The Poems Of Giacomo Leopardi Part 4

THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO.

Thou tranquil night, and thou, O gentle ray Of the declining moon; and thou, that o'er The rock appearest, 'mid the silent grove, The messenger of day; how dear ye were, And how delightful to these eyes, while yet Unknown the furies, and grim Fate! But now, No gentle sight can soothe this wounded soul.

Then, only, can forgotten joy revive, When through the air, and o'er the trembling fields The raging south wind whirls its clouds of dust; And when the car, the pondrous car of Jove, Omnipotent, high-thundering o'er our heads, A pathway cleaves athwart the dusky sky.

Then would I love with storm-charged clouds to fly Along the cliffs, along the valleys deep, The headlong flight of frightened flocks to watch, Or hear, upon some swollen river's sh.o.r.e The angry billows' loud, triumphant roar.

How beautiful thou art, O heaven divine, And thou, O dewy earth! Alas no part Of all this beauty infinite, the G.o.ds And cruel fate to wretched Sappho gave!

To thy proud realms, O Nature, I, a poor, Unwelcome guest, rejected lover, come; To all thy varied forms of loveliness, My heart and eyes, a suppliant, lift in vain.

The sun-lit sh.o.r.e hath smiles no more for me, Nor radiant morning light at heaven's gate; The birds no longer greet me with their songs, Nor whispering trees with gracious messages; And where, beneath the bending willows' shade, The limpid stream its bosom pure displays, As I, with trembling and uncertain foot, Oppressed with grief, upon its margin pause, The dimpled waves recoil, as in disdain, And urge their flight along the flowery plain.

What fearful crime, what hideous excess Have so defiled me, e'en before my birth, That heaven and fortune frown upon me thus?

Wherein have I offended, as a child, When we of evil deeds are ignorant, That thus disfigured, of the bloom of youth Bereft, my little thread of life has from The spindle of the unrelenting Fate Been drawn? Alas, incautious are thy words!

Mysterious counsels all events control, And all, except our grief, is mystery.

Deserted children, we were born to weep; But why, is known to those above, alone.

O vain the cares, the hopes of earlier years!

To idle shows Jove gives eternal sway O'er human hearts. Unless in shining robes arrayed, All manly deeds in arms, or art, or song, Appeal in vain unto the vulgar throng.

I die! This wretched veil to earth I cast, And for my naked soul a refuge seek Below, and for the cruel faults atone Of G.o.ds, the blind dispensers of events.

And thou, to whom I have been bound so long, By hopeless love, and lasting faith, and by The frenzy vain of unappeased desire, Live, live, and if thou canst, be happy here!

My cup o'erflows with bitterness, and Jove Has from his vase no drop of sweetness shed, For all my childhood's hopes and dreams have fled.

The happiest day the soonest fades away; And then succeed disease, old age, the shade Of icy death. Behold, alas! Of all My longed-for laurels, my illusions dear, The end,--the gulf of h.e.l.l! My spirit proud Must to the realm of Proserpine descend, The Stygian sh.o.r.e, the night that knows no end.

FIRST LOVE.

Ah, well can I the day recall, when first The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said: If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear!

With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground, I saw but _her_, whose artless innocence, Triumphant took possession of this heart.

Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!

Why should affection so sincere and pure, Bring with it such desire, such suffering?

Why not serene, and full, and free from guile But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore, Should joy so great into my heart descend?

O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so, Why with that thought such anguish should be blent, Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught?

That thought, that ever present in the day, That in the night more vivid still appeared, When all things round in sweet sleep seemed to rest:

Thou, restless, both with joy and misery Didst with thy constant throbbings weary so My breast, as panting in my bed I lay.

And when worn out with grief and weariness, In sleep my eyes I closed, ah, no relief It gave, so broken and so feverish!

How brightly from the depths of darkness, then, The lovely image rose, and my closed eyes, Beneath their lids, their gaze upon it fed!

O what delicious impulses, diffused, My weary frame with sweet emotion filled!

What myriad thoughts, unstable and confused,

Were floating in my mind! As through the leaves Of some old grove, the west wind, wandering, A long, mysterious murmur leaves behind.

And as I, silent, to their influence yield, What saidst thou, heart, when she departed, who Had caused thee all thy throbs, and suffering?

No sooner had I felt within, the heat Of love's first flame, than with it flew away The gentle breeze, that fanned it into life.

Sleepless I lay, until the dawn of day; The steeds, that were to leave me desolate, Their hoofs were beating at my father's gate.

And I, in mute suspense, poor timid fool, With eye that vainly would the darkness pierce, And eager ear intent, lay, listening,

That voice to hear, if, for the last time, I Might catch the accents from those lovely lips; The voice alone; all else forever lost!

How many vulgar tones my doubtful ear Would smite, with deep disgust inspiring me, With doubt tormented, holding hard my breath!

And when, at last, that voice into my heart Descended, pa.s.sing sweet, and when the sound Of horses and of wheels had died away;

In utter desolation, then, my head I in my pillow buried, closed my eyes, And pressed my hand against my heart, and sighed.

Then, listlessly, my trembling knees across The silent chamber dragging, I exclaimed, "Nothing on earth can interest me more!"

The bitter recollection cherishing Within my breast, to every voice my heart, To every face, insensible remained.

Long I remained in hopeless sorrow drowned; As when the heavens far and wide their showers Incessant pour upon the fields around.

Nor had I, Love, thy cruel power known, A boy of eighteen summers flown, until That day, when I thy bitter lesson learned;

When I each pleasure held in scorn, nor cared The shining stars to see, or meadows green, Or felt the charm of holy morning light;

The love of glory, too, no longer found An echo in my irresponsive breast, That, once, the love of beauty with it shared.

My favorite studies I neglected quite; And those things vain appeared, compared with which, I used to think all other pleasures vain.

Ah! how could I have changed so utterly?

How could one pa.s.sion all the rest destroy?

Indeed, what helpless mortals are we all!

My heart my only comfort was, and with That heart, in conference perpetual, A constant watch upon my grief to keep.

My eye still sought the ground, or in itself Absorbed, shrank from encountering the glance Of lovely or unlovely countenance;

The stainless image fearing to disturb, So faithfully reflected in my breast; As winds disturb the mirror of the lake.

And that regret, that I could not enjoy Such happiness, which weighs upon the mind, And turns to poison pleasure that has pa.s.sed,

Did still its thorn within my bosom lodge, As I the past recalled; but shame, indeed, Left not its cruel sting within this heart.

To heaven, to you, ye gentle souls, I swear, No base desire intruded on my thought; But with a pure and sacred flame I burned.