Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarch

  Were seen: no troubled seas more rage: the place

  Where huge Typhoeus groans, nor Etna, when

  Her giant sighs, were moved as he was then.

  I pass by many noble things I see

  (To write them were too hard a task for me),

  To her and those that did attend I go:

  Her armour was a robe more white than snow;

  And in her hand a shield like his she bare

  Who slew Medusa; a fair pillar there

  Of jasp was next, and with a chain (first wet

  In Lethe flood) of jewels fitly set,

  Diamonds, mix’d with topazes (of old

  ’Twas worn by ladies, now ’tis not) first hold

  She caught, then bound him fast; then such revenge

  She took as might suffice. My thoughts did change

  And I, who wish’d him victory before,

  Was satisfied he now could hurt no more.

  I cannot in my rhymes the names contain

  Of blessèd maids that did make up her train;

  Calliope nor Clio could suffice,

  Nor all the other seven, for th’ enterprise;

  Yet some I will insert may justly claim

  Precedency of others. Lucrece came

  On her right hand; Penelope was by,

  Those broke his bow, and made his arrows lie

  Split on the ground, and pull’d his plumes away

  From off his wings: after, Virginia,

  Near her vex’d father, arm’d with wrath and hate.

  Fury, and iron, and love, he freed the state

  And her from slavery, with a manly blow;

  Next were those barbarous women, who could show

  They judged it better die than suffer wrong

  To their rude chastity; the wise and strong —

  The chaste Hebræan Judith follow’d these;

  The Greek that saved her honour in the seas;

  With these and other famous souls I see

  Her triumph over him who used to be

  Master of all the world: among the rest

  The vestal nun I spied, who was so bless’d

  As by a wonder to preserve her fame;

  Next came Hersilia, the Roman dame

  (Or Sabine rather), with her valorous train,

  Who prove all slanders on that sex are vain.

  Then, ‘mongst the foreign ladies, she whose faith

  T’ her husband (not Æneas) caused her death;

  The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,

  Her safety to her chastity gave place;

  Dido, I mean, whom no vain passion led

  (As fame belies her); last, the virtuous maid

  Retired to Arno, who no rest could find,

  Her friends’ constraining power forced her mind.

  The Triumph thither went where salt waves wet

  The Baian shore eastward; her foot she set

  There on firm land, and did Avernus leave

  On the one hand, on th’ other Sybil’s cave;

  So to Linternus march’d, the village where

  The noble Africane lies buried; there

  The great news of her triumph did appear

  As glorious to the eye as to the ear

  The fame had been; and the most chaste did show

  Most beautiful; it grieved Love much to go

  Another’s prisoner, exposed to scorn,

  Who to command whole empires seemèd born.

  Thus to the chiefest city all were led,

  Entering the temple which Sulpicia made

  Sacred; it drives all madness from the mind;

  And chastity’s pure temple next we find,

  Which in brave souls doth modest thoughts beget,

  Not by plebeians enter’d, but the great

  Patrician dames; there were the spoils display’d

  Of the fair victress; there her palms she laid,

  And did commit them to the Tuscan youth,

  Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:

  With others more, whose names I fully knew,

  (My guide instructed me,) that overthrew

  The power of Love: ‘mongst whom, of all the rest,

  Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.

  ANNA HUME.

  THE SAME.

  When gods and men I saw in Cupid’s chain

  Promiscuous led, a long uncounted train,

  By sad example taught, I learn’d at last

  Wisdom’s best rule — to profit from the past

  Some solace in the numbers too I found,

  Of those that mourn’d, like me, the common wound

  That Phoebus felt, a mortal beauty’s slave,

  That urged Leander through the wintry wave;

  That jealous Juno with Eliza shared,

  Whose more than pious hands the flame prepared;

  That mix’d her ashes with her murder’d spouse.

  A dire completion of her nuptial vows.

  (For not the Trojan’s love, as poets sing,

  In her wan bosom fix’d the secret string.)

  And why should I of common ills complain,

  Shot by a random shaft, a thoughtless swain?

  Unarm’d and unprepared to meet the foe,

  My naked bosom seem’d to court the blow.

  One cause, at least, to soothe my grief ensued;

  When I beheld the ruthless power subdued;

  And all unable now to twang the string,

  Or mount the breeze on many-colour’d wing.

  But never tawny monarch of the wood

  His raging rival meets, athirst for blood;

  Nor thunder-clouds, when winds the signal blow,

  With louder shock astound the world below;

  When the red flash, insufferably bright,

  Heaven, earth, and sea displays in dismal light;

  Could match the furious speed and fell intent

  With which the wingèd son of Venus bent

  His fatal yew against the dauntless fair

  Who seem’d with heart of proof to meet the war;

  Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of death

  When, wrapp’d in flames, the giant moves beneath;

  Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud reply

  Of mad Charybdis, when her waters fly

  And seem to lave the moon, could match the rage

  Of those fierce rivals burning to engage.

