The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch Part 97

This Hypsicratea is, the virtuous fair, Who for her husband's dear love cut her hair, And served in all his wars: this is the wife Of Brutus, Portia, constant in her life And death: this Julia is, who seems to moan, That Pompey loved best, when she was gone.

Look here and see the Patriarch much abused Who twice seven years for his fair Rachel choosed To serve: O powerful love increased by woe!

His father this: now see his grandsire go With Sarah from his home. This cruel Love O'ercame good David; so it had power to move His righteous heart to that abhorred crime, For which he sorrow'd all his following time; Just such like error soil'd his wise son's fame, For whose idolatry G.o.d's anger came: Here's he who in one hour could love and hate: Here Tamar, full of anguish, wails her state; Her brother Absalom attempts t' appease Her grieved soul. Samson takes care to please His fancy; and appears more strong than wise, Who in a traitress' bosom sleeping lies.

Amongst those pikes and spears which guard the place, Love, wine, and sleep, a beauteous widow's face And pleasing art hath Holophernes ta'en; She back again retires, who hath him slain, With her one maid, bearing the horrid head In haste, and thanks G.o.d that so well she sped.

The next is Sichem, he who found his death In circ.u.mcision; his father hath Like mischief felt; the city all did prove The same effect of his rash violent love.

You see Ahasuerus how well he bears His loss; a new love soon expels his cares; This cure in this disease doth seldom fail, One nail best driveth out another nail.

If you would see love mingled oft with hate, Bitter with sweet, behold fierce Herod's state, Beset with love and cruelty at once: Enraged at first, then late his fault bemoans, And Mariamne calls; those three fair dames (Who in the list of captives write their names) Procris, Deidamia, Artemisia were All good, the other three as wicked are-- Semiramis, Byblis, and Myrrha named, Who of their crooked ways are now ashamed Here be the erring knights in ancient scrolls, Lancelot, Tristram, and the vulgar souls That wait on these; Guenever, and the fair Isond, with other lovers; and the pair Who, as they walk together, seem to plain, Their just, but cruel fate, by one hand slain."

Thus he discoursed: and as a man that fears Approaching harm, when he a trumpet hears, Starts at the blow ere touch'd, my frighted blood Retired: as one raised from his tomb I stood; When by my side I spied a lovely maid, (No turtle ever purer whiteness had!) And straight was caught (who lately swore I would Defend me from a man at arms), nor could Resist the wounds of words with motion graced: The image yet is in my fancy placed.

My friend was willing to increase my woe, And smiling whisper'd,--"You alone may go Confer with whom you please, for now we are All stained with one crime." My sullen care Was like to theirs, who are more grieved to know Another's happiness than their own woe; For seeing her, who had enthrall'd my mind, Live free in peace, and no disturbance find: And seeing that I knew my hurt too late.

And that her beauty was my dying fate: Love, jealousy, and envy held my sight So fix'd on that fair face, no other light I could behold; like one who in the rage Of sickness greedily his thirst would 'suage With hurtful drink, which doth his palate please, Thus (blind and deaf t' all other joys are ease) So many doubtful ways I follow'd her, The memory still shakes my soul with fear.

Since when mine eyes are moist, and view the ground, My heart is heavy, and my steps have found A solitary dwelling 'mongst the woods, I stray o'er rocks and fountains, hills and floods: Since when such store my scatter'd papers hold Of thoughts, of tears, of ink; which oft I fold, Unfold, and tear: since when I know the scope Of Love, and what they fear, and what they hope; And how they live that in his cloister dwell, The skilful in their face may read it well.

Meanwhile I see, how fierce and gallant she Cares not for me, nor for my misery, Proud of her virtue, and my overthrow: And on the other side (if aught I know), This lord, who hath the world in triumph led, She keeps in fear; thus all my hopes are dead, No strength nor courage left, nor can I be Revenged, as I expected once; for he, Who tortures me and others, is abused By her; she'll not be caught, and long hath used (Rebellious as she is!) to shun his wars, And is a sun amidst the lesser stars.

Her grace, smiles, slights, her words in order set; Her hair dispersed or in a golden net; Her eyes inflaming with a light divine So burn my heart, I dare no more repine.

Ah, who is able fully to express Her pleasing ways, her merit? No excess, No bold hyperboles I need to fear, My humble style cannot enough come near The truth; my words are like a little stream Compared with th' ocean, so large a theme Is that high praise; new worth, not seen before, Is seen in her, and can be seen no more; Therefore all tongues are silenced; and I, Her prisoner now, see her at liberty: And night and day implore (O unjust fate!) She neither hears nor pities my estate: Hard laws of Love! But though a partial lot I plainly see in this, yet must I not Refuse to serve: the G.o.ds, as well as men, With like reward of old have felt like pain.

