Donde la Dea dell’ amoroso awento
Nacque, (e dall’ onda s’infuocar le faci
Di mille inispegnibili fornaci): - 5
Come a Venere a te l’oro e l’argento
Offron gli Amori; e ognun riguarda attento
La bocca che sorride e te che taci.
In dolce modo dove onor t’ invii
Vattene adorna, e porta insiem fra tante 10
Di Venere e di vergine semblante;
Umilemente in luoghi onesti e pii
Bianca e soave ognora; infin che sii,
O Mano, mansueta in man d’amante.
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI
DANTE
When I made answer, I began: ‘Alas!
How many sweet thoughts and how much desire
Led these two onward to the dolorous pass!’
Then turned to them, as who would fain inquire,
And said: ‘Francesca, these thine agonies 5
Wring tears for pity and grief that they inspire:
But tell me, - in the season of sweet sighs,
When and what way did Love instruct you so
That he in your vague longings made you wise?’
Then she to me: ‘There is no greater woe 10
Than the remembrance brings of happy days
In misery; and this thy guide doth know.
But if the first beginnings to retrace
Of our sad love can yield thee solace here,
So will I be as one that weeps and says. 15
One day we read, for pastime and sweet cheer,
Of Lancelot, how he found Love tyrannous:
We were alone and without any fear.
Our eyes were drawn together, reading thus,
Full oft, and still our cheeks would pale and glow; 20
But one sole point it was that conquered us.
For when we read of that great lover, how
He kissed the smile which he had longed to win, -
Then he whom nought can sever from me now
For ever, kissed my mouth, all quivering. 25
A Galahalt was the book, and he that writ:
Upon that day we read no more therein.’
At the tale told, while one soul uttered it,
The other wept: a pang so pitiable
That I was seized, like death, in swooning-fit, 30
And even as a dead body falls, I fell.
FOR ‘THE HOLY FAMILY’ BY MICHELANGELO IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY
Turn not the prophet’s page, O Son! He knew
All that thou hast to suffer, and hath writ.
Not yet thine hour of knowledge. Infinite
The sorrows that thy manhood’s lot must rue
And dire acquaintance of thy grief. That clue 5
The spirits of thy mournful ministerings
Seek through you scroll in silence. For these things
The angels have desired to look into.
Still before Eden waves the fiery sword, -
Her Tree of Life unransomed: whose sad Tree 10
Of Knowledge yet to growth of Calvary
Must yield its Tempter, - Hell the earliest dead
Of Earth resign, - and yet, O Son and Lord,
The Seed o’ the woman bruise the serpent’s head.
‘THE HOLY FAMILY’ BY MICHELANGELO
LA PIA
(DANTE)
‘And when on earth thy voice again is heard,
And thou from the long road hast rested thee,’
After the second spirit said the third,
‘Remember me who am La Pia. Me
Siena, me Maremma, made, unmade. 5
He knoweth this thing in his heart - even he
With whose fair jewel I was ringed and wed.’
THE BRIDE’S PRELUDE
‘Sister,’ said busy Amelotte
To listless Aloÿse;
‘Along your wedding-road the wheat
Bends as to hear your horse’s feet,
And the noonday stands still for heat.’ 5
Amelotte laughed into the air
With eyes that sought the sun:
But where the walls in long brocade
Were screened, as one who is afraid
Sat Aloÿse within the shade. 10
And even in shade was gleam enough
To shut out full repose
From the bride’s ‘tiring-chamber, which
Was like the inner altar-niche
Whose dimness worship has made rich. 15
Within the window’s heaped recess
The light was counterchanged
In blent reflexes manifold
From perfume-caskets of wrought gold
And gems the bride’s hair could not hold 20
All thrust together: and with these
A slim-curved lute, which now,
At Amelotte’s sudden passing there,
Was swept in somewise unaware,
And shook to music the close air. 25
Against the haloed lattice-panes
The bridesmaid sunned her breast;
Then to the glass turned tall and free,
And braced and shifted daintily
Her loin-belt through her cote-hardie. 30
The belt was silver, and the clasp
Of lozenged arm-bearings;
A world of mirrored tints minute
The rippling sunshine wrought into ‘t,
That flushed her hand and warmed her foot. 35
At least an hour had Aloÿse, -
Her jewels in her hair, -
Her white gown, as became a bride,
Quartered in silver at each side, -
Sat thus aloof, as if to hide. 40
Over her bosom, that lay still,
The vest was rich in grain,
With close pearls wholly overset:
Around her throat the fastenings met
Of chevesayle and mantelet. 45
Her arms were laid along her lap
With the hands open: life
Itself did seem at fault in her:
Beneath the drooping brows, the stir
Of thought made noonday heavier. 50
Long sat she silent; and then raised
Her head, with such a gasp
As while she summoned breath to speak
Fanned high that furnace in the cheek
But sucked the heart-pulse cold and weak. 55
(Oh gather round her now, all ye
Past seasons of her fear, -
Sick springs, and summers deadly cold!
