Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarch

  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 passions 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

  Assists 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 brass,

  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 passing 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 wingèd god, 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 Cæsar 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 nobly 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 hoary sage,

  Like meaner mortals, felt the passion rage

  In boundless fury for a strumpet’s charms,

  And clasp’d the shining mischief in his arms. —

  See Dionysius link’d with Pheræ’s lord,

  Pale doubt and dread on either front abhorr’d.

  Scowl terrible! yet Love assign’d their doom;

  A wife and mistress mark’d them for the tomb! —

  The next is he that on Antandros’ coast

  His fair Crëusa mourn’d, for ever lost;

  Yet cut the bonds of Love on Tyber’s shore,

  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 assail’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 shore

  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 passing 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 gods 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 god of light,

  Who held in scorn the wingèd warrior’s dart

  Till in his breast he felt the fatal smart. —

  Each god, 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 passing show.

  As each majestic form emerged to light,

  Thither, intent, I turn’d my sharpen’d sight;

  And soon a noble 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 assistant 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!

  Alike his future victims and the past

  Shall own the common tie, while time itself shall last.

  But tell me (if your guide allow a space

  The semblance of those tendant shades to trace)

  The names and fortunes of the following pair

  Who seem the noblest gifts of mind to share.” —

  “My name,” he said, “you seem to know so well

  That faithful Memory all the rest can tell;

  But as the sad detail may soothe my woes,

  Listen, while I my mournful doom disclose: —

  To Rome and Scipio’s cause my faith was bound,

  E’en Lælius scarce a warmer friendship own’d:

  Where’er their ensigns fann’d the summer sky,

  I led my Libyans on, a firm ally;

  Propitious Fortune still advanced his name,

  Yet more than she bestow’d, his worth might claim.

  Still we advanced, and still our glory grew

  While westward far the Roman eagle flew

  With conquest wing’d; but my unlucky star

  Led me, unconscious, to the fatal snare

  Which Love had laid. I saw the regal dame —

  Our hearts at once confess’d a mutual flame.

  Caught by the lure of interdicted joys,

  Proudly I scorn’d the stern forbidding voice

  Of Roman policy; and hoped the vows

  At Hymen’s altar sworn, might save my spouse.

  But, oh! that wondrous man, who ne’er would yield

  To passion’s call, the cruel sentence seal’d,

  That tore my consort from my fond embrace,

  And left me sunk in anguish and disgrace.

  Unmoved he saw my briny sorrows flow,

  Unmoved he listen’d to my tale of woe!

  But friendship, waked at last, with reverent awe,

  Obsequious, own’d his mind’s superior law;

  And to that holy and unclouded light,

  That led him on through passion’s dubious night,

  Submiss I bow’d; for, oh! the beam of day

  Is dark to him that wants her guiding ray! —

  Love, hardly conquer’d, long repined in vain,

  When Justice link’d the adamantine chain;

  And cruel Friendship o’er the conquer’d ground

  Raised with strong hand th’ insuperable mound.

  To him I owed my laurels nobly won —

  I loved him as a brother, sire, and son,

  For in an equal race our lives had run;

  Yet the sad price I paid with burning tears; —

  Dire was the cause that woke my gloomy fears!

  Too well the sad result my soul divined,

  Too well I knew the unsubmitting mind

  Of Sophonisba would prefer the tomb

  To stern captivity’s ignoble doom.

  I, too, sad victim of celestial wrath,

  Was forced to aid the tardy stroke of death:

  With pangs I yielded to her piercing cries,

  To speed her passage to the nether skies;

  And worse than death endured, her mind to save

  From shame, more hateful than the yawning grave. —

  What was my anguish, when she seized the bowl,

  She knows! and you, whose sympathising soul

  Has felt the fiery shaft, may guess my pains —

  Now tears and anguish are her sole remains.

  That treasure, to preserve my faith to Rome,

  Those hands committed to th’ untimely tomb;

  And every hope and joy of life resign’d

  To keep the stain of falsehood from my mind.

  But hasten, and the moving pomp survey,

  (The light-wing’d moments brook no long delay),

  To try if any form your notice claims
/>   Among those love-lorn youths and amorous dames.” —

  With poignant grief I heard his tale of woe,

  That seem’d to melt my heart like vernal snow,

  When a low voice these sullen accents sung: —

  “Not for himself, but those from whom he sprung,

  He merits fate; for I detest them all

  To whose fell rage I owe my country’s fall.”

  “Oh, calm your rage, unhappy Queen!” I cried;

  “Twice was the land and sea in slaughter dyed

  By cruel Carthage, till the sentence pass’d

  That laid her glories in the dust at last.” —

  “Yet mournful wreaths no less the victors crown’d;

  In deep despair our valour oft they own’d.

  Your own impartial annals yet proclaim

  The Punic glory and the Roman shame.”

  She spoke — and with a smile of hostile spite

  Join’d the deep train, and darken’d to my sight.

  Then, as a traveller through lands unknown

  With care and keen observance journeys on;

  Whose dubious thoughts his eager steps retard,

  Thus through the files I pass’d with fix’d regard;

  Still singling some amid the moving show,

  Intent the story of their loves to know.

  A spectre now within my notice came,

  Though dubious marks of joy, commix’d with shame,

  His features wore, like one who gains a boon

  With secret glee, which shame forbids to own,

  O dire example of the Demon’s power!

  The father leaves the hymeneal bower

  For his incestuous son; the guilty spouse

  With transport mix’d with honour, meets his vows!

  In mournful converse now, amidst the host,

  Their compact they bewail’d, and Syria lost!

  Instant, with eager step, I turn’d aside,

  And met the double husband, and the bride,

  And with an earnest voice the first address’d: —

  A look of dread the spectre’s face express’d,

  When first the accents of victorious Rome

  Brought to his mind his kingdom’s ancient doom.

  At length, with many a doleful sigh, he said,

  “You here behold Seleucus’ royal shade.

  Antiochus is next; his life to save,

  My ready hand my beauteous consort gave,

  (From me, whose will was law, a legal prize,)

  That bound our souls in everlasting ties

  Indissolubly strong. The royal fair

  Forsook a throne to cure the deep despair

  Of him, who would have dared the stroke of Death,

  To keep, without a stain, his filial faith.

  A skilful leech the deadly symptoms guess’d;

  His throbbing veins the secret soon confess’d