Now know I how the mind itself doth part (Now making peace, now war, now truce)--what art Poor lovers use to hide their stinging woe: And how their blood now comes, and now doth go Betwixt their heart and cheeks, by shame or fear: How they be eloquent, yet speechless are; And how they both ways lean, they watch and sleep, Languish to death, yet life and vigour keep: I trod the paths made happy by her feet, And search the foe I am afraid to meet.

I know how lovers metamorphosed are To that they love: I know what tedious care I feel; how vain my joy, how oft I change Design and countenance; and (which is strange) I live without a soul: I know the way To cheat myself a thousand times a day: I know to follow while I flee my fire I freeze when present; absent, my desire Is hot: I know what cruel rigour Love Practiseth on the mind, and doth remove All reason thence, and how he racks the heart: And how a soul hath neither strength nor art Without a helper to resist his blows: And how he flees, and how his darts he throws: And how his threats the fearful lover feels: And how he robs by force, and how he steals: How oft his wheels turn round (now high, now low) With how uncertain hope, how certain woe: How all his promises be void of faith, And how a fire hid in our bones he hath: How in our veins he makes a secret wound, Whence open flames and death do soon abound.

In sum, I know how giddy and how vain Be lovers' lives; what fear and boldness reign In all their ways; how every sweet is paid.

And with a double weight of sour allay'd: I also know their customs, sighs, and songs; Their sudden muteness, and their stammering tongues: How short their joy, how long their pain doth last, How wormwood spoileth all their honey's taste.

ANNA HUME.

PART IV.

_Poscia che mia fortuna in forza altrui._

When once my will was captive by my fate, And I had lost the liberty, which late Made my life happy; I, who used before To flee from Love (as fearful deer abhor The following huntsman), suddenly became (Like all my fellow-servants) calm and tame; And view'd the travails, wrestlings, and the smart, The crooked by-paths, and the cozening art That guides the amorous flock: then whilst mine eye I cast in every corner, to espy Some ancient or modern who had proved Famous, I saw him, who had only loved Eurydice, and found out h.e.l.l, to call Her dear ghost back; he named her in his fall For whom he died. Aleaeus there was known, Skilful in love and verse: Anacreon, Whose muse sung nought but love: Pindarus, he Was also there: there I might Virgil see: Many brave wits I found, some looser rhymes, By others writ, hath pleased the ancient times: Ovid was one: after Catullus came: Propertius next, his elegies the name Of Cynthia bear: Tibullus, and the young Greek poetess, who is received among The n.o.ble troop for her rare Sapphic muse.

Thus looking here and there (as oft I use), I spied much people on a flowery plain, Amongst themselves disputes of love maintain.

Behold Beatrice with Dante; Selvaggia, she Brought her Pistoian Cino; Guitton may be Offended that he is the latter named: Behold both Guidos for their learning famed: Th' honest Bolognian: the Sicilians first Wrote love in rhymes, but wrote their rhymes the worst.

Franceschin and Sennuccio (whom all know) Were worthy and humane: after did go A squadron of another garb and phrase, Of whom Arnaldo Daniel hath most praise, Great master in Love's art, his style, as new As sweet, honours his country: next, a few Whom Love did lightly wound: both Peters made Two: one, the less Arnaldo: some have had A harder war; both the Rimbaldos, th' one Sung Beatrice, though her quality was known Too much above his reach in Montferrat.

Alvernia's old Piero, and Girault: Folchetto, who from Genoa was estranged And call'd Marsilian, he wisely changed His name, his state, his country, and did gain In all: Jeffray made haste to catch his bane With sails and oars: Guilliam, too, sweetly sung That pleasing art, was cause he died so young.

Amarig, Bernard, Hugo, and Anselm Were there, with thousands more, whose tongues were helm, Shield, sword, and spear, all their offensive arms, And their defensive to prevent their harms.

From those I turn'd, comparing my own woe, To view my country-folks; and there might know The good Toma.s.so, who did once adorn Bologna, now Messina holds his urn.

Ah, vanish'd joys! Ah, life too full of bane!

How wert thou from mine eyes so quickly ta'en!

Since without thee nothing is in my power To do, where art thou from me at this hour?

What is our life? If aught it bring of ease, A sick man's dream, a fable told to please.

