Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarch

“So in my verse would I be rude and stern.”

  What do I say? where am I? — My own heart

  And its misplaced desires alone deceive!

  Though my view travel utmost heaven athwart

  No planet there condemns me thus to grieve:

  Why, if the body’s veil obscure my sight,

  Blame to the stars impart.

  Or other things as bright?

  Within me reigns my tyrant, day and night,

  Since, for his triumph, me a captive took

  “Her lovely face, and lustrous eyes’ dear look.”

  While all things else in Nature’s boundless reign

  Came good from the Eternal Master’s mould,

  I look for such desert in me in vain:

  Me the light wounds that I around behold;

  To the true splendour if I turn at last,

  My eye would shrink in pain,

  Whose own fault o’er it cast

  Such film, and not the fatal day long past,

  When first her angel beauty met my view,

  “In the sweet season when my life was new.”

  MACGREGOR.

  CANZONE VIII.

  Perchè la vita è breve.

  IN PRAISE OF LAURA’S EYES: THE DIFFICULTY OF HIS THEME.

  Since human life is frail,

  And genius trembles at the lofty theme,

  I little confidence in either place;

  But let my tender wail

  There, where it ought, deserved attention claim,

  That wail which e’en in silence we may trace.

  O beauteous eyes, where Love doth nestling stay!

  To you I turn my insufficient lay,

  Unapt to flow; but passion’s goad I feel:

  And he of you who sings

  Such courteous habit by the strain is taught,

  That, borne on amorous wings,

  He soars above the reach of vulgar thought:

  Exalted thus, I venture to reveal

  What long my cautious heart has labour’d to conceal.

  Yes, well do I perceive

  To you how wrongful is my scanty praise;

  Yet the strong impulse cannot be withstood,

  That urges, since I view’d

  What fancy to the sight before ne’er gave,

  What ne’er before graced mine, or higher lays.

  Bright authors of my sadly-pleasing state,

  That you alone conceive me well I know,

  When to your fierce beams I become as snow!

  Your elegant disdain

  Haply then kindles at my worthless strain.

  Did not this dread create

  Some mitigation of my bosom’s heat,

  Death would be bliss: for greater joy ’twould give

  With them to suffer death, without them than to live.

  If not consumèd quite,

  I the weak object of a flame so strong:

  ’Tis not that safety springs from native might,

  But that some fear restrains,

  Which chills the current circling through my veins;

  Strengthening this heart, that it may suffer long.

  O hills, O vales, O forests, floods, and fields,

  Ye who have witness’d how my sad life flows,

  Oft have ye heard me call on death for aid.

  Ah, state surcharged with woes!

  To stay destroys, and flight no succour yields.

  But had not higher dread

  Withheld, some sudden effort I had made

  To end my sorrows and protracted pains,

  Of which the beauteous cause insensible remains.

  Why lead me, grief, astray

  From my first theme to chant a different lay?

  Let me proceed where pleasure may invite.

  ’Tis not of you I ‘plain,

  O eyes, beyond compare serenely bright;

  Nor yet of him who binds me in his chain.

  Ye clearly can behold the hues that Love

  Scatters ofttime on my dejected face;

  And fancy may his inward workings trace

  There where, whole nights and days,

  He rules with power derived from your bright rays:

  What rapture would ye prove,

  If you, dear lights, upon yourselves could gaze!

  But, frequent as you bend your beams on me,

  What influence you possess you in another see.

  Oh! if to you were known

  That beauty which I sing, immense, divine.

  As unto him on whom its glories shine!

  The heart had then o’erflown

  With joy unbounded, such as is denied

  Unto that nature which its acts doth guide.

  How happy is the soul for you that sighs,

  Celestial lights! which lend a charm to life,

  And make me bless what else I should not prize!

  Ah! why, so seldom why

  Afford what ne’er can cause satiety?

  More often to your sight

  Why not bring Love, who holds me constant strife?

  And why so soon of joys despoil me quite,

  Which ever and anon my tranced soul delight?

  Yes, ‘debted to your grace,

  Frequent I feel throughout my inmost soul

  Unwonted floods of sweetest rapture roll;

  Relieving so the mind,

  That all oppressive thoughts are left behind,

  And of a thousand only one has place;

  For which alone this life is dear to me.

  Oh! might the blessing of duration prove,

  Not equall’d then could my condition be!

  But this would, haply, move

  In others envy, in myself vain pride.

  That pain should be allied

  To pleasure is, alas! decreed above;

  Then, stifling all the ardour of desire,

  Homeward I turn my thoughts, and in myself retire.

  So sweetly shines reveal’d

  The amorous thought within your soul which dwells,

  That other joys it from my heart expels:

  Hence I aspire to frame

  Lays whereon Hope may build a deathless name,

  When in the tomb my dust shall lie conceal’d.

