The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 69

Stranger, whose curious glance delights to trace What Heaven and Nature join'd to frame most rare; Here view mine eyes' bright sun--a sight so fair, That purblind worlds, like me, enamour'd gaze.

But speed thy step; for Death with rapid pace Pursues the best, nor makes the bad his care: Call'd to the skies through yon blue fields of air, On buoyant plume the mortal grace obeys.

Then haste, and mark in one rich form combined (And, for that dazzling l.u.s.tre dimm'd mine eye, Chide the weak efforts of my trembling lay) Each charm of person, and each power of mind-- But, slowly if thy lingering foot comply, Grief and repentant shame shall mourn the brief delay.

WRANGHAM.

SONNET CCXI.

_Qual paura ho, quando mi torna a mente._

MELANCHOLY RECOLLECTIONS AND PRESAGES.

O Laura! when my tortured mind The sad remembrance bears Of that ill-omen'd day, When, victim to a thousand doubts and fears, I left my soul behind, That soul that could not from its partner stray; In nightly visions to my longing eyes Thy form oft seems to rise, As ever thou wert seen, Fair like the rose, 'midst paling flowers the queen, But loosely in the wind, Unbraided wave the ringlets of thy hair, That late with studious care, I saw with pearls and flowery garlands twined: On thy wan lip, no cheerful smile appears; Thy beauteous face a tender sadness wears; Placid in pain thou seem'st, serene in grief, As conscious of thy fate, and hopeless of relief!

Cease, cease, presaging heart! O angels, deign To hear my fervent prayer, that all my fears be vain!

WOODHOUSELEE.

What dread I feel when I revolve the day I left my mistress, sad, without repose, My heart too with her: and my fond thought knows Nought on which gladlier, oft'ner it can stay.

Again my fancy doth her form portray Meek among beauty's train, like to some rose Midst meaner flowers; nor joy nor grief she shows; Not with misfortune prest but with dismay.

Then were thrown by her custom'd cheerfulness, Her pearls, her chaplets, and her gay attire, Her song, her laughter, and her mild address; Thus doubtingly I quitted her I love: Now dark ideas, dreams, and bodings dire Raise terrors, which Heaven grant may groundless prove!

NOTT.

SONNET CCXII.

_Solea lontana in sonno consolarme._

SHE ANNOUNCES TO HIM, IN A VISION, THAT HE WILL NEVER SEE HER MORE.

To soothe me distant far, in days gone by, With dreams of one whose glance all heaven combined, Was mine; now fears and sorrow haunt my mind, Nor can I from that grief, those terrors fly: For oft in sleep I mark within her eye Deep pity with o'erwhelming sadness join'd; And oft I seem to hear on every wind Accents, which from my breast chase peace and joy.

"That last dark eve," she cries, "remember'st thou, When to those doting eyes I bade farewell, Forced by the time's relentless tyranny?

I had not then the power, nor heart to tell, What thou shalt find, alas! too surely true-- Hope not again on earth thy Laura's face to see."

WRANGHAM.

SONNET CCXIII.

_O misera ed orribil visione._

HE CANNOT BELIEVE IN HER DEATH, BUT IF TRUE, HE PRAYS G.o.d TO TAKE HIM ALSO FROM LIFE.

O misery! horror! can it, then, be true, That the sweet light before its time is spent, 'Mid all its pains which could my life content, And ever with fresh hopes of good renew?

If so, why sounds not other channels through, Nor only from herself, the great event?

No! G.o.d and Nature could not thus consent, And my dark fears are groundless and undue.

Still it delights my heart to hope once more The welcome sight of that enchanting face, The glory of our age, and life to me.

But if, to her eternal home to soar, That heavenly spirit have left her earthly place, Oh! then not distant may my last day be!

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXIV.

_In dubbio di mio stato, or piango, or canto._

TO HIS LONGING TO SEE HER AGAIN IS NOW ADDED THE FEAR OF SEEING HER NO MORE.

Uncertain of my state, I weep and sing, I hope and tremble, and with rhymes and sighs I ease my load, while Love his utmost tries How worse my sore afflicted heart to sting.

Will her sweet seraph face again e'er bring Their former light to these despairing eyes.

(What to expect, alas! or how advise) Or must eternal grief my bosom wring?

For heaven, which justly it deserves to win, It cares not what on earth may be their fate, Whose sun it was, where centred their sole gaze.

Such terror, so perpetual warfare in, Changed from my former self, I live of late As one who midway doubts, and fears and strays.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXV.

_O dolci sguardi, o parolette accorte._

HE SIGHS FOR THOSE GLANCES FROM WHICH, TO HIS GRIEF, FORTUNE EVER DELIGHTS TO WITHDRAW HIM.

O angel looks! O accents of the skies!

Shall I or see or hear you once again?

O golden tresses, which my heart enchain, And lead it forth, Love's willing sacrifice!

O face of beauty given in anger's guise, Which still I not enjoy, and still complain!

O dear delusion! O bewitching pain!

Transports, at once my punishment and prize!

If haply those soft eyes some kindly beam (Eyes, where my soul and all my thoughts reside) Vouchsafe, in tender pity to bestow; Sudden, of all my joys the murtheress tried, Fortune with steed or ship dispels the gleam; Fortune, with stern behest still prompt to work my woe.

WRANGHAM.