The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 13

[Footnote E: Quest' anima gentil che si disparte.--Sonnet xxiii.]

[Footnote F: Dated 21st December. 1335.]

[Footnote G: Guido Sette of Luni, in the Genoese territory, studied law together with Petrarch; but took to it with better liking. He devoted himself to the business of the bar at Avignon with much reputation. But the legal and clerical professions were then often united; for Guido rose in the church to be an archbishop. He died in 1368, renowned as a church luminary.]

[Footnote H: Canzoni 8, 9, and 10.]

[Footnote I: Valery, in his "Travels in Italy" gives the following note respecting out poet. I quote from the edition of the work published at Brussels in 1835:--"Petrarque rapporte dans ses lettres latines que le laurier du Capitole lui avait attire une mult.i.tude d'envieux; que le jour de son couronnement, au lieu d'eau odorante qu'il etait d'usage de repandre dans ces solennites, il recut sur la tete une eau corrosive, qui le rendit chauve le reste de sa vie. Son historien Dolce raconte meme qu'une vieille lui jetta son pot de chambre rempli d'une acre urine, gardee, peut-etre, pour cela depuis sept semaines."]

[Footnote J: Sonnet cxcvi.]

[Footnote K: _Translation._--In the twenty-fifth year of his age, after a short though happy existence, our John departed this life in the year of Christ 1361, on the 10th of July, or rather on the 9th, at the midhour between Friday and Sat.u.r.day. Sent into the world to my mortification and suffering, he was to me in life the cause of deep and unceasing solicitude, and in death of poignant grief. The news reached me on the evening of the 13th of the same month that he had fallen at Milan, in the general mortality caused by that unwonted scourge which at last discovered and visited so fearfully this. .h.i.therto exempted city. On the 8th of August, the same year, a servant of mine returning from Milan brought me a rumour (which on the 18th of the same fatal month was confirmed by a servant of _Dominus Theatinus_) of the death of my Socrates, my companion, my best of brothers, at Babylon (Avignon, I mean) in the month of May. I have lost my comrade and the solace of my life! Receive, Christ Jesus, these two, and the five that remain, into thy eternal habitations!]

[Footnote L: Petrarch's words are: "civi servare suo;" but he takes the liberty of considering Charles as--adoptively--Italian, though that Prince was born at Prague.]

[Footnote M: Most historians relate that the English, at Poitiers, amounted to no more than eight or ten thousand men; but, whether they consisted of eight thousand or thirty thousand, the result was sufficiently glorious for them, and for their brave leader, the Black Prince.]

[Footnote N: This is the story of the patient Grisel, which is familiar in almost every language.]

[Footnote O: Cercato ho sempre solitaria vita.--Sonnet 221, De Sade, vol. ii. p. 8.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: LAURA.]

PETRARCH'S SONNETS,

ETC.

TO LAURA IN LIFE.

SONNET I.

_Voi, ch' ascoltate in rime spa.r.s.e il suono._

HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS Pa.s.sION

Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed When early youth my mazy wanderings led, Fondly diverse from what I now appear, Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear, From those by whom my various style is read, I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled, Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear.

But now I clearly see that of mankind Long time I was the tale: whence bitter thought And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem; While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find, And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought, That the world's joy is but a flitting dream.

CHARLEMONT.

O ye, who list in scatter'd verse the sound Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed, When I, by youthful error first misled, Unlike my present self in heart was found; Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred; If e'er true love its influence o'er ye shed, Oh! let your pity be with pardon crown'd.

But now full well I see how to the crowd For length of time I proved a public jest: E'en by myself my folly is allow'd: And of my vanity the fruit is shame, Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest, That worldly pleasure is a pa.s.sing dream.

NOTT.

Ye, who may listen to each idle strain Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was fed In life's first morn, by youthful error led, (Far other then from what I now remain!) That thus in varying numbers I complain, Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred, If any in love's lore be practised, His pardon,--e'en his pity I may obtain: But now aware that to mankind my name Too long has been a bye-word and a scorn, I blush before my own severer thought; Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame, And deep repentance, of the knowledge born That all we value in this world is naught.

DACRE.

SONNET II.

_Per far una leggiadra sua vendetta._

HOW HE BECAME THE VICTIM OF LOVE.

For many a crime at once to make me smart, And a delicious vengeance to obtain, Love secretly took up his bow again, As one who acts the cunning coward's part; My courage had retired within my heart, There to defend the pa.s.s bright eyes might gain; When his dread archery was pour'd amain Where blunted erst had fallen every dart.

Scared at the sudden brisk attack, I found Nor time, nor vigour to repel the foe With weapons suited to the direful need; No kind protection of rough rising ground, Where from defeat I might securely speed, Which fain I would e'en now, but ah, no method know!

NOTT.

One sweet and signal vengeance to obtain To punish in a day my life's long crime, As one who, bent on harm, waits place and time, Love craftily took up his bow again.

My virtue had retired to watch my heart, Thence of weak eyes the danger to repell, When momently a mortal blow there fell Where blunted hitherto dropt every dart.

And thus, o'erpower'd in that first attack, She had nor vigour left enough, nor room Even to arm her for my pressing need, Nor to the steep and painful mountain back To draw me, safe and scathless from that doom, Whence, though alas! too weak, she fain had freed.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET III.

_Era 'l giorno ch' al sol si scoloraro._

HE BLAMES LOVE FOR WOUNDING HIM ON A HOLY DAY (GOOD FRIDAY).

'Twas on the morn, when heaven its blessed ray In pity to its suffering master veil'd, First did I, Lady, to your beauty yield, Of your victorious eyes th' unguarded prey.

Ah! little reck'd I that, on such a day, Needed against Love's arrows any shield; And trod, securely trod, the fatal field: Whence, with the world's, began my heart's dismay.