FROM VERGIL’S FOURTH GEORGIC.
(VERSES 360 ET SEQ.)
(Published by Locock, “Examination”, etc., 1903.)
And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains
Stood, and received him in its mighty portal
And led him through the deep’s untrampled fountains
He went in wonder through the path immortal
Of his great Mother and her humid reign 5
And groves profaned not by the step of mortal
Which sounded as he passed, and lakes which rain
Replenished not girt round by marble caves
‘Wildered by the watery motion of the main
Half ‘wildered he beheld the bursting waves 10
Of every stream beneath the mighty earth
Phasis and Lycus which the … sand paves,
(And) The chasm where old Enipeus has its birth
And father Tyber and Anienas(?) glow
And whence Caicus, Mysian stream, comes forth 15
And rock-resounding Hypanis, and thou
Eridanus who bearest like empire’s sign
Two golden horns upon thy taurine brow
Thou than whom none of the streams divine
Through garden-fields and meads with fiercer power, 20
Burst in their tumult on the purple brine
SONNET. DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
(Published with “Alastor”, 1816; reprinted, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI:
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I,
Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend
A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly
With winds at will where’er our thoughts might wend,
So that no change, nor any evil chance 5
Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be,
That even satiety should still enhance
Between our hearts their strict community:
And that the bounteous wizard then would place
Vanna and Bice and my gentle love, 10
Companions of our wandering, and would grace
With passionate talk, wherever we might rove,
Our time, and each were as content and free
As I believe that thou and I should be.
5 So 1824; And 1816.
THE FIRST CANZONE OF THE CONVITO.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
(Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; dated 1820.)
1.
Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move,
Hear the discourse which is within my heart,
Which cannot be declared, it seems so new.
The Heaven whose course follows your power and art,
Oh, gentle creatures that ye are! me drew, 5
And therefore may I dare to speak to you,
Even of the life which now I live — and yet
I pray that ye will hear me when I cry,
And tell of mine own heart this novelty;
How the lamenting Spirit moans in it, 10
And how a voice there murmurs against her
Who came on the refulgence of your sphere.
2.
A sweet Thought, which was once the life within
This heavy heart, man a time and oft
Went up before our Father’s feet, and there 15
It saw a glorious Lady throned aloft;
And its sweet talk of her my soul did win,
So that I said, ‘Thither I too will fare.’
That Thought is fled, and one doth now appear
Which tyrannizes me with such fierce stress, 20
That my heart trembles — ye may see it leap —
And on another Lady bids me keep
Mine eyes, and says — Who would have blessedness
Let him but look upon that Lady’s eyes,
Let him not fear the agony of sighs. 25
3.
This lowly Thought, which once would talk with me
Of a bright seraph sitting crowned on high,
Found such a cruel foe it died, and so
My Spirit wept, the grief is hot even now —
And said, Alas for me! how swift could flee 30
That piteous Thought which did my life console!
And the afflicted one … questioning
Mine eyes, if such a Lady saw they never,
And why they would…
I said: ‘Beneath those eyes might stand for ever 35
He whom … regards must kill with…
To have known their power stood me in little stead,
Those eyes have looked on me, and I am dead.’
4.
‘Thou art not dead, but thou hast wandered,
Thou Soul of ours, who thyself dost fret,’ 40
A Spirit of gentle Love beside me said;
For that fair Lady, whom thou dost regret,
Hath so transformed the life which thou hast led,
Thou scornest it, so worthless art thou made.
And see how meek, how pitiful, how staid, 45
Yet courteous, in her majesty she is.
And still call thou her Woman in thy thought;
Her whom, if thou thyself deceivest not,
Thou wilt behold decked with such loveliness,
That thou wilt cry (Love) only Lord, lo! here 50
Thy handmaiden, do what thou wilt with her.
5.
My song, I fear that thou wilt find but few
Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning
Of such hard matter dost thou entertain.
Whence, if by misadventure chance should bring 55
Thee to base company, as chance may do,
Quite unaware of what thou dost contain,
I prithee comfort thy sweet self again,
My last delight; tell them that they are dull,
And bid them own that thou art beautiful. 60
MATILDA GATHERING FLOWERS.
FROM THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE, CANTO 28, LINES 1-51.
(Published in part (lines 1-8, 22-51) by Medwin, “The Angler in Wales”, 1834, “Life of Shelley”, 1847; reprinted in full by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.)
