The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 70

O gentle looks! O words of heavenly sound!

Shall I behold you, hear you once again?

O waving locks, that Love has made the chain, In which this wretched ruin'd heart is bound!

O face divine! whose magic spells surround My soul, distemper'd with unceasing pain: O dear deceit! O loving errors vain!

To hug the dart and doat upon the wound!

Did those soft eyes, in whose angelic light My life, my thoughts, a constant mansion find, Ever impart a pure unmixed delight?

Or if they have one moment, then unkind Fortune steps in, and sends me from their sight, And gives my opening pleasures to the wind.

MOREHEAD.

SONNET CCXVI.

_I' pur ascolto, e non odo novella._

HEARING NO TIDINGS OF HER, HE BEGINS TO DESPAIR.

Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait, Of that sweet enemy I love so well: What now to think or say I cannot tell, 'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate: The beautiful are still the marks of fate; And sure her worth and beauty most excel: What if her G.o.d have call'd her hence, to dwell Where virtue finds a more congenial state?

If so, she will illuminate that sphere Even as a sun: but I--'tis done with me!

I then am nothing, have no business here!

O cruel absence! why not let me see The worst? my little tale is told, I fear, My scene is closed ere it accomplish'd be.

MOREHEAD.

No tidings yet--I listen, but in vain; Of her, my beautiful beloved foe, What or to think or say I nothing know, So thrills my heart, my fond hopes so sustain, Danger to some has in their beauty lain; Fairer and chaster she than others show; G.o.d haply seeks to s.n.a.t.c.h from earth below Virtue's best friend, that heaven a star may gain, Or rather sun. If what I dread be nigh, My life, its trials long, its brief repose Are ended all. O cruel absence! why Didst thou remove me from the menaced woes?

My short sad story is already done, And midway in its course my vain race run.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXVII.

_La sera desiar, odiar l' aurora._

CONTRARY TO THE WONT OF LOVERS, HE PREFERS MORN TO EVE.

Tranquil and happy loves in this agree, The evening to desire and morning hate: On me at eve redoubled sorrows wait-- Morning is still the happier hour for me.

For then my sun and Nature's oft I see Opening at once the orient's rosy gate, So match'd in beauty and in l.u.s.tre great, Heaven seems enamour'd of our earth to be!

As when in verdant leaf the dear boughs burst Whose roots have since so centred in my core, Another than myself is cherish'd more.

Thus the two hours contrast, day's last and first: Reason it is who calms me to desire, And fear and hate who fiercer feed my fire.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXVIII.

_Far potess' io vendetta di colei._

HIS SOUL VISITS HER IN SLEEP.

Oh! that from her some vengeance I could wrest With words and glances who my peace destroys, And then abash'd, for my worse sorrow, flies, Veiling her eyes so cruel, yet so blest; Thus mine afflicted spirits and oppress'd By sure degrees she sorely drains and dries, And in my heart, as savage lion, cries Even at night, when most I should have rest.

My soul, which sleep expels from his abode, The body leaves, and, from its trammels free, Seeks her whose mien so often menace show'd.

I marvel much, if heard its advent be, That while to her it spake, and o'er her wept, And round her clung, asleep she alway kept.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXIX.

_In quel bel viso, ch' i' sospiro e bramo._

ON LAURA PUTTING HER HAND BEFORE HER EYES WHILE HE WAS GAZING ON HER.

On the fair face for which I long and sigh Mine eyes were fasten'd with desire intense.

When, to my fond thoughts, Love, in best reply, Her honour'd hand uplifting, shut me thence.

My heart there caught--as fish a fair hook by, Or as a young bird on a limed fence-- For good deeds follow from example high, To truth directed not its busied sense.

But of its one desire my vision reft, As dreamingly, soon oped itself a way, Which closed, its bliss imperfect had been left: My soul between those rival glories lay, Fill'd with a heavenly and new delight, Whose strange surpa.s.sing sweets engross'd it quite.

MACGREGOR.

SONNET CCXX.

_Vive faville uscian de' duo bei lumi._

A SMILING WELCOME, WHICH LAURA GAVE HIM UNEXPECTEDLY, ALMOST KILLS HIM WITH JOY.

Live sparks were glistening from her twin bright eyes, So sweet on me whose lightning flashes beam'd, And softly from a feeling heart and wise, Of lofty eloquence a rich flood stream'd: Even the memory serves to wake my sighs When I recall that day so glad esteem'd, And in my heart its sinking spirit dies As some late grace her colder wont redeem'd.

My soul in pain and grief that most has been (How great the power of constant habit is!) Seems weakly 'neath its double joy to lean: For at the sole taste of unusual bliss, Trembling with fear, or thrill'd by idle hope, Oft on the point I've been life's door to ope.

MACGREGOR.