  At your approach anguish and sorrow fly;

  These, as your beams retire, again draw nigh;

  Yet outward acts their influence ne’er betray,

  For doting memory

  Dwells on the past, and chases them away.

  Whatever, then, of worth

  My genius ripens owes to you its birth.

  To you all honour and all praise is due —

  Myself a barren soil, and cultured but by you.

  Thy strains, O song! appease me not, but fire,

  Chanting a theme that wings my wild desire:

  Trust me, thou shalt ere long a sister-song acquire.

  NOTT.

  Since mortal life is frail,

  And my mind shrinks from lofty themes deterr’d,

  But small the trust which I in either feel:

  Yet hope I that my wail,

  Which vainly I in silence would conceal,

  Shall, where I wish, where most it ought, be heard.

  Beautiful eyes! wherein Love makes his nest,

  To you my song its feeble descant turns,

  Slow of itself, but now by passion spurr’d;

  Who sings of you is blest,

  And from his theme such courteous habit learns

  That, borne on wings of love,

  Proudly he soars each viler thought above;

  Encouraged thus, what long my harass’d heart

  Has kept conceal’d, I venture to impart.

  Yet do I know full well

  How much my praise must wrongful prove to you,

  But how the great desire can I oppose,

  Which ever in me grows,

  Since what surpasses thought ’twas mine to view,

  Though th
at nor others’ wit nor mine can tell?

  Eyes! guilty authors of my cherish’d pain,

  That you alone can judge me, well I know,

  When from your burning beams I melt like snow,

  Haply your sweet disdain

  Offence in my unworthiness may see;

  Ah! were there not such fear,

  To calm the heat with which I kindle near,

  ‘Twere bliss to die: for better far to me

  Were death with them than life without could be.

  If yet not wasted quite —

  So frail a thing before so fierce a flame —

  ’Tis not from my own strength that safety came,

  But that some fear gives might,

  Freezing the warm blood coursing through its veins,

  To my poor heart better to bear the strife.

  O valleys, hills, O forests, floods, and plains,

  Witnesses of my melancholy life!

  For death how often have ye heard me pray!

  Ah, miserable fate!

  Where flight avails not, though ’tis death to stay;

  But, if a dread more great

  Restrain’d me not, despair would find a way,

  Speedy and short, my lingering pains to close,

  — Hers then the crime who still no mercy shows.

  Why thus astray, O grief,

  Lead me to speak what I would leave unsaid?

  Leave me, where pleasure me impels, to tread:

  Not now my song complains

  Of you, sweet eyes, serene beyond belief,

  Nor yet of him who binds me in such chains:

  Right well may you observe the varying hues

  Which o’er my visage oft the tyrant strews,

  And thence may guess what war within he makes,

  Where night and day he reigns,

  Strong in the power which from your light he takes:

  Blessèd ye were as bright,

  Save that from you is barr’d your own dear sight:

  Yet often as to me those orbs you turn,

  What they to others are you well may learn.

  If, as to us who gaze

  Were known to you the charms incredible

  And heavenly, of which I sing the praise,

  No measured joy would swell

  Your heart, and haply, therefore, ’tis denied

  Unto the power which doth their motions guide.

  Happy the soul for you which breathes the sigh,

  Best lights of heaven! for whom I grateful bless

  This life, which has for me no other joy.

  Alas! so seldom why

  Give me what I can ne’er too much possess?

  Why not more often see

  The ceaseless havoc which love makes of me?

  And why that bliss so quickly from me steal,

  From time to time which my rapt senses feel?

  Yes, thanks, great thanks to you!

  From time to time I feel through all my soul

  A sweetness so unusual and new,

  That every marring care

  And gloomy vision thence begins to roll,

  So that, from all, one only thought is there.

  That — that alone consoles me life to bear:

  And could but this my joy endure awhile,

  Nought earthly could, methinks, then match my state.

  Yet such great honour might

  Envy in others, pride in me excite:

  Thus still it seems the fate

  Of man, that tears should chase his transient smile:

  And, checking thus my burning wishes, I

  Back to myself return, to muse and sigh.

  The amorous anxious thought,

  Which reigns within you, flashes so on me,

  That from my heart it draws all other joy;

  Whence works and words so wrought

  Find scope and issue, that I hope to be

  Immortal made, although all flesh must die.

  At your approach ennui and anguish fly;

  With your departure they return again:

  But memory, on the past which doting dwells,

  Denies them entrance then,

  So that no outward act their influence tells;

  Thus, if in me is nurst

  Any good fruit, from you the seed came first:

  To you, if such appear, the praise is due,

  Barren myself till fertilized by you.

  Thy strains appease me not, O song!

  But rather fire me still that theme to sing

  Where centre all my thoughts — therefore, ere long,

  A sister ode to join thee will I bring.

  MACGREGOR.

  CANZONE IX.

  Gentil mia donna, i’ veggio.