Some few there from the common road did stray; Laelius and Socrates, with whom I may A longer progress take: Oh, what a pair Of dear esteemed friends to me they were!

'Tis not my verse, nor prose, may reach thieir praise; Neither of these can naked virtue raise Above her own true place: with them I have Reach'd many heights; one yoke of learning gave Laws to our steps, to them my fester'd wound I oft have show'd; no time or place I found To part from them; and hope, and wish we may Be undivided till my breath decay: With them I used (too early) to adorn My head with th' honour'd branches, only worn For her dear sake I did so deeply love, Who fill'd my thoughts; but ah! I daily prove, No fruit nor leaves from thence can gather'd be: The root hath sharp and bitter been to me.

For this I was accustomed much to vex, But I have seen that which my anger checks: (A theme for buskins, not a comic stage) She took the G.o.d, adored by the rage Of such dull fools as he had captive led: But first, I'll tell you what of us he made; Then, from her hand what was his own sad fate, Which Orpheus or Homer might relate.

His winged coursers o'er the ditches leapt, And we their way as desperately kept, Till he had reached where his mother reigns, Nor would he ever pull or turn the reins; But scour'd o'er woods and mountains; none did care Nor could discern in what strange world they were.

Beyond the place, where old aegeus mourns, An island lies, Phoebus none sweeter burns, Nor Neptune ever bathed a better sh.o.r.e: About the midst a beauteous hill, with store Of shades and pleasing smells, so fresh a spring As drowns all manly thoughts: this place doth bring Venus much joy; 't was given her deity, Ere blind man knew a truer G.o.d than she: Of which original it yet retains Too much, so little goodness there remains, That it the vicious doth only please, Is by the virtuous shunn'd as a disease.

Here this fine Lord insulteth o'er us all Tied in a chain, from Thule to Ganges' fall.

Griefs in our b.r.e.a.s.t.s, vanity in our arms; Fleeting delights are there, and weighty harms: Repentance swiftly following to annoy: (Such Tarquin found it, and the bane of Troy) All that whole valley with the echoes rung Of running brooks, and birds that gently sung: The banks were clothed in yellow, purple, green, Scarlet and white, their pleasing springs were seen; And gliding streams amongst the tender gra.s.s, Thickets and soft winds to refresh the place.

After when winter maketh sharp the air, Warm leaves, and leisure, sports, and gallant cheer Enthrall low minds. Now th' equinox hath made The day t' equal the night; and Progne had With her sweet sister, each their old task ta'en: (Ah! how the faith in fortune placed is vain!) Just in the time, and place, and in the hour When humble tears should earthly joys devour, It pleased him, whom th' vulgar honour so, To triumph over me; and now I know What miserable servitude they prove, What ruin, and what death, that fall in love.

Errors, dreams, paleness waiteth on his chair, False fancies o'er the door, and on the stair Are slippery hopes, unprofitable gain, And gainful loss; such steps it doth contain, As who descend, may boast their fortune best; Who most ascend, most fall: a wearied rest, And resting trouble, glorious disgrace; A duskish and obscure ill.u.s.triousness; Unfaithful loyalty, and cozening faith, That nimble fury, lazy reason hath: A prison, whose wide ways do all receive, Whose narrow paths a hard retiring leave: A steep descent, by which we slide with ease, But find no hold our crawling steps to raise: Within confusion, turbulence, annoy Are mix'd; undoubted woe, and doubtful joy: Vulcano, where the sooty Cyclops dwell; Liparis, Stromboli, nor Mongibel, Nor Ischia, have more horrid noise and smoke: He hates himself that stoops to such a yoke.

Thus were we all throng'd in so strait a cage, I changed my looks and hair, before my age, Dreaming on liberty (by strong desire My soul made apt to hope), and did admire Those gallant minds, enslaved to such a woe (My heart within my breast dissolved like snow Before the sun), as one would side-ways cast His eye on pictures, which his feet hath pa.s.s'd.

ANNA HUME.

THE SAME.

PART I.

The fatal morning dawn'd that brought again The sad memorial of my ancient pain; That day, the source of long-protracted woe, When I began the plagues of Love to know, Hyperion's throne, along the azure field, Between the splendid horns of Taurus wheel'd; And from her spouse the Queen of Morn withdrew Her sandals, gemm'd with frost-bespangled dew.

Sad recollection, rising with the morn, Of my disastrous love, repaid with scorn, Oppressed my sense; till welcome soft repose Gave a short respite from my swelling woes.

