You know, and well have sung in many a deathless strain
Again and oft, as saw I sunk in grief
Those tearful eyes, I said, ‘Without relief,
Surely and swift he marches to his grave,’
And, at the thought, the fitting help I gave.’
But if I saw you wild and passion spurr’d,
Prompt with the curb, your boldness I deterr’d;
Thus cold and kind, pale, blushing, gloomy, gay,
Safe have I led you through the dangerous way,
And, as my labour, great my joy at last.”
Trembling, I answer’d, and my tears flow’d fast,
“Lady, could I the blessed thought believe,
My faithful love would full reward receive.”
“O man of little faith!” — her fairest cheek,
E’en as she spoke, a warm blush ‘gan to streak —
“Why should I say it, were it less than true?
If you on earth were pleasant in my view
I need not ask; enough it pleased to see
The best love of that true heart fix’d on me;
Well too your genius pleased me, and the fame
Which, far and wide, it shower’d upon my name;
Your Love had blame in its excess alone,
And wanted prudence; while you sought to tell,
By act and air, what long I knew and well,
To the whole world your secret heart was shown;
Thence was the coldness which your hopes distress’d,
For such our sympathy in all the rest,
As is alone where Love keeps honour’s law.
Since in your bosom first its birth I saw,
One fire our heart has equally inflamed,
Except that I conceal’d it, you proclaim’d;
And louder as your cry for mercy swell’d,
Terror and shame my silence more compell’d,
That men my great desire should little think;
But ah! concealment makes not sorrow less,
Complaint embitters not the mind’s distress,
Feeling with fiction cannot swell and shrink,
But surely then at least the veil was raised,
You only present when your verse I praised,
And whispering sang, ‘Love dares not more to say.’
Yours was my heart, though turn’d my eyes away;
Grieve you, as cruel, that their grace was such,
As kept the little, gave the good and much;
Yet oft and openly as they withdrew,
Far oftener furtively they dwelt on you,
For pity thus, what prudence robb’d, return’d;
And ever so their tranquil lights had burn’d,
Save that I fear’d those dear and dangerous eyes
Might then the secret of my soul surprise.
But one thing more, that, ere our parley cease,
Memory may shrine my words, as treasures sweet,
And this our parting give your spirit peace.
In all things else my fortune was complete,
In this alone some cause had I to mourn
That first I saw the light in humble earth,
And still, in sooth, it grieves that I was born
Far from the flowery nest where you had birth;
Yet fair to me the land where your love bless’d;
Haply that heart, which I alone possess’d,
Elsewhere had others loved, myself unseen,
And I, now voiced by fame, had there inglorious been.”
“Ah, no!” I cried, “howe’er the spheres might roll,
Wherever born, immutable and whole,
In life, in death, my great love had been yours.”
“Enough,” she smiled, “its fame for aye endures,
And all my own! but pleasure has such power,
Too little have we reck’d the growing hour;
Behold! Aurora, from her golden bed,
Brings back the day to mortals, and the sun
Already from the ocean lifts his head.
Alas! he warns me that, my mission done,
We here must part. If more remain to say,
Sweet friend! in speech be brief, as must my stay.”
Then I: “This kindest converse makes to me
All sense of my long suffering light and sweet:
But lady! for that now my life must be
Hateful and heavy, tell me, I entreat,
When, late or early, we again shall meet?”
“If right I read the future, long must you
Without me walk the earth.”
She spoke, and pass’d from view.
MACGREGOR.
THE TRIUMPH OF FAME.
PART I.
Da poi che Morte trionfò nel volto.
When cruel Death his paly ensign spread
Over that face, which oft in triumph led
My subject thoughts; and beauty’s sovereign light,
Retiring, left the world immersed in night;
The Phantom, with a frown that chill’d the heart,
Seem’d with his gloomy pageant to depart,
Exulting in his formidable arms,
And proud of conquest o’er seraphic charms.
When, turning round, I saw the Power advance
That breaks the gloomy grave’s eternal trance,
And bids the disembodied spirit claim
The glorious guerdon of immortal Fame.
Like Phosphor, in the sullen rear of night,
Before the golden wheels of orient light
He came. But who the tendant pomp can tell,
What mighty master of the corded shell
Can sing how heaven above accordant smiled,
And what bright pageantry the prospect fill’d.
I look’d, but all in vain: the potent ray
Flash’d on my sight intolerable day
At first; but to the splendour soon inured,
My eyes perused the pomp with sight assured.
True dignity in every face was seen,
As on they march’d with more than mortal mien;
And some I saw whom Love had link’d before,
Ennobled now by Virtue’s lofty lore.
Cæsar and Scipio on the dexter hand
Of the bright goddess led the laurell’d band.
