The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 83

The radiance of those eyes who could have thought Should e'er become a senseless clod of clay?

Living, and weeping, late I've learn'd to say That here below--Oh, knowledge dearly bought!-- Whate'er delights will scarcely last a day!

CHARLEMONT.

SONNET XLIV.

_Ne per sereno cielo ir vaghe stelle._

NOTHING THAT NATURE OFFERS CAN AFFORD HIM CONSOLATION.

Not skies serene, with glittering stars inlaid, Nor gallant ships o'er tranquil ocean dancing, Nor gay careering knights in arms advancing, Nor wild herds bounding through the forest glade, Nor tidings new of happiness delay'd, Nor poesie, Love's witchery enhancing, Nor lady's song beside clear fountain glancing, In beauty's pride, with chast.i.ty array'd; Nor aught of lovely, aught of gay in show, Shall touch my heart, now cold within her tomb Who was erewhile my life and light below!

So heavy--tedious--sad--my days unblest, That I, with strong desire, invoke Death's gloom, Her to behold, whom ne'er to have seen were best!

DACRE.

Nor stars bright glittering through the cool still air, Nor proud ships riding on the tranquil main, Nor armed knights light p.r.i.c.king o'er the plain, Nor deer in glades disporting void of care, Nor tidings hoped by recent messenger, Nor tales of love in high and gorgeous strain, Nor by clear stream, green mead, or shady lane Sweet-chaunted roundelay of lady fair; Nor aught beside my heart shall e'er engage-- Sepulchred, as 'tis henceforth doom'd to be, With her, my eyes' sole mirror, beam, and bliss.

Oh! how I long this weary pilgrimage To close; that I again that form may see, Which never to have seen had been my happiness!

WRANGHAM.

SONNET XLV.

_Pa.s.sato e 'l tempo omai, la.s.so! che tanto._

HIS ONLY DESIRE IS AGAIN TO BE WITH HER.

Fled--fled, alas! for ever--is the day, Which to my flame some soothing whilom brought; And fled is she of whom I wept and wrote: Yet still the pang, the tear, prolong their stay!

And fled that angel vision far away; But flying, with soft glance my heart it smote ('Twas then my own) which straight, divided, sought Her, who had wrapp'd it in her robe of clay.

Part shares her tomb, part to her heaven is sped; Where now, with laurel wreathed, in triumph's car She reaps the meed of matchless holiness: So might I, of this flesh disc.u.mbered, Which holds me prisoner here, from sorrow far With her expatiate free 'midst realms of endless bliss!

WRANGHAM.

Ah! gone for ever are the happy years That soothed my soul amid Love's fiercest fire, And she for whom I wept and tuned my lyre Has gone, alas!--But left my lyre, my tears: Gone is that face, whose holy look endears; But in my heart, ere yet it did retire, Left the sweet radiance of its eyes, entire;-- My heart? Ah; no! not mine! for to the spheres Of light she bore it captive, soaring high, In angel robe triumphant, and now stands Crown'd with the laurel wreath of chast.i.ty: Oh! could I throw aside these earthly bands That tie me down where wretched mortals sigh,-- To join blest spirits in celestial lands!

MOREHEAD.

SONNET XLVI.

_Mente mia che presaga de' tuoi danni._

HE RECALLS WITH GRIEF THEIR LAST MEETING.

My mind! prophetic of my coming fate, Pensive and gloomy while yet joy was lent, On the loved lineaments still fix'd, intent To seek dark bodings, ere thy sorrow's date!

From her sweet acts, her words, her looks, her gait, From her unwonted pity with sadness blent, Thou might'st have said, hadst thou been prescient, "I taste my last of bliss in this low state!"

My wretched soul! the poison, oh, how sweet!

That through my eyes instill'd the burning smart, Gazing on hers, no more on earth to meet!

To them--my bosom's wealth! condemn'd to part On a far journey--as to friends discreet, All my fond thoughts I left, and lingering heart.

DACRE.

SONNET XLVII.

_Tutta la mia fiorita e verde etade._

JUST WHEN HE MIGHT FAIRLY HOPE SOME RETURN OF AFFECTION, ENVIOUS DEATH CARRIES HER OFF.

All my green years and golden prime of man Had pa.s.s'd away, and with attemper'd sighs My bosom heaved--ere yet the days arise When life declines, contracting its brief span.

Already my loved enemy began To lull suspicion, and in sportive guise, With timid confidence, though playful, wise, In gentle mockery my long pains to scan: The hour was near when Love, at length, may mate With Chast.i.ty; and, by the dear one's side, The lover's thoughts and words may freely flow: Death saw, with envy, my too happy state, E'en its fair promise--and, with fatal pride, Strode in the midway forth, an armed foe!

DACRE.

Now of my life each gay and greener year Pa.s.s'd by, and cooler grew each hour the flame With which I burn'd: and to that point we came Whence life descends, as to its end more near; Now 'gan my lovely foe each virtuous fear Gently to lay aside, as safe from blame; And though with saint-like virtue still the same, Mock'd my sweet pains indeed, but deign'd to hear Nigh drew the time when Love delights to dwell With Chast.i.ty; and lovers with their mate Can fearless sit, and all they muse of tell.

Death envied me the joys of such a state; Nay, e'en the hopes I form'd: and on them fell E'en in midway, like some arm'd foe in wait.

ANON., OX., 1795.

SONNET XLVIII.

_Tempo era omai da trovar pace o tregua._

HE CONSOLES HIMSELF WITH THE BELIEF THAT SHE NOW AT LAST SYMPATHISES WITH HIM.

'Twas time at last from so long war to find Some peace or truce, and, haply, both were nigh, But Death their welcome feet has turn'd behind, Who levels all distinctions, low as high; And as a cloud dissolves before the wind, So she, who led me with her l.u.s.trous eye, Whom ever I pursue with faithful mind, Her fair life briefly ending, sought the sky.

Had she but stay'd, as I grew changed and old Her tone had changed, and no distrust had been To parley with me on my cherish'd ill: With what frank sighs and fond I then had told My lifelong toils, which now from heaven, I ween, She sees, and with me sympathises still.

MACGREGOR.