Then seem'd I in a vision borne away, Where a deep winding vale sequester'd lay; Nor long I rested on the flowery green Ere a soft radiance dawn'd along the scene.-- Fallacious sign of hope! for, close behind, Dark shades of coming woe were seen combined.

There, on his car, a conqu'ring chief I spied, Like Rome's proud sons, that led the living tide Of vanquished foes, in long triumphal state, To Capitolian Jove's disclosing gate.

With little joy I saw the splendid show, Spent and dejected by my lengthen'd woe; Sick of the world, and all its worthless train, That world, where all the hateful pa.s.sions reign; And yet intent the mystic cause to find, (For knowledge is the banquet of the mind) Languid and slow I turn'd my cheerless eyes On the proud warrior, and his uncouth guise.

High on his seat an archer youth was seen, With loaded quiver, and malicious mien Nor plate, nor mail, his cruel shaft can ward, Nor polish'd burganet the temples guard; His burning chariot seem'd by coursers drawn; While, like the snows that clothe the wintry lawn His waving wings with rainbow colour gay On either naked shoulder seem'd to play; And, filing far behind, a countless train In sad procession hid the groaning plain: Some, captive, seem'd in long disastrous strife, Some, in the deadly fray, bereft of life; And freshly wounded some. A viewless hand Led me to mingle with the mornful band, And learn the fortunes of the sentenced crew, Who, pierced by Love, had bid the world adieu.

With keen survey I mark'd the ghostly show, To find a shade among the sons of woe To memory known: but every trace was lost In the dim features of the moving host: Oblivion's hand had drawn a dark disguise O'er their wan lineaments and beamless eyes.

At length, a pallid face I seem'd to know; Which wore, methought, a lighter mask of woe; He call'd me by my name.--"Behold!" he cried, "What plagues the hapless thralls of Love abide!"-- "How am I known by thee?" with new surprise I cried; "no mark recalls thee to my eyes."-- "Oh, heavy is my load!" he seem'd to say; "Through this dark medium no detecting ray a.s.sists thy sight; but I, like thee, can boast My birth on famed Etruria's ancient coast."-- The secret which his murky mask conceal'd, His well-known voice and Tuscan tongue reveal'd; Thence to a lighter station we repair'd, And thus the phantom spoke, with mild regard:-- "We thought to see thy name with ours enroll'd Long since; for oft thy looks this fate foretold."-- "True," I replied; "but I survived the strife: His arrows reach'd me, but were short of life."-- Pausing, he spoke:--"A spark to flame will rise, And bear thy name in glory to the skies."-- His meaning was obscure, but in my breast I felt the substance of his words impress'd, As sculptured stone, or monumental bra.s.s, Keeps the firm record, or heroic face.

With youthful ardour new, and hope inspired, Quick from my grave companion I required The name and fortunes of the pa.s.sing train.

And why in mournful pomp they trod the plain-- "Time," he return'd, "the secret then will show, When thou shalt join the retinue of woe: But years shall sprinkle o'er thy locks with gray, And alter'd looks the signs of age betray, Ere at his powerful touch the fetters fall, Which many a moon thy captive limbs shall gall: Yet will I grant thy suit, and give to view The various fortunes of the captive crew: But mark their leader first, that chief renown'd-- The Power of Love! by every nation own'd.

His sway thou soon, as well as we, shalt know, Stung to the heart by goads of dulcet woe.

In him unthinking youth's misgovern'd rage, Join'd with the cool malignity of age, Is known to mingle with insidious guile, Deep, deep conceal'd beneath an infant's smile.

The child of slothful ease, and sensual heat-- By sweet delirious thoughts, in dark retreat, Mature in mischief grown--he springs away, A winged G.o.d, and thousands own his sway.

Some, as thou seest, are number'd with the dead, And some the bitter drops of sorrow shed Through lingering life, by viewless tangles bound, That link the soul, and chain it to the ground.

There Caesar walks! of Celtic laurels proud.

Nor feels himself in sensual bondage bow'd: He treads the flowery path, nor sees the snare Laid for his honour by the Egyptian fair.

Here Love his triumph shows, and leads along The world's great owner in the captive throng; And o'er the master of unscepter'd kings Exulting soars, and claps his purple wings.

