The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 40

She paused, then, answering pensively, so bent On me her eloquent eye, That to my inmost heart her looks and language went:--

"As seem'd to our Eternal Father best, We two were made immortal at our birth: To man so small our worth Better on us that death, like yours, should rest.

Though once beloved and lovely, young and bright, So slighted are we now, my sister sweet Already plumes for flight Her wings to bear her to her own old seat; Myself am but a shadow thin and fleet; Thus have I told you, in brief words, whate'er You sought of us to find: And now farewell! before I mount in air This favour take, nor fear that I forget."

Whereat she took and twined A wreath of laurel green, and round my temples set.

My song! should any deem thy strain obscure, Say, that I care not, and, ere long to hear, In certain words and clear, Truth's welcome message, that my hope is sure; For this alone, unless I widely err Of him who set me on the task, I came, That others I might stir To honourable acts of high and holy aim.

MACGREGOR.

MADRIGALE IV.

_Or vedi, Amor, che giovinetta donna._

A PRAYER TO LOVE THAT HE WILL TAKE VENGEANCE ON THE SCORNFUL PRIDE OF LAURA.

Now, Love, at length behold a youthful fair, Who spurns thy rule, and, mocking all my care, 'Mid two such foes, is safe and fancy free.

Thou art well arm'd, 'mid flowers and verdure she, In simplest robe and natural tresses found, Against thee haughty still and harsh to me; I am thy thrall: but, if thy bow be sound, If yet one shaft be thine, in pity, take Vengeance upon her for our common sake.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XCVI.

_Quelle pietose rime, in ch' io m' accorsi._

TO ANTONIO OF FERRARA, WHO, IN A POEM, HAD LAMENTED PETRARCH'S SUPPOSED DEATH.

Those pious lines wherein are finely met Proofs of high genius and a spirit kind, Had so much influence on my grateful mind That instantly in hand my pen I set To tell you that death's final blow--which yet Shall me and every mortal surely find-- I have not felt, though I, too, nearly join'd The confines of his realm without regret; But I turn'd back again because I read Writ o'er the threshold that the time to me Of life predestinate not all was fled, Though its last day and hour I could not see.

Then once more let your sad heart comfort know, And love the living worth which dead it honour'd so.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XCVII.

_Dicesett' anni ha gia rivolto il cielo._

E'EN IN OUR ASHES LIVE OUR WONTED FIRES.

The seventeenth summer now, alas! is gone, And still with ardour unconsumed I glow; Yet find, whene'er myself I seek to know, Amidst the fire a frosty chill come on.

Truly 'tis said, 'Ere Habit quits her throne, Years bleach the hair.' The senses feel life's snow, But not less hot the tides of pa.s.sion flow: Such is our earthly nature's malison!

Oh! come the happy day, when doom'd to smart No more, from flames and lingering sorrows free, Calm I may note how fast youth's minutes flew!

Ah! will it e'er be mine the hour to see, When with delight, nor duty nor my heart Can blame, these eyes once more that angel face may view?

WRANGHAM.

For seventeen summers heaven has o'er me roll'd Since first I burn'd, nor e'er found respite thence, But when to weigh our state my thoughts commence I feel amidst the flames a frosty cold.

We change the form, not nature, is an old And truthful proverb: thus, to dull the sense Makes not the human feelings less intense; The dark shades of our painful veil still hold.

Alas! alas! will e'er that day appear When, my life's flight beholding, I may find Issue from endless fire and lingering pain,-- The day which, crowning all my wishes here, Of that fair face the angel air and kind Shall to my longing eyes restore again?

MACGREGOR.

SONNET XCVIII.

_Quel vago impallidir che 'l dolce riso._

LEAVE-TAKING.

That witching paleness, which with cloud of love Veil'd her sweet smile, majestically bright, So thrill'd my heart, that from the bosom's night Midway to meet it on her face it strove.

Then learnt I how, 'mid realms of joy above, The blest behold the blest: in such pure light I scann'd her tender thought, to others' sight Viewless!--but my fond glances would not rove.

Each angel grace, each lowly courtesy, E'er traced in dame by Love's soft power inspired, Would seem but foils to those which prompt my lay: Upon the ground was cast her gentle eye, And still methought, though silent, she inquired, "What bears my faithful friend so soon, so far away?"

WRANGHAM.

There was a touching paleness on her face, Which chased her smiles, but such sweet union made Of pensive majesty and heavenly grace, As if a pa.s.sing cloud had veil'd her with its shade; Then knew I how the blessed ones above Gaze on each other in their perfect bliss, For never yet was look of mortal love So pure, so tender, so serene as this.

The softest glance fond woman ever sent To him she loved, would cold and rayless be Compared to this, which she divinely bent Earthward, with angel sympathy, on me, That seem'd with speechless tenderness to say, "Who takes from me my faithful friend away?"

E. (_New Monthly Magazine_.)

SONNET XCIX.

_Amor, Fortuna, e la mia mente schiva._

THE CAUSES OF HIS WOE.

Love, Fortune, and my melancholy mind, Sick of the present, lingering on the past, Afflict me so, that envious thoughts I cast On those who life's dark sh.o.r.e have left behind.

Love racks my bosom: Fortune's wintry wind Kills every comfort: my weak mind at last Is chafed and pines, so many ills and vast Expose its peace to constant strifes unkind.

Nor hope I better days shall turn again; But what is left from bad to worse may pa.s.s: For ah! already life is on the wane.