see

  The fatal triumph of her charms in me.

  Not Love himself can aid, for Love retires,

  And in her sacred presence veils his fires:

  He feels his genius by her looks subdued,

  And all his spells by stronger spells withstood.

  Hence my despair; for neither force nor art

  Can wound her bosom, nor extract the dart

  That rankles here, while proudly she defies

  The power that makes a captive world his prize.

  She is not one that dallies with the foe,

  But with unconquer’d soul defies the blow;

  And, like the Lord of Light, displays afar

  A splendour which obscures each lesser star.

  Her port is all divine; her radiant smile,

  And e’en her scorn, the captive heart beguile;

  Her accents breathe of heaven; her auburn hair

  (Whether it wanton with the sportive air,

  Or bound in shining wreaths adorns her face,)

  Secures her conquests with resistless grace;

  Her eyes, that sparkle with celestial fire,

  Have render’d me the slave of fond desire.

  But who can raise his style to match her charms?

  What mortal bard can sing the soft alarms

  That flutter in the breast, and fire the veins?

  Alas! the theme surmounts the loftiest strains.

  Far as the ocean in its ample bed

  Exceeds the purling stream that warbles through the mead,

  Such charms are hers — as never were reveal’d

  On earth, since Phoebus first the world beheld!

  And voices, tuned her peerless form to praise,

  Suffer a solemn pause with mute amaze.

  Thus was I manacled for life; while she,

  Proud of my bonds, enjoy’d her liberty.

  With ceaseless suit I pray’d, but all in vain;

  One prayer among a thousand scarce could gain

  A slight regard — so hopeless was my state,

  And such the laws of Love imposed by fate!

  For stedfast is the rule by Nature given,

  Which all the ranks of life, from earth to heaven.

  With reverent awe and homage due obey,

  And every age and climate owns its sway.

  I know the cruel pangs by lovers borne,

  When from the breast the bleeding heart is torn

  By Love’s relentless gripe; the deadly harms

  Of Cupid, when he wields resistless arms;

  Or when, in dubious truce, he drops his dart,

  And gives short res
pite to the tortured heart.

  The vital current’s ebb and flood I know,

  When shame or anger bids the features glow,

  Or terror pales the cheek; the deadly snake

  I know that nestles in the flowery brake,

  And, watchful, seems to sleep, and languor feigns,

  When health-inspiring vigour fills the veins.

  I know what hope and fear assail the mind

  When I pursue my love, yet dread to find.

  I know the strange and sympathetic tie,

  When, soul in soul transfused, a fond ally

  For ever seems another and the same,

  Or change with mutual love their mortal frame.

  From transient smiles to long protracted woe

  The various turns and dark degrees I know;

  And hot and cold, and that unequall’d smart

  When souls survive, though sever’d from the heart.

  I know, I cherish, and detect the cheat

  Of every hour; but still, with eager feet

  And fervent hope, pursue the flying fair,

  And still for promised rapture meet despair.

  When absent, I consume in raging fire;

  But, in her presence check’d, the flames expire,

  Repress’d by sacred awe. The boundless sway

  Of cruel Love I feel, that makes a prey

  Of all those energies that lift the soul

  To her congenial climes above the pole

  I know the various pangs that rend the heart;

  I know that noblest souls receive the dart

  Without defence, when Reason drops the shield

  And, recreant, to her foe resigns the field. —

  I saw the archer in his airy flight,

  I saw him when he check’d his arrow’s flight:

  And when it reach’d the mark, I watched the god,

  And saw him win his way by force or fraud,

  As best befits his ends. His whirling throne

  Turns short at will, or runs directly on.

  The rapid follies which his axle bear,

  Are short fallacious hope and certain fear;

  And many a promise given of Halcyon days,

  Whose faint and dubious gleam the heart betrays.

  I know what secret flame the marrow fries,

  How in the veins a dormant fever lies;

  Till, fann’d to fury by contagious breath,

  It gains tremendous head, and ends in death.

  I know too well what long and doubtful strife

  Forms the dire tissue of a lover’s life;

  The transient taste of sweet commix’d with gall,

  What changes dire the hapless crew befall.

  Their strange fantastic habitudes I know,

  Their measured groans in lamentable flow;

  When rhyming-fits the faltering tongue employ,

  And love sick spasms the mournful Muse annoy;