And earnest to explore within — around —
The divine wood, whose thick green living woof
Tempered the young day to the sight — I wound
Up the green slope, beneath the forest’s roof,
With slow, soft steps leaving the mountain’s steep, 5
And sought those inmost labyrinths, motion-proof
Against the air, that in that stillness deep
And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare,
The slow, soft stroke of a continuous…
In which the … leaves tremblingly were 10
All bent towards that part where earliest
The sacred hill obscures the morning air.
Yet were they not so shaken from the rest,
But that the birds, perched on the utmost spray,
Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, 15
With perfect joy received the early day,
Singing within the glancing leaves, whose sound
Kept a low burden to their roundelay,
Such as from bough to bough gathers around
The pine forest on bleak Chiassi’s shore, 20
When Aeolus Sirocco has unbound.
My slow steps had already borne me o’er
Such space within the antique wood, that I
Perceived not where I entered any more, —
When, lo! a stream whose little waves went by, 25
Bending towards the left through grass that grew
Upon its bank, impeded suddenly
My going on. Water of purest hue
On earth, would appear turbid and impure
Compared with this, whose unconcealing dew, 30
Dark, dark, yet clear, moved un
der the obscure
Eternal shades, whose interwoven looms
The rays of moon or sunlight ne’er endure.
I moved not with my feet, but mid the glooms
Pierced with my charmed eye, contemplating 35
The mighty multitude of fresh May blooms
Which starred that night, when, even as a thing
That suddenly, for blank astonishment,
Charms every sense, and makes all thought take wing, —
A solitary woman! and she went 40
Singing and gathering flower after flower,
With which her way was painted and besprent.
‘Bright lady, who, if looks had ever power
To bear true witness of the heart within,
Dost bask under the beams of love, come lower 45
Towards this bank. I prithee let me win
This much of thee, to come, that I may hear
Thy song: like Proserpine, in Enna’s glen,
Thou seemest to my fancy, singing here
And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when 50
She lost the Spring, and Ceres her, more dear.
FRAGMENT ADAPTED FROM THE VITA NUOVA OF DANTE.
(Published by Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.)
What Mary is when she a little smiles
I cannot even tell or call to mind,
It is a miracle so new, so rare.
UGOLINO.
(Published by Medwin, “Life of Shelley”, 1847, with Shelley’s corrections in italics (‘‘). — ED.)
INFERNO 33, 22-75.
(Translated by Medwin and corrected by Shelley.)
Now had the loophole of that dungeon, still
Which bears the name of Famine’s Tower from me,
And where ‘tis fit that many another will
Be doomed to linger in captivity,
Shown through its narrow opening in my cell 5
‘Moon after moon slow waning’, when a sleep,
‘That of the future burst the veil, in dream
Visited me. It was a slumber deep
And evil; for I saw, or I did seem’
To see, ‘that’ tyrant Lord his revels keep 10
The leader of the cruel hunt to them,
Chasing the wolf and wolf-cubs up the steep
Ascent, that from ‘the Pisan is the screen’
Of ‘Lucca’; with him Gualandi came,
Sismondi, and Lanfranchi, ‘bloodhounds lean, 15
Trained to the sport and eager for the game
Wide ranging in his front;’ but soon were seen
Though by so short a course, with ‘spirits tame,’
The father and ‘his whelps’ to flag at once,
And then the sharp fangs gored their bosoms deep. 20
Ere morn I roused myself, and heard my sons,
For they were with me, moaning in their sleep,
And begging bread. Ah, for those darling ones!
Right cruel art thou, if thou dost not weep
In thinking of my soul’s sad augury; 25
And if thou weepest not now, weep never more!
They were already waked, as wont drew nigh
The allotted hour for food, and in that hour
Each drew a presage from his dream. When I
‘Heard locked beneath me of that horrible tower 30
The outlet; then into their eyes alone
I looked to read myself,’ without a sign
Or word. I wept not — turned within to stone.
They wept aloud, and little Anselm mine,
Said—’twas my youngest, dearest little one, — 35
“What ails thee, father? Why look so at thine?”
In all that day, and all the following night,
I wept not, nor replied; but when to shine
Upon the world, not us, came forth the light
Of the new sun, and thwart my prison thrown 40
Gleamed through its narrow chink, a doleful sight,
‘Three faces, each the reflex of my own,
Were imaged by its faint and ghastly ray;’
Then I, of either hand unto the bone,
Gnawed, in my agony; and thinking they 45
Twas done from sudden pangs, in their excess,
All of a sudden raise themselves, and say,
“Father! our woes, so great, were yet the less
Would you but eat of us, — twas ‘you who clad
Our bodies in these weeds of wretchedness; 50
Despoil them’.” Not to make their hearts more sad,
I ‘hushed’ myself. That day is at its close, —
Another — still we were all mute. Oh, had
The obdurate earth opened to end our woes!
