The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 32

SONNET LX.

_Io son s stanco sotto 'l fascio antico._

HE CONFESSES HIS ERRORS, AND THROWS HIMSELF ON THE MERCY OF G.o.d.

Evil by custom, as by nature frail, I am so wearied with the long disgrace, That much I dread my fainting in the race Should let th' original enemy prevail.

Once an Eternal Friend, that heard my cries, Came to my rescue, glorious in his might, Arm'd with all-conquering love, then took his flight, That I in vain pursued Him with my eyes.

But his dear words, yet sounding, sweetly say, "O ye that faint with travel, see the way!

Hopeless of other refuge, come to me."

What grace, what kindness, or what destiny Will give me wings, as the fair-feather'd dove, To raise me hence and seek my rest above?

BASIL KENNET.

So weary am I 'neath the constant thrall Of mine own vile heart, and the false world's taint, That much I fear while on the way to faint, And in the hands of my worst foe to fall.

Well came, ineffably, supremely kind, A friend to free me from the guilty bond, But too soon upward flew my sight beyond, So that in vain I strive his track to find; But still his words stamp'd on my heart remain, All ye who labour, lo! the way in me; Come unto me, nor let the world detain!

Oh! that to me, by grace divine, were given Wings like a dove, then I away would flee, And be at rest, up, up from earth to heaven!

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXI.

_Io non fu' d' amar voi la.s.sato unquanco._

UNLESS LAURA RELENT, HE IS RESOLVED TO ABANDON HER.

Yet was I never of your love aggrieved, Nor never shall while that my life doth last: But of hating myself, that date is past; And tears continual sore have me wearied: I will not yet in my grave be buried; Nor on my tomb your name have fixed fast, As cruel cause, that did the spirit soon haste From the unhappy bones, by great sighs stirr'd.

Then if a heart of amorous faith and will Content your mind withouten doing grief; Please it you so to this to do relief: If otherwise you seek for to fulfil Your wrath, you err, and shall not as you ween; And you yourself the cause thereof have been.

WYATT.

Weary I never was, nor can be e'er, Lady, while life shall last, of loving you, But brought, alas! myself in hate to view, Perpetual tears have bred a blank despair: I wish a tomb, whose marble fine and fair, When this tired spirit and frail flesh are two, May show your name, to which my death is due, If e'en our names at last one stone may share; Wherefore, if full of faith and love, a heart Can, of worst torture short, suffice your hate, Mercy at length may visit e'en my smart.

If otherwise your wrath itself would sate, It is deceived: and none will credit show; To Love and to myself my thanks for this I owe.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXII.

_Se bianche non son prima ambe le tempie._

THOUGH NOT SECURE AGAINST THE WILES OF LOVE, HE FEELS STRENGTH ENOUGH TO RESIST THEM.

Till silver'd o'er by age my temples grow, Where Time by slow degrees now plants his grey, Safe shall I never be, in danger's way While Love still points and plies his fatal bow I fear no more his tortures and his tricks, That he will keep me further to ensnare Nor ope my heart, that, from without, he there His poisonous and ruthless shafts may fix.

No tears can now find issue from mine eyes, But the way there so well they know to win, That nothing now the pa.s.s to them denies.

Though the fierce ray rekindle me within, It burns not all: her cruel and severe Form may disturb, not break my slumbers here.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXIII.

_Occhi, piangete; accompagnate il core._

DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE POET AND HIS EYES.

Playne ye, myne eyes, accompanye my harte, For, by your fault, lo, here is death at hand!

Ye brought hym first into this bitter band, And of his harme as yett ye felt no part; But now ye shall: Lo! here beginnes your smart.

Wett shall you be, ye shall it not withstand With weepinge teares that shall make dymm your sight, And mystic clowdes shall hang still in your light.

Blame but yourselves that kyndlyd have this brand, With suche desyre to strayne that past your might; But, since by you the hart hath caught his harme, His flamed heat shall sometyme make you warme.

HARRINGTON.

_P._ Weep, wretched eyes, accompany the heart Which only from your weakness death sustains.

_E._ Weep? evermore we weep; with keener pains For others' error than our own we smart.

_P._ Love, entering first through you an easy part, Took up his seat, where now supreme he reigns.

_E._ We oped to him the way, but Hope the veins First fired of him now stricken by death's dart.

_P._ The lots, as seems to you, scarce equal fall 'Tween heart and eyes, for you, at first sight, were Enamour'd of your common ill and shame.

_E._ This is the thought which grieves us most of all; For perfect judgments are on earth so rare That one man's fault is oft another's blame.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LXIV.

_Io amai sempre, ed amo forte ancora._

HE LOVES, AND WILL ALWAYS LOVE, THE SPOT AND THE HOUR IN WHICH HE FIRST BECAME ENAMOURED OF LAURA.

I always loved, I love sincerely yet, And to love more from day to day shall learn, The charming spot where oft in grief I turn When Love's severities my bosom fret: My mind to love the time and hour is set Which taught it each low care aside to spurn; She too, of loveliest face, for whom I burn Bids me her fair life love and sin forget.

Who ever thought to see in friendship join'd, On all sides with my suffering heart to cope, The gentle enemies I love so well?