  Aloof the many drew with sudden fright,

  And clamber’d up the hills to see the fight;

  And when the tempest of the battle grew,

  Each face display’d a wan and earthy hue.

  The assailant now prepared his shaft to wing,

  And fixed his fatal arrow on the string:

  The fatal string already reach’d his ear;

  Nor from the leopard flies the trembling deer

  With half the haste that his ferocious wrath

  Bore him impetuous on to deeds of death;

  And in his stern regard the scorching fire

  Was seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;

  To me a fatal flame! but hope to see

  My lovely tyrant forced to love like me,

  And, bound in equal chain, assuaged my woe,

  As, with an eager eye, I watch’d the coming blow

  But virtue, as it ne’er forsakes the soul

  That yields obedience to her blest control,

  Proves how of her unjustly we complain,

  When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vain

  In vain the self-abandon’d shift the blame

  Upon their stars, or fate’s perverted name.

  Ne’er did a gladiator shun the stroke

  With nimbler turn, or more attentive look;

  Never did pilot’s hand the vessel steer

  With more dexterity the shoals to clear

  Than with evasion quick and matchless art,

  By grace and virtue arm’d in head and heart,
<
br />   She wafted quick the cruel shaft aside,

  Woe to the lingering soul that dares the stroke abide!

  I watch’d, and long with firm expectance stood

  To see a mortal by a god subdued,

  The usual fate of man! in hope to find

  The cords of Love the beauteous captive bind

  With me, a willing slave, to Cupid’s car,

  The fortunes of the common race to share.

  As one, whose secrets in his looks we spy,

  His inmost thoughts discovers in his eye

  Or in his aspect, graved by nature’s hand,

  My gestures, ere I spoke, enforced my fond demand.

  “Oh, link us to your wheels!” aloud I cried,

  “If your victorious arms the fray decide:

  Oh, bind us closely with your strongest chain!

  I ne’er will seek for liberty again!” —

  But oh! what fury seem’d his eyes to fill!

  No bard that ever quaff’d Castalia’s rill

  Could match his frenzy, when his shafts of fire

  With magic plumed, and barb’d with hot desire,

  Short of their sacred aim, innoxious fell,

  Extinguish’d by the pure ethereal spell.

  Camilla; or the Amazons in arms

  From ancient Thermodon, to fierce alarms

  Inured; or Julius in Pharsalia’s field,

  When his dread onset forced the foe to yield —

  Came not so boldly on as she, to face

  The mighty victor of the human race,

  Who scorns the temper’d mail and buckler’s ward.

  With her the Virtues came — an heavenly guard,

  A sky-descended legion, clad in light

  Of glorious panoply, contemning mortal might;

  All weaponless they came; but hand in hand

  Defied the fury of the adverse band:

  Honour and maiden Shame were in the ban,

  Elysian twins, beloved by God and man.

  Her delegates in arms with them combined;

  Prudence appear’d, the daughter of the mind;

  Pure Temperance next, and Steadiness of soul,

  That ever keeps in view the eternal goal;

  And Gentleness and soft Address were seen,

  And Courtesy, with mild inviting mien;

  And Purity, and cautious Dread of blame,

  With ardent love of clear unspotted fame;

  And sage Discretion, seldom seen below,

  Where the full veins with youthful ardour glow;

  Benevolence and Harmony of soul

  Were there, but rarely found from pole to pole;

  And there consummate Beauty shone, combined

  With all the pureness of an angel-mind.

  Such was the host that to the conflict came,

  Their bosoms kindling with empyreal flame

  And sense of heavenly help. — The beams that broke

  From each celestial file with horror struck

  The bowyer god, who felt the blinding rays,

  And like a mortal stood in fix’d amaze;

  While on his spoils the fair assailants flew,

  And plunder’d at their ease the captive crew;

  And some with palmy boughs the way bestrew’d,

  To show their conquest o’er the baffled god.

  Sudden as Hannibal on Zama’s field

  Was forced to Scipio’s conquering arms to yield;

  Sudden as David’s hand the giant sped,

  When Accaron beheld his fall and fled;

  Sudden as her revenge who gave the word,

  When her stern guards dispatch’d the Persian lord;

  Or like a man that feels a strong disease

  His shivering members in a moment seize —

  Such direful throes convulsed the despot’s frame.

  His hands, that veil’d his eyes, confess’d his shame,

  And mental pangs, more agonising far,

  In his sick bosom bred a civil war;

  And hate and anguish, with insatiate ire,

  Flash’d in his eyes with momentary fire. —

  Not raging Ocean, when its billows boil;

  Nor Typhon, when he lifts the trembling soil

  Of Arima, his tortured limbs to ease;

  Nor Etna, thundering o’er the subject seas —

  Surpass’d the fury of the baffled Power,

  Who stamp’d with rage, and bann’d the luckless hour

  Scenes yet unsung demand my loftiest lays —

  But oh! the theme transcends a mortal’s praise.