  IN PRAISE OF LAURA’S EYES: THEY LEAD HIM TO CONTEMPLATE THE PATH OF LIFE.

  Lady, in your bright eyes

  Soft glancing round, I mark a holy light,

  Pointing the arduous way that heavenward lies;

  And to my practised sight,

  From thence, where Love enthroned, asserts his might,

  Visibly, palpably, the soul beams forth.

  This is the beacon guides to deeds of worth,

  And urges me to seek the glorious goal;

  This bids me leave behind the vulgar throng,

  Nor can the human tongue

  Tell how those orbs divine o’er all my soul

  Exert their sweet control,

  Both when hoar winter’s frosts around are flung,

  And when the year puts on his youth again,

  Jocund, as when this bosom first knew pain.

  Oh! if in that high sphere,

  From whence the Eternal Ruler of the stars

  In this excelling work declared his might,

  All be as fair and bright,

  Loose me from forth my darksome prison here,

  That to so glorious life the passage bars;

  Then, in the wonted tumult of my breast,

  I hail boon Nature, and the genial day

  That gave me being, and a fate so blest,

  And her who bade hope beam

  Upon my soul; for till then burthensome

  Was life itself become:

  But now, elate with touch of self-esteem,

  High thoughts and sweet within that heart arise,

  Of which the warders are those beauteous eyes.

  No joy so exquisite

  Did Love or fickle Fortune ere devise,

  In partial mood, for favour’d votaries,

  But I would barter it

  For one dear glance of those angelic eyes,

  Whence springs my peace as from its living root.

  O vivid lustre! of power absolute

  O’er all my being — source of that delight,

  By which consumed I sink, a willing prey.

  As fades each lesser ray

  Before your splendour more intense and bright,

  So to my raptured heart,

  When your surpassing sweetness you impart,

  No other thought of feeling may remain

  Where you, with Love himself, despotic reign.

  All sweet emotions e’er

  By happy lovers felt in every clime,

  Together all, may not with mine compare,

  When, as from time to time,

  I catch from that dark radiance rich and deep

  A ray in which, disporting, Love is seen;

  And I believe that from my cradled sleep,

  By Heaven provided this resource hath been,

  ‘Gainst adverse fortune, and my nature frail.

  Wrong’d am I by that veil,

  And the fair hand which oft the light eclipse,

  That all my bliss hath wrought;

  And whence the passion struggling on my lips,

  Both day and night, to vent the breast o’erfraught,

  Still varying as I read her varying thought.

  For that (with pain I find)

&nb
sp; Not Nature’s poor endowments may alone

  Render me worthy of a look so kind,

  I strive to raise my mind

  To match with the exalted hopes I own,

  And fires, though all engrossing, pure as mine.

  If prone to good, averse to all things base,

  Contemner of what worldlings covet most,

  I may become by long self-discipline.

  Haply this humble boast

  May win me in her fair esteem a place;

  For sure the end and aim

  Of all my tears, my sorrowing heart’s sole claim,

  Were the soft trembling of relenting eyes,

  The generous lover’s last, best, dearest prize.

  My lay, thy sister-song is gone before.

  And now another in my teeming brain

  Prepares itself: whence I resume the strain.

  DACRE.

  CANZONE X.

  Poichè per mio destino.

  IN PRAISE OF LAURA’S EYES: IN THEM HE FINDS EVERY GOOD, AND HE CAN NEVER CEASE TO PRAISE THEM.

  Since then by destiny

  I am compell’d to sing the strong desire,

  Which here condemns me ceaselessly to sigh,

  May Love, whose quenchless fire

  Excites me, be my guide and point the way,

  And in the sweet task modulate my lay:

  But gently be it, lest th’ o’erpowering theme

  Inflame and sting me, lest my fond heart may

  Dissolve in too much softness, which I deem,

  From its sad state, may be:

  For in me — hence my terror and distress!

  Not now as erst I see

  Judgment to keep my mind’s great passion less:

  Nay, rather from mine own thoughts melt I so,

  As melts before the summer sun the snow.

  At first I fondly thought

  Communing with mine ardent flame to win

  Some brief repose, some time of truce within:

  This was the hope which brought

  Me courage what I suffer’d to explain,

  Now, now it leaves me martyr to my pain:

  But still, continuing mine amorous song,

  Must I the lofty enterprise maintain;

  So powerful is the wish that in me glows,

  That Reason, which so long

  Restrain’d it, now no longer can oppose.

  Then teach me, Love, to sing

  In such frank guise, that ever if the ear

  Of my sweet foe should chance the notes to hear,

  Pity, I ask no more, may in her spring.

  If, as in other times,

  When kindled to true virtue was mankind,

  The genius, energy of man could find

  Entrance in divers climes,

  Mountains and seas o’erpassing, seeking there

  Honour, and culling oft its garland fair,

  Mine were such wish, not mine such need would be.