The fourth day dawned, and when the new sun shone, 55
Outstretched himself before me as it rose
My Gaddo, saying, “Help, father! hast thou none
For thine own child — is there no help from thee?”
He died — there at my feet — and one by one,
I saw them fall, plainly as you see me. 60
Between the fifth and sixth day, ere twas dawn,
I found ‘myself blind-groping o’er the three.’
Three days I called them after they were gone.
Famine of grief can get the mastery.
SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN OF CAVALCANTI.
GUIDO CAVALCANTI TO DANTE ALIGHIERI:
(Published by Forman (who assigns it to 1815), “Poetical Works of P. B.
S.”, 1876.)
Returning from its daily quest, my Spirit
Changed thoughts and vile in thee doth weep to find:
It grieves me that thy mild and gentle mind
Those ample virtues which it did inherit
Has lost. Once thou didst loathe the multitude 5
Of blind and madding men — I then loved thee —
I loved thy lofty songs and that sweet mood
When thou wert faithful to thyself and me
I dare not now through thy degraded state
Own the delight thy strains inspire — in vain 10
I seek what once thou wert — we cannot meet
And we were wont. Again and yet again
Ponder my words: so the false Spirit shall fly
And leave to thee thy true integrity.
SCENES FROM THE MAGICO PRODIGIOSO.
FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; dated March, 1822. There is a transcript of Scene 1 among the Hunt manuscripts, which has been collated by Mr. Buxton Forman.)
SCENE 1:
ENTER CYPRIAN, DRESSED AS A STUDENT; CLARIN AND MOSCON AS POOR SCHOLARS, WITH BOOKS.
CYPRIAN:
In the sweet solitude of this calm place,
This intricate wild wilderness of trees
And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants,
Leave me; the books you brought out of the house
To me are ever best society. 5
And while with glorious festival and song,
Antioch now celebrates the consecration
Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,
And bears his image in loud jubilee
To its new shrine, I would consume what still 10
Lives of the dying day in studious thought,
Far from the throng and turmoil. You, my friends,
Go, and enjoy the festival; it will
Be worth your pains. You may return for me
When the sun seeks its grave among the billows 15
Which, among dim gray clouds on the horizon,
Dance like white plumes upon a hearse; — and here
I shall expect you.
MOSCON:
I cannot bring my mind,
Great as my haste to see the festival
Certainly is, to leave you, Sir, without 20
Just saying some three or four thousand words.
How is it pos
sible that on a day
Of such festivity, you can be content
To come forth to a solitary country
With three or four old books, and turn your back 25
On all this mirth?
CLARIN:
My master’s in the right;
There is not anything more tiresome
Than a procession day, with troops, and priests,
And dances, and all that.
MOSCON:
From first to last,
Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer; 30
You praise not what you feel but what he does; —
Toadeater!
CLARIN:
You lie — under a mistake —
For this is the most civil sort of lie
That can be given to a man’s face. I now
Say what I think.
CYPRIAN:
Enough, you foolish fellows! 35
Puffed up with your own doting ignorance,
You always take the two sides of one question.
Now go; and as I said, return for me
When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide
This glorious fabric of the universe. 40
MOSCON:
How happens it, although you can maintain
The folly of enjoying festivals,
That yet you go there?
CLARIN:
Nay, the consequence
Is clear: — who ever did what he advises
Others to do? —
MOSCON:
Would that my feet were wings, 45
So would I fly to Livia.
(EXIT.)
CLARIN:
To speak truth,
Livia is she who has surprised my heart;
But he is more than half-way there. — Soho!
Livia, I come; good sport, Livia, soho!
(EXIT.)
CYPRIAN:
Now, since I am alone, let me examine 50
The question which has long disturbed my mind
With doubt, since first I read in Plinius
The words of mystic import and deep sense
In which he defines God. My intellect
Can find no God with whom these marks and signs 55
Fitly agree. It is a hidden truth
Which I must fathom.
(CYPRIAN READS; THE DAEMON, DRESSED IN A COURT DRESS, ENTERS.)
DAEMON:
Search even as thou wilt,
But thou shalt never find what I can hide.
CYPRIAN:
What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves?
What art thou? —
DAEMON:
‘Tis a foreign gentleman. 60
Even from this morning I have lost my way
In this wild place; and my poor horse at last,
Percy Bysshe Shelley Page 91