To flight your hovering wings unfold,
For now your secret shall be told. 60
Ye many sunlights, barbed with darts
Of dread detecting flame, -
Gaunt moonlights that like sentinels
Went past with iron clank of bells, -
Draw round and render up your spells!) 65
‘Sister,’ said Aloÿse, ‘I had
A thing to tell thee of
Long since, and could not. But do thou
Kneel first in prayer awhile, and bow
Thine heart, and I will tell thee now.’ 70
Amelotte wondered with her eyes;
But her heart said in her:
‘Dear Aloÿse would have me pray
Because the awe she feels to-day
Must need more prayers than she can say.’ 75
So Amelotte put by the folds
That covered up her feet,
And knelt, - beyond the arras’d gloom
And the hot window’s dull perfume, -
Where day was stillest in the room 80
‘Queen Mary, hear,’ she said, ‘and say
To Jesus the Lord Christ,
This bride’s new joy, which He confers,
New joy to many ministers,
And many griefs are bound in hers.’ 85
The bride turned in her chair, and hid
Her face against the back,
And took her pearl-girt elbows in.
But shuddering, uttered, ‘Urscelyn!’ 90
Most weak she was; for as she pressed
Her hand against her throat,
Along the arras she let trail
Her face, as if all heart did fail,
And sat with shut eyes, dumb and pale. 95
Amelotte still was on her knees
As she had kneeled to pray.
Deeming her sister swooned, she thought,
At first, some succour to have brought;
But Aloÿse rocked, as one distraught. 100
She would have pushed the lattice wide
To gain what breeze might be;
But marking that no leaf once beat
The outside casement, it seemed meet
Not to bring in more scent and heat. 105
So she said only: ‘Aloÿse,
Sister, when happened it
At any time that the bride came
To ill, or spoke in fear of shame
When speaking first the bridegroom’s name?’ 110
A bird had out its song and ceased
Ere the bride spoke. At length
She said: ‘The name is as the thing: -
Sin hath no second christening,
And shame is all that shame can bring. 115
‘In divers places many an while
I would have told thee this;
But faintness took me, or a fit
Like fever. God would not permit
That I should change thine eyes with it. 120
‘Yet once I spoke, hadst thou but heard: -
That time we wandered out
All the sun’s hours, but missed our way
When evening darkened, and so lay
The whole night covered up in hay. 125
‘At last my face was hidden: so,
Having God’s hint, I paused
Not long; but drew myself more near
Where thou wast laid, and shook off fear,
And whispered quick into thine ear 130
‘Something of the whole tale. At first
I lay and bit my hair
For the sore silence thou didst keep:
Till, as thy breath came long and deep,
I knew that thou hadst been asleep. 135
‘The moon was covered, but the stars
Lasted till morning broke.
Awake, thou told’st me that thy dream
Had been of me, - that all did seem
At jar, - but that it was a dream. 140
‘I knew God’s hand and might not speak.
After that night I kept
Silence and let the record swell:
Till now there is much more to tell
Which must be told out ill or well. 145
She paused then, weary, with dry lips
Apart. From the outside
By fits there boomed a dull report
From where i’ the hanging tennis-court
The bridegroom’s retinue made sport. 150
The room lay still in dusty glare,
Having no sound through it
Except the chirp of a caged bird
That came and ceased: and if she stirred,
Amelotte’s raiment could be heard. 155
Quoth Amelotte: ‘The night this chanced
Was a late summer night
Last year! What secret, for Christ’s love,
Keep’st thou since then? Mary above!
What thing is this thou speakest of? 160
‘Mary and Christ! Lest when ’tis told
I should be prone to wrath, -
This prayer beforehand! How she errs
Soe’er, take count of grief like hers,
Whereof the days are turned to years!’ 165
She bowed her neck, and having said,
Kept on her knees to hear;
And then, because strained thought demands
Quiet before it understands,
Darkened her eyesight with her hands. 170
So when at last her sister spoke,
She did not see the pain
O’ the mouth nor the ashamèd eyes,
But marked the breath that came in sighs
And the half-pausing for replies. 175
This was the bride’s sad prelude-strain: -
‘I’ the convