The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 56

SONNET CLV.

_Almo Sol, quella fronde ch' io sola amo._

TO THE SUN, WHOSE SETTING HID LAURA'S DWELLING FROM HIS VIEW.

O blessed Sun! that sole sweet leaf I love, First loved by thee, in its fair seat, alone, Bloometh without a peer, since from above To Adam first our shining ill was shown.

Pause we to look on her! Although to stay Thy course I pray thee, yet thy beams retire; Their shades the mountains fling, and parting day Parts me from all I most on earth desire.

The shadows from yon gentle heights that fall, Where sparkles my sweet fire, where brightly grew That stately laurel from a sucker small, Increasing, as I speak, hide from my view The beauteous landscape and the blessed scene, Where dwells my true heart with its only queen.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLVI.

_Pa.s.sa la nave mia colma d' oblio._

UNDER THE FIGURE OF A TEMPEST-TOSSED VESSEL, HE DESCRIBES HIS OWN SAD STATE.

My bark, deep laden with oblivion, rides O'er boisterous waves, through winter's midnight gloom, 'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis, while, in room Of pilot, Love, mine enemy, presides; At every oar a guilty fancy bides, Holding at nought the tempest and the tomb; A moist eternal wind the sails consume, Of sighs, of hopes, and of desire besides.

A shower of tears, a fog of chill disdain Bathes and relaxes the o'er-wearied cords, With error and with ignorance entwined; My two loved lights their wonted aid restrain; Reason or Art, storm-quell'd, no help affords, Nor hope remains the wish'd-for port to find.

CHARLEMONT.

My lethe-freighted bark with reckless prore Cleaves the rough sea 'neath wintry midnight skies, My old foe at the helm our compa.s.s eyes, With Scylla and Charybdis on each sh.o.r.e, A prompt and daring thought at every oar, Which equally the storm and death defies, While a perpetual humid wind of sighs, Of hopes, and of desires, its light sail tore.

Bathe and relax its worn and weary shrouds (Which ignorance with error intertwines), Torrents of tears, of scorn and anger clouds; Hidden the twin dear lights which were my signs; Reason and Art amid the waves lie dead, And hope of gaining port is almost fled.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLVII.

_Una candida cerva sopra l' erba._

THE VISION OF THE FAWN.

Beneath a laurel, two fair streams between, At early sunrise of the opening year, A milk-white fawn upon the meadow green, Of gold its either horn, I saw appear; So mild, yet so majestic, was its mien, I left, to follow, all my labours here, As miners after treasure, in the keen Desire of new, forget the old to fear.

"Let none impede"--so, round its fair neck, run The words in diamond and topaz writ-- "My lord to give me liberty sees fit."

And now the sun his noontide height had won When I, with weary though unsated view, Fell in the stream--and so my vision flew.

MACGREGOR.

A form I saw with secret awe, nor ken I what it warns; Pure as the snow, a gentle doe it seem'd, with silver horns: Erect she stood, close by a wood, between two running streams; And brightly shone the morning sun upon that land of dreams!

The pictured hind fancy design'd glowing with love and hope; Graceful she stepp'd, but distant kept, like the timid antelope; Playful, yet coy, with secret joy her image fill'd my soul; And o'er the sense soft influence of sweet oblivion stole.

Gold I beheld and emerald on the collar that she wore; Words, too--but theirs were characters of legendary lore.

"Caesar's decree hath made me free; and through his solemn charge, Untouch'd by men o'er hill and glen I wander here at large."

The sun had now, with radiant brow, climb'd his meridian throne, Yet still mine eye untiringly gazed on that lovely one.

A voice was heard--quick disappear'd my dream--the spell was broken.

Then came distress: to the consciousness of life I had awoken.

FATHER PROUT.

SONNET CLVIII.

_Siccome eterna vita e veder Dio._

ALL HIS HAPPINESS IS IN GAZING UPON HER.

As life eternal is with G.o.d to be, No void left craving, there of all possess'd, So, lady mine, to be with you makes blest, This brief frail span of mortal life to me.

So fair as now ne'er yet was mine to see-- If truth from eyes to heart be well express'd-- Lovely and blessed spirit of my breast, Which levels all high hopes and wishes free.

Nor would I more demand if less of haste She show'd to part; for if, as legends tell And credence find, are some who live by smell, On water some, or fire who touch and taste, All, things which neither strength nor sweetness give, Why should not I upon your dear sight live?

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLIX.

_Stiamo, Amor, a veder la gloria nostra._

TO LOVE, ON LAURA WALKING ABROAD.

Here stand we, Love, our glory to behold-- How, pa.s.sing Nature, lovely, high, and rare!

Behold! what showers of sweetness falling there!

What floods of light by heaven to earth unroll'd!

How shine her robes, in purple, pearls, and gold, So richly wrought, with skill beyond compare!

How glance her feet!--her beaming eyes how fair Through the dark cloister which these hills enfold!

The verdant turf, and flowers of thousand hues Beneath yon oak's old canopy of state, Spring round her feet to pay their amorous duty.

The heavens, in joyful reverence, cannot choose But light up all their fires, to celebrate Her praise, whose presence charms their awful beauty.

MERIVALE.