The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 86

Which held, erewhile, her gentle spirit, when So in my conscious heart her power began.

That, instantly, I ran, --Alike o' th' year and me 'twas April then-- From these gay meadows round sweet flowers to bind, Hoping rich pleasure at her eyes to find.

The walls were alabaster, the roof gold, Ivory the doors, the sapphire windows lent Whence on my heart of old Its earliest sigh, as shall my last, was sent; In arrowy jets of fire thence came and went Arm'd messengers of love, whereof to think As then they were, with awe --Though now for them with laurel crown'd--I shrink Of one rare diamond, square, without a flaw, High in the midst a stately throne was placed Where sat the lovely lady all alone: In front a column shone Of crystal, and thereon each thought was traced In characters so clear, and quick, and true, By turns it gladden'd me and grieved to view.

To weapons such as these, sharp, burning, bright, To the green glorious banner waved above, --'Gainst which would fail in fight Mars, Polypheme, Apollo, mighty Jove-- While still my sorrow fresh and verdant throve, I stood defenceless, doom'd; her easy prey She led me as she chose Whence to escape I knew nor art nor way; But, as a friend, who, haply, grieves yet goes, Sees something still to lure his eyes and heart, Just so on her, for whom I am in thrall, Sole perfect work of all That graced her age, unable to depart, With such desire my rapt regards I set, As soon myself and misery to forget.

On earth myself, my heart in Eden dwelt, Lost in sweet Lethe every other care, As my live frame I felt To marble turn, watching that wonder rare; When old in years, but youthful still in air, A lady briefly, quietly drew nigh, And thus beholding me, With reverent aspect and admiring eye, Kind offer made my counsellor to be: "My power," she said, "is more than mortals know-- Lighter than air, I, in an instant, make Their hearts exult or ache, I loose and bind whate'er is seen below; Thine eyes, upon that sun, as eagles', bend, But to my words with willing ears attend.

"The day when she was born, the stars that win Prosperity for man shone bright above; Their high glad homes within Each on the other smiled with gratulant love; Fair Venus, and, with gentle aspect, Jove The beautiful and lordly mansions held: Seem'd as each adverse light Throughout all heaven was darken'd and dispell'd, The sun ne'er look'd upon a day so bright; The air and earth rejoiced; the waves had rest By lake and river, and o'er ocean green: 'Mid the enchanting scene One distant cloud alone my thought distress'd, Lest sometime it might be of tears the source Unless kind Heaven should elsewhere turn its course.

"When first she enter'd on this life below, Which, to say sooth, not worthy was to hold, 'Twas strange to see her so Angelical and dear in baby mould; A snowy pearl she seem'd in finest gold; Next as she crawl'd, or totter'd with short pace, Wood, water, earth, and stone Grew green, and clear, and soft; with livelier grace The sward beneath her feet and fingers shone; With flowers the champain to her bright eyes smiled; At her sweet voice, babbling through lips that yet From Love's own fount were wet, The hoa.r.s.e wind silent grew, the tempest mild: Thus clearly showing to the dull blind world How much in her was heaven's own light unfurl'd.

"At length, her life's third flowery epoch won, She, year by year, so grew in charms and worth, That ne'er, methinks, the sun Such gracefulness and beauty saw on earth; Her eyes so full of modesty and mirth, Music and welcome on her words so hung, That mute in her high praise, Which thine alone may sound, is every tongue: So bright her countenance with heavenly rays, Not long thy dazzled vision there may rest; From this her fair and fleshly tenement Such fire through thine is sent (Though gentler never kindled human breast), That yet I fear her sudden flight may be Too soon the cause of bitter grief to thee."

This said, she turn'd her to the rapid wheel Whereon she winds of mortal life the thread; Too true did she reveal The doom of woe which darken'd o'er my head!

A few brief years flew by, When she, for whom I so desire to die, By black and pitiless Death, who could not slay A fairer form than hers, was s.n.a.t.c.h'd away!

MACGREGOR.

SONNET LV.

_Or hai fatto l' estremo di tua possa._

DEATH MAY DEPRIVE HIM OF THE SIGHT OF HER BEAUTIES, BUT NOT OF THE MEMORY OF HER VIRTUES.