  A sweet but humbler subject may suffice

  To muster in my song her fair allies;

  But first, her arms and vesture claim my song

  Before I chant the fair attendant throng: —

  A robe she wore that seem’d of woven light;

  The buckler of Minerva fill’d her right,

  Medusa’s bane; a column there was drawn

  Of jasper bright; and o’er the snowy lawn

  And round her beauteous neck a chain was slung,

  Which glittering on her snowy bosom hung.

  Diamond and topaz there, with mingled ray,

  Return’d in varied hues the beam of day;

  A treasure of inestimable cost,

  Too long, alas! in Lethe’s bosom lost:

  To modern matrons scarcely known by fame,

  Few, were it to be found, the prize would claim.

  With this the vanquish’d god she firmly bound,

  While I with joy her kind assistance own’d;

  But oh! the feeble Muse attempts in vain

  To celebrate in song her numerous train;

  Not all the choir of Aganippe’s spring

  The pageant of the sisterhood could sing:

  But some shall live, distinguished in my lay,

  The most illustrious of the long array. —

  The dexter wing the fair Lucretia led,

  With her, who, faithful to her nuptial bed,

  Her suitors scorn’d: and these with dauntless hand

  The quiver seized, and scatter’d on the strand

  The pointless arrows, and the broken bow

  Of Cupid, their despoil’d and recreant foe. —

  Lovely Virginia with her sire was nigh:

  Paternal love and anger in his eye

  Beam’d terrible, while in his hand he show’d

  Aloft the dagger, tinged with virgin blood,

  Which freedom on the maid and Rome at once bestow’d. —

  Then the Teutonic dames, a dauntless race,

  Who rush’d on death to shun a foe’s embrace; —

  And Judith chaste and fair, but void of dread,

  Who the hot blood of Holofernes shed; —

  And that fair Greek who chose a watery grave

  Her threaten’d purity unstain’d to save. —

  All these and others to the combat flew,

  And all combined to wreak the vengeance due

  On him, whose haughty hand in days of yore

  From clime to clime his conquering standard bore.

  Another troop the vestal virgin led,

  Who bore along from Tyber’s oozy bed

  His liquid treasure in a sieve, to show

  The falsehood of her base calumnious foe

  By wondrous proof. — And there the Sabine queen

  With all the matrons of her race was seen,

  Renown’d in records old; — and next in fame

  Was she, who dauntless met the funeral flame,

  Not wrong’d in Love, but to preserve her vows

  Immaculate to her Sidonian spouse.

  Let others of Æneas’ falsehood tell,

  How by an unrequited flame she fell;

  A nobler, though a self-inflicted doom,

  Caused by connubial Love, dismiss’d her to the tomb. —

  Picarda next I saw, who vainly tried

  To pass her days on Arno’s flowery si
de

  In single purity, till force compell’d

  The virgin to the marriage bond to yield.

  The triumph seem’d at last to reach the shore

  Where lofty Baise hears the Tuscan roar.

  ’Twas on a vernal morn it touch’d the land,

  And ‘twixt Mount Barbaro that crowns the strand

  And old Avernus (once an hallow’d ground);

  For the Cumæan sibyl’s cell renown’d.

  Linterno’s sandy bounds it reach’d at last,

  Great Scipio’s favour’d haunt in ages past;

  Famed Africanus, whose victorious blade

  The slaughterous deeds of Hannibal repaid,

  And to his country’s heart a bloody passage made.

  Here in a calm retreat his life he spent,

  With rural peace and solitude content.

  And here the flying rumour sped before,

  And magnified the deed from shore to shore.

  The pageant, when it reach’d the destined spot,

  Seem’d to exceed their utmost reach of thought.

  There, all distinguish’d by their deeds of arms,

  Excell’d the rest in more than mortal charms.

  Nor he, whom oft the steeds of conquest drew,

  Disdained another’s triumphs to pursue.

  At the metropolis arrived at last,

  To fair Sulpicia’s temples soon we pass’d,

  Sacred to Chastity, to ward the pest

  With which her sensual foes inflame the breast;

  The patroness of noble dames alone —

  Then was the fair plebeian Pole unknown,

  The victress here display’d her martial spoils,

  And here the laurel hung that crown’d her toils:

  A guard she stationed on the temple’s bound —

  The Tuscan, mark’d with many a glorious wound

  Suspicion in the jealous breast to cure:

  With him a chosen squadron kept the door.

  I heard their names, and I remember well

  The youthful Greek that by his stepdame fell,

  And him who, kept by Heaven’s command in awe,

  Refused to violate the nuptial law.

  BOYD.

  THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH.

  PART I.

  Questa leggiadra e gloriosa Donna.

  The glorious Maid, whose soul to heaven is gone

  And left the rest cold earth, she who was grown

  A pillar of true valour, and had gain’d

  Much honour by her victory, and chain’d

  That god which doth the world with terror bind,

  Using no armour but her own chaste mind;

  A fair aspect, coy thoughts, and words well weigh’d,

  Sweet modesty to these gave friendly aid.

  It was a miracle on earth to see

  The bow and arrows of the deity,