One, like a planet by the lord of day,
Seem’d o’er-illumined by her splendid ray,
By brightness hid; for he, to virtue true,
His mind from Love’s soft bondage nobly drew.
The other, half a slave to female charms,
Parted his homage to the god of arms
And Love’s seductive power: but, close and deep,
Like files that climb’d the Capitolian steep
In years of yore, along the sacred way
A martial squadron came in long array.
In ranges as they moved distinct and bright,
On every burganet that met the light,
Some name of long renown, distinctly read,
O’er each majestic brow a glory shed.
Still on the noble pair my eyes I bent,
And watch’d their progress up the steep ascent.
The second Scipio next in line was seen,
And he that seem’d the lure of Egypt’s queen;
With many a mighty chief I there beheld,
Whose valorous hand the battle’s storm repell’d.
Two fathers of the great Cornelian name,
With their three noble sons who shared their fame,
One singly march’d before, and, hand in hand,
His two heroic partners trod the strand.
The last was first in fame; but brighter beams
His follower flung around in solar streams.
Metaurus’ champion, whom the moon beheld,
When his resistless spears the current swell’d
With Libya’s hated gore, in arms renown’d
&n
bsp; Was he, nor less with Wisdom’s olive crown’d.
Quick was his thought and ready was his hand,
His power accomplish’d what his reason plann’d;
He seem’d, with eagle eye and eagle wing,
Sudden on his predestined game to spring.
But he that follow’d next with step sedate
Drew round his foe the viewless snare of fate;
While, with consummate art, he kept at bay
The raging foe, and conquer’d by delay.
Another Fabius join’d the stoic pair,
The Pauli and Marcelli famed in war;
With them the victor in the friendly strife,
Whose public virtue quench’d his love of life.
With either Brutus ancient Curius came;
Fabricius, too, I spied, a nobler name
(With his plain russet gown and simple board)
Than either Lydian with her golden hoard.
Then came the great dictator from the plough;
And old Serranus show’d his laurell’d brow.
Marching with equal step. Camillus near,
Who, fresh and vigorous in the bright career
Of honour, sped, and never slack’d his pace,
Till Death o’ertook him in the noble race,
And placed him in a sphere of fame so high,
That other patriots fill’d a lower sky.
Even those ungrateful lands that seal’d his doom
Recall’d the hanish’d man to rescue Rome.
Torquains nigh, a sterner spectre stood,
His fasces all besmear’d with filial blood:
He childless to the shades resolved to go,
Rather than Rome a moment should forego
That dreadful discipline, whose rigid lore
Had spread their triumphs round from shore to shore.
Then the two Decii came, by Heaven inspired,
Divinely bold, as when the foe retired
Before their Heaven-directed march, amazed,
When on the self-devoted men they gazed,
Till they provoked their fate. And Curtius nigh,
As when to heaven he cast his upward eye,
And all on fire with glory’s opening charms,
Plunged to the Shades below with clanging arms,
Lævinus, Mummius, with Flaminius show’d,
Like meaner lights along the heavenly road;
And he who conquer’d Greece from sea to sea,
Then mildly bade th’ afflicted race be free.
Next came the dauntless envoy, with his wand,
Whose more than magic circle on the sand
The frenzy of the Syrian king confined:
O’er-awed he stood, and at his fate repined.
Great Manlius, too, who drove the hostile throng
Prone from the steep on which his members hung,
(A sad reverse) the hungry vultures’ food,
When Roman justice claim’d his forfeit blood.
Then Cocles came, who took his dreadful stand
Where the wide arch the foaming torrent spann’d,
Stemming the tide of war with matchless might,
And turn’d the heady current of the fight.
And he that, stung with fierce vindictive ire,
Consumed his erring hand with hostile fire.
Duillius next and Catulus were seen,
Whose daring navies plough’d the billowy green
That laves Pelorus and the Sardian shore,
And dyed the rolling waves with Punic gore.
Great Appius next advanced in sterner mood,
Who with patrician loftiness withstood
The clamours of the crowd. But, close behind,
Of gentler manners and more equal mind,
Came one, perhaps the first in martial might,
Yet his dim glory cast a waning light;
But neither Bacchus, nor Alcmena’s son
Such trophies yet by east or west have won;
Nor he that in the arms of conquest died,
As he, when Rome’s stern foes his valour tried
Yet he survived his fame. But luckier far
Was one that follow’d next, whose golden star
To better fortune led, and mark’d his name
Among the first in deeds of martial fame:
But cruel was his rage, and dipp’d in gore
By civil slaughter was the wreath he wore.
A less-ensanguined laurel graced the head
Of him that next advanced with lofty tread,
In martial conduct and in active might
Of equal honour in the fields of fight.
Then great Volumnius, who expell’d the pest
Whose spreading ills the Romans long distress’d.
Rutilius Cassus, Philo next in sight
Appear’d, like twinkling stars that gild the night.
Three men I saw advancing up the vale,
Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and mail;
Dentatus, long in standing fight renown’d,
Sergius and Scæva oft with conquest crown’d;
The triple terror of the hostile train,
On whom the storm of battle broke in vain.
Another Sergius near with deep disgrace
Marr’d the long glories of his ancient race,
Marius, then, the Cimbrians who repell’d
From fearful Rome, and Lybia’s tyrant quell’d.
And Fulvius, who Campania’s traitors slew,
And paid ingratitude with vengeance due.
Another nobler Fulvius next appear’d;
And there the Father of the Gracchi rear’d
A solitary crest. The following form
Was he that often raised the factious storm —
Bold Catulus, and he whom fortune’s ray
Illumined still with beams of cloudless day;
Yet fail’d to chase the darkness of the mind,
That brooded still on loftier hopes behind.
From him a nobler line in two degrees
Reduced Numidia to reluctant peace.
Crete, Spain, and Macedonia’s conquer’d lord
Adorn’d their triumphs and their treasures stored.
Vespasian, with his son, I next survey’d,
An angel soul in angel form array’d;
Nor less his brother seem’d in outward grace,
But hell within belied a beauteous face.
Then Nerva, who retrieved the falling throne,
And Trajan, by his conquering eagles known.
Adrian, and Antonine the just and good,
He, with his son, the golden age renew’d;
And ere they ruled the world, themselves subdued.
Then, as I turn’d my roving eyes around,
Quirinus I beheld with laurel crown’d,
And five succeeding kings. The sixth was lost,
By vice degraded from his regal post;
A sentence just, whatever pride may claim,
For virtue only finds eternal Fame.
BOYD.
PART II.
Pien d’ infinita e nobil maraviglia.
Full of ecstatic wonder at the sight,
I view’d Bellona’s minions, famed in fight;
A brotherhood, to whom the circling sun
No rivals yet beheld, since time begun. —
But ah! the Muse despairs to mount their fame
Above the plaudits of historic Fame.
But now a foreign band the strain recalls —
Stern Hannibal, that shook the Roman walls;
Achilles, famed in Homer’s lasting lay,
The Trojan pair that kept their foes at bay;
Susa’s proud rulers, a distinguish’d pair,
And he that pour’d the living storm of war
On the fallen thrones of Asia, till the main,
With awful voice, repell’d the conquering train.
Another chief appear’d, alike
in name,
But short was his career of martial fame;
For generous valour oft to fortune yields,
Too oft the arbitress of fighting fields.
The three illustrious Thebans join’d the train,
Whose noble names adorn a former strain;
Great Ajax with Tydides next appear’d,
And he that o’er the sea’s broad bosom steer’d
In search of shores unknown with daring prow,
And ancient Nestor, with his looks of snow,
Who thrice beheld the race of man decline,
And hail’d as oft a new heroic line:
Then Agamemnon, with the Spartan’s shade,
One by his spouse forsaken, one betray’d:
And now another Spartan met my view,
Who, cheerly, call’d his self-devoted crew
To banquet with the ghostly train below,
And with unfading laurels deck’d the brow;
Though from a bounded stage a softer strain
Was his, who next appear’d to cross the plain:
Famed Alcibiades, whose siren spell
Could raise the tide of passion, or repel
With more than magic sounds, when Athens stood
By his superior eloquence subdued.
The Marathonian chief, with conquest crown’d,
With Cimon came, for filial love renown’d;
Who chose the dungeon’s gloom and galling chain
His captive father’s liberty to gain;
Themistocles and Theseus met my eye;
And he that with the first of Rome could vie
In self-denial; yet their native soil,
Insensate to their long illustrious toil,
To each denied the honours of a tomb,
But deathless fame reversed the rigid doom,
And show’d their worth in more conspicuous light
Through the surrounding shades of envious night.
Great Phocion next, who mourn’d an equal fate,
Expell’d and exiled from his parent state;
A foul reward! by party rage decreed,
For acts that well might claim a nobler meed:
There Pyrrhus, with Numidia’s king behind,
Ever in faithful league with Rome combined,
The bulwark of his state. Another nigh,
Of Syracuse, I saw, a firm ally
To Italy, like him. But deadly hate,
Repulsive frowns, and love of stern debate,
Hamilcar mark’d, who at a distance stood,
And eyed the friendly pair in hostile mood.
The royal Lydian, with distracted mien,
Just as he ‘scaped the vengeful flame, was seen
And Syphax, who deplored an equal doom,
Who paid with life his enmity of Rome;
Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch Page 46
