The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 85

MACGREGOR.

Is this the nest in which her wings of gold, Of gold and purple plume, my phoenix laid?

How flutter'd my fond heart beneath their shade!

But now its sighs proclaim that dwelling cold: Sweet source! from which my bliss, my bane, have roll'd, Where is that face, in living light array'd, That burn'd me, yet my sole enjoyment made?

Unparallel'd on earth, the heavens now hold Thee bless'd!--but I am left wretched, alone!

Yet ever in my grief return to see And honour this sweet place, though thou art gone.

A black night veils the hills, whence rising free Thou took'st thy heavenward flight! Ah! when they shone In morning radiance, it was all from thee!

MOREHEAD.

SONNET LIV.

_Mai non vedranno le mie luci asciutte._

TO THE MEMORY OF GIACOMO COLONNA, WHO DIED BEFORE PETRARCH COULD REPLY TO A LETTER OF HIS.

Ne'er shall I see again with eyes unwet, Or with the sure powers of a tranquil mind, Those characters where Love so brightly shined, And his own hand affection seem'd to set; Spirit! amid earth's strifes unconquer'd yet, Breathing such sweets from heaven which now has shrined, As once more to my wandering verse has join'd The style which Death had led me to forget.

Another work, than my young leaves more bright, I thought to show: what envying evil star s.n.a.t.c.h'd thee, my n.o.ble treasure, thus from me?

So soon who hides thee from my fond heart's sight, And from thy praise my loving tongue would bar?

My soul has rest, sweet sigh! alone in thee.

MACGREGOR.

Oh! ne'er shall I behold with tearless eye Or tranquil soul those characters of thine, In which affection doth so brightly shine, And charity's own hand I can descry!

Blest soul! that could this earthly strife defy, Thy sweets instilling from thy home divine, Thou wakest in me the tone which once was mine, To sing my rhymes Death's power did long deny.

With these, my brow's young leaves, I fondly dream'd Another work than this had greeted thee: What iron planet envied thus our love?

My treasure! veil'd ere age had darkly gleam'd; Thou--whom my song records--my heart doth see; Thou wakest my sigh, and sighing, rest I prove.

WOLLASTON.

CANZONE III.

_Standomi un giorno solo alla finestra._

UNDER VARIOUS ALLEGORIES HE PAINTS THE VIRTUE, BEAUTY, AND UNTIMELY DEATH OF LAURA.

While at my window late I stood alone, So new and many things there cross'd my sight, To view them I had almost weary grown.

A dappled hind appear'd upon the right, In aspect gentle, yet of stately stride, By two swift greyhounds chased, a black and white, Who tore in the poor side Of that fair creature wounds so deep and wide, That soon they forced her where ravine and rock The onward pa.s.sage block: Then triumph'd Death her matchless beauties o'er, And left me lonely there her sad fate to deplore.

Upon the summer wave a gay ship danced, Her cordage was of silk, of gold her sails, Her sides with ivory and ebon glanced, The sea was tranquil, favouring were the gales, And heaven as when no cloud its azure veils.

A rich and goodly merchandise is hers; But soon the tempest wakes, And wind and wave to such mad fury stirs, That, driven on the rocks, in twain she breaks; My heart with pity aches, That a short hour should whelm, a small s.p.a.ce hide, Riches for which the world no equal had beside.

In a fair grove a bright young laurel made --Surely to Paradise the plant belongs!-- Of sacred boughs a pleasant summer shade, From whose green depths there issued so sweet songs Of various birds, and many a rare delight Of eye and ear, what marvel from the world They stole my senses quite!

While still I gazed, the heavens grew black around, The fatal lightning flash'd, and sudden hurl'd, Uprooted to the ground, That blessed birth. Alas! for it laid low, And its dear shade whose like we ne'er again shall know.

A crystal fountain in that very grove Gush'd from a rock, whose waters fresh and clear Shed coolness round and softly murmur'd love; Never that leafy screen and mossy seat Drew browsing flock or whistling rustic near But nymphs and muses danced to music sweet.

There as I sat and drank With infinite delight their carols gay, And mark'd their sport, the earth before me sank And bore with it away The fountain and the scene, to my great grief, Who now in memory find a sole and scant relief.

A lovely and rare bird within the wood, Whose crest with gold, whose wings with purple gleam'd, Alone, but proudly soaring, next I view'd, Of heavenly and immortal birth which seem'd, Flitting now here, now there, until it stood Where buried fount and broken laurel lay, And sadly seeing there The fallen trunk, the boughs all stripp'd and bare, The channel dried--for all things to decay So tend--it turn'd away As if in angry scorn, and instant fled, While through me for her loss new love and pity spread.

At length along the flowery sward I saw So sweet and fair a lady pensive move That her mere thought inspires a tender awe; Meek in herself, but haughty against Love, Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine Seem'd gold and snow together there to join: But, ah! each charm above Was veil'd from sight in an unfriendly cloud: Stung by a lurking snake, as flowers that pine Her head she gently bow'd, And joyful pa.s.s'd on high, perchance secure: Alas! that in the world grief only should endure.

My song! in each sad change, These visions, as they rise, sweet, solemn, strange, But show how deeply in thy master's breast The fond desire abides to die and be at rest.

MACGREGOR.

BALLATA I.

_Amor, quando fioria._

HIS GRIEF AT SURVIVING HER IS MITIGATED BY THE CONSCIOUSNESS THAT SHE NOW KNOWS HIS HEART.

Yes, Love, at that propitious time When hope was in its bloomy prime, And when I vainly fancied nigh The meed of all my constancy; Then sudden she, of whom I sought Compa.s.sion, from my sight was caught.

O ruthless Death! O life severe!

The one has sunk me deep in care, And darken'd cruelly my day, That shone with hope's enlivening ray: The other, adverse to my will, Doth here on earth detain me still; And interdicts me to pursue Her, who from all its scenes withdrew: Yet in my heart resides the fair, For ever, ever present there; Who well perceives the ills that wait Upon my wretched, mortal state.

NOTT.

Yes, Love, while hope still bloom'd with me in pride, While seem'd of all my faith the guerdon nigh, She, upon whom for mercy I relied, Was ravish'd from my doting desolate eye.

O ruthless Death! O life unwelcome! this Plunged me in deepest woe, And rudely crush'd my every hope of bliss; Against my will that keeps me here below, Who else would yearn to go, And join the sainted fair who left us late; Yet present every hour In my heart's core there wields she her old power, And knows, whate'er my life, its every state!

MACGREGOR.

CANZONE IV.

_Tacer non posso, e temo non adopre._

HE RECALLS HER MANY GRACES.

Fain would I speak--too long has silence seal'd Lips that would gladly with my full heart move With one consent, and yield Homage to her who listens from above; Yet how can I, without thy prompting, Love, With mortal words e'er equal things divine, And picture faithfully The high humility whose chosen shrine Was that fair prison whence she now is free?