Now hast thou shown, fell Death! thine utmost might.

Through Love's bright realm hast want and darkness spread, Hast now cropp'd beauty's flower, its heavenly light Quench'd, and enclosed in the grave's narrow bed; Now hast thou life despoil'd of all delight, Its ornament and sovereign honour shed: But fame and worth it is not thine to blight; These mock thy power, and sleep not with the dead.

Be thine the mortal part; heaven holds the best, And, glorying in its brightness, brighter glows, While memory still records the great and good.

O thou, in thine high triumph, angel blest!

Let thy heart yield to pity of my woes, E'en as thy beauty here my soul subdued.

DACRE.

Now hast thou shown the utmost of thy might, O cruel Death! Love's kingdom hast thou rent, And made it poor; in narrow grave hast pent The blooming flower of beauty and its light!

Our wretched life thou hast despoil'd outright Of every honour, every ornament!

But then her fame, her worth, by thee unblent, Shall still survive!--her dust is all thy right; The rest heaven holds, proud of her charms divine As of a brighter sun. Nor dies she here-- Her memory lasts, to good men ever dear!

O angel new, in thy celestial sphere Let pity now thy sainted heart incline, As here below thy beauty vanquish'd mine!

CHARLEMONT.

SONNET LVI.

_L' aura e l' odore e 'l refrigerio e l' ombra._

HER OWN VIRTUES IMMORTALISE HER IN HEAVEN, AND HIS PRAISES ON EARTH.

The air and scent, the comfort and the shade Of my sweet laurel, and its flowery sight, That to my weary life gave rest and light, Death, spoiler of the world, has lowly laid.

As when the moon our sun's eclipse has made, My lofty light has vanish'd so in night; For aid against himself I Death invite; With thoughts so dark does Love my breast invade.

Thou didst but sleep, bright lady, a brief sleep, In bliss amid the chosen spirits to wake, Who gaze upon their G.o.d, distinct and near: And if my verse shall any value keep, Preserved and praised 'mid n.o.ble minds to make Thy name, its memory shall be deathless here.

MACGREGOR.

The fragrant gale, and the refreshing shade Of my sweet laurel, and its verdant form, That were my shelter in life's weary storm, Have felt the power that makes all nature fade: Now has my light been lost in gloomy shade, E'en as the sun behind his sister's form: I call for Death to free me from Death's storm, But Love descends and brings me better aid!

He tells me, lady, that one moment's sleep Alone was thine, and then thou didst awake Among the elect, and in thy Maker's arms: And if my verse oblivion's power can keep Aloof, thy name its place on earth-will take Where Genius still will dote upon thy charms!

MOREHEAD.

SONNET LVII.

_L' ultimo, la.s.so! de' miei giorni allegri._

HE REVERTS TO THEIR LAST MEETING.

The last, alas! of my bright days and glad --Few have been mine in this brief life below-- Had come; I felt my heart as tepid snow, Presage, perchance, of days both dark and sad.

As one in nerves, and pulse, and spirits bad, Who of some frequent fever waits the blow, E'en so I felt--for how could I foreknow Such near end of the half-joys I have had?

Her beauteous eyes, in heaven now bright and bless'd With the pure light whence health and life descends, (Wretched and beggar'd leaving me behind,) With chaste and soul-lit beams our grief address'd: "Tarry ye here in peace, beloved friends, Though here no more, we yet shall there be join'd."

MACGREGOR.

Ah me! the last of all my happy days (Not many happy days my years can show) Was come! I felt my heart as turn'd to snow, Presage, perhaps, that happiness decays!

E'en as the man whose shivering frame betrays, And fluttering pulse, the ague's coming blow; 'Twas thus I felt!--but could I therefore know How soon would end the bliss that never stays?

Those eyes that now, in heaven's delicious light, Drink in pure beams which life and glory rain, Just as they left mine, blinded, sunk in night, Seem'd thus to say, sparkling unwonted bright,-- "Awhile, beloved friends, in peace remain, Oh, we shall yet elsewhere exchange fond looks again!"

MOREHEAD.

SONNET LVIII.

_O giorno, o ora, o ultimo momento._

HE MOURNS HIS WANT OF PERCEPTION AT THAT MEETING.