See his adopted son! he knew her guile, And n.o.bly scorn'd the siren of the Nile; Yet fell by Roman charms and from her spouse The pregnant consort bore, regardless of her vows There, cruel Nero feels his iron heart Lanced by imperious Love's resistless dart; Replete with rage, and scorning human ties, He falls the victim of two conquering eyes; Deep ambush'd there in philosophic spoils, The little tyrant tries his artful wiles: E'en in that hallow'd breast, where, deep enshrined, Lay all the varied treasures of the mind, He lodged his venom'd shaft. The h.o.a.ry sage, Like meaner mortals, felt the pa.s.sion rage In boundless fury for a strumpet's charms, And clasp'd the shining mischief in his arms.-- See Dionysius link'd with Pherae's lord, Pale doubt and dread on either front abhorr'd.

Scowl terrible! yet Love a.s.sign'd their doom; A wife and mistress mark'd them for the tomb!-- The next is he that on Antandros' coast His fair Creusa mourn'd, for ever lost; Yet cut the bonds of Love on Tyber's sh.o.r.e, And bought a bride with young Evander's gore.

Here droop'd the victim of a lawless flame: The amorous frenzy of the Cretan dame He fled abhorrent, and contemn'd her tears, And to the dire suggestion closed his ears.

But nought, alas! his purity avail'd-- Fate in his flight the hapless youth a.s.sail'd, By interdicted Love to Vengeance fired; And by his father's curse the son expired.

The stepdame shared his fate, and dearly paid A spouse, a sister, and a son betray'd: Her conscience, by the false impeachment stung, Upon herself return'd the deadly wrong; And he, that broke before his plighted vows, Met his deserts in an adulterous spouse.

See! where he droops between the sister dames, And fondly melts--the other scorns his flames,-- The mighty slave of Omphale behind Is seen, and he whom Love and fraud combined Sent to the shades of everlasting night; And still he seems to weep his wretched plight.-- There, Phyllis mourns Demophoon's broken vows, And fell Medea there pursues her spouse; With impious boast, and shrill upbraiding cries, She tells him how she broke the holy ties Of kindred for his sake; the guilty sh.o.r.e That from her poignard drank a brother's gore; The deep affliction of her royal sire.

Who heard her flight with imprecations dire.-- See! beauteous Helen, with her Trojan swain-- The royal youth that fed his amorous pain, With ardent gaze, on those destructive charms That waken'd half the warring world to arms-- Yonder, behold Oenone's wild despair, Who mourns the triumphs of the Spartan fair!

The injured husband answers groan for groan, And young Hermione with piteous moan Orestes calls; while Laodamia near Bewails her valiant consort's fate severe.-- Adrastus' daughter there laments her spouse Sincere and constant to her nuptial vows; Yet, lured by her, with gold's seductive aid, Her lord, Eriphile, to death betray'd."

And now, the baleful anthem, loud and long, Rose in full chorus from the pa.s.sing throng; And Love's sad name, the cause of all their woes, In execrations seem'd the dirge to close.-- But who the number and the names can tell Of those that seem'd the deadly strain to swell!-- Not men alone, but G.o.ds my dream display'd-- Celestial wailings fill'd the myrtle shade: Soft Venus, with her lover, mourn'd the snare, The King of Shades, and Proserpine the fair; Juno, whose frown disclosed her jealous spite; Nor, less enthrall'd by Love, the G.o.d of light, Who held in scorn the winged warrior's dart Till in his breast he felt the fatal smart.-- Each G.o.d, whose name the learned Roman told, In Cupid's numerous levy seem'd enroll'd; And, bound before his car in fetters strong, In sullen state the Thunderer march'd along.

BOYD.

PART II.

Thus, as I view'd th' interminable host, The prospect seem'd at last in dimness lost: But still the wish remain'd their doom to know, As, watchful, I survey'd the pa.s.sing show.

As each majestic form emerged to light, Thither, intent, I turn'd my sharpen'd sight; And soon a n.o.ble pair my notice drew, That, hand in hand approaching, met my view.

In gentle parley, and communion sweet-- With looks of love, they seem'd mine eyes to meet; Yet strange was their attire--their tongue unknown Spoke them the natives of a distant zone; But every doubt my kind a.s.sistant clear'd, Instant I knew them, when their names were heard.

To one, encouraged by his aspect mild, I spoke--the other with a frown recoil'd.-- "O Masinissa!"--thus my speech began, "By Scipio's friendship, and the gentle ban Of constant love, attend my warm request."

Turning around, the solemn shade address'd His answer thus:--"With like desire I glow Your lineage, name, and character, to know, Since you have learnt my name." With soft reply I said, "A name like mine can nought supply The notice of renown like yours to claim.

No smother'd spark like mine emits a flame To catch the public eye, as you can boast-- A leading name in Cupid's numerous host!