The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 63

SONNET CLx.x.xIII.

_Il cantar novo e 'l pianger degli augelli._

MORNING.

The birds' sweet wail, their renovated song, At break of morn, make all the vales resound; With lapse of crystal waters pouring round, In clear, swift runnels, the fresh sh.o.r.es among.

She, whose pure pa.s.sion knows nor guile nor wrong, With front of snow, with golden tresses crown'd, Combing her aged husband's h.o.a.r locks found, Wakes me when sportful wakes the warbling throng.

Thus, roused from sleep, I greet the dawning day, And its succeeding sun, with one more bright, Still dazzling, as in early youth, my sight: Both suns I've seen at once uplift their ray; This drives the radiance of the stars away, But that which gilds my life eclipses e'en his light.

NOTT.

Soon as gay morn ascends her purple car, The plaintive warblings of the new-waked grove, The murmuring streams, through flowery meads that rove, Fill with sweet melody the valleys fair.

Aurora, famed for constancy in love, Whose face with snow, whose locks with gold compare.

Smoothing her aged husband's silvery hair, Bids me the joys of rural music prove.

Then, waking, I salute the sun of day; But chief that beauteous sun, whose cheering ray Once gilt, nay gilds e'en now, life's scene so bright.

Dear suns! which oft I've seen together rise; This dims each meaner l.u.s.tre of the skies, And that sweet sun I love dims every light.

ANON. 1777.

SONNET CLx.x.xIV.

_Onde tolse Amor l' oro e di qual vena._

THE CHARMS OF HER COUNTENANCE AND VOICE.

Whence could Love take the gold, and from what vein, To form those bright twin locks? What thorn could grow Those roses? And what mead that white bestow Of the fresh dews, which pulse and breath obtain?

Whence came those pearls that modestly restrain Accents which courteous, sweet, and rare can flow?

And whence those charms that so divinely show, Spread o'er a face serene as heaven's blue plain?

Taught by what angel, or what tuneful sphere, Was that celestial song, which doth dispense Such potent magic to the ravish'd ear?

What sun illumed those bright commanding eyes, Which now look peaceful, now in hostile guise; Now torture me with hope, and now with fear?

NOTT.

Say, from what vein did Love procure the gold To make those sunny tresses? From what thorn Stole he the rose, and whence the dew of morn, Bidding them breathe and live in Beauty's mould?

What depth of ocean gave the pearls that told Those gentle accents sweet, though rarely born?

Whence came so many graces to adorn That brow more fair than summer skies unfold?

Oh! say what angels lead, what spheres control The song divine which wastes my life away?

(Who can with trifles now my senses move?) What sun gave birth unto the lofty soul Of those enchanting eyes, whose glances stray To burn and freeze my heart--the sport of Love?

WROTTESLEY.

SONNET CLx.x.xV.

_Qual mio destin, qual forza o qual inganno._

THOUGH HER EYES DESTROY HIM, HE CANNOT TEAR HIMSELF AWAY.

What destiny of mine, what fraud or force, Unarm'd again conducts me to the field, Where never came I but with shame to yield 'Scape I or fall, which better is or worse?

--Not worse, but better; from so sweet a source Shine in my heart those lights, so bright reveal'd The fatal fire, e'en now as then, which seal'd My doom, though twenty years have roll'd their course I feel death's messengers when those dear eyes, Dazzling me from afar, I see appear, And if on me they turn as she draw near, Love with such sweetness tempts me then and tries, Tell it I cannot, nor recall in sooth, For wit and language fail to reach the truth!

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLx.x.xVI.

_Liete e pensose, accompagnate e sole._

NOT FINDING HER WITH HER FRIENDS, HE ASKS THEM WHY SHE IS ABSENT.

_P._ Pensive and glad, accompanied, alone, Ladies who cheat the time with converse gay, Where does my life, where does my death delay?

Why not with you her form, as usual, shown?

_L._ Glad are we her rare l.u.s.tre to have known, And sad from her dear company to stay, Which jealousy and envy keep away O'er other's bliss, as their own ill who moan.

_P._ Who lovers can restrain, or give them law?

_L._ No one the soul, harshness and rage the frame; As erst in us, this now in her appears.

As oft the face, betrays the heart, we saw Clouds that, obscuring her high beauty, came, And in her eyes the dewy trace of tears.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CLx.x.xVII.

_Quando 'l sol bagna in mur l' aurato carro._

HIS NIGHTS ARE, LIKE HIS DAYS, Pa.s.sED IN TORMENT.

When in the sea sinks the sun's golden light, And on my mind and nature darkness lies, With the pale moon, faint stars and clouded skies I pa.s.s a weary and a painful night: To her who hears me not I then rehea.r.s.e My sad life's fruitless toils, early and late; And with the world and with my gloomy fate, With Love, with Laura and myself, converse.

Sleep is forbid me: I have no repose, But sighs and groans instead, till morn returns, And tears, with which mine eyes a sad heart feeds; Then comes the dawn, the thick air clearer grows, But not my soul; the sun which in it burns Alone can cure the grief his fierce warmth breeds.

NOTT.

When Phoebus lashes to the western main His fiery steeds, and shades the lurid air; Grief shades my soul, my night is spent in care; Yon moon, yon stars, yon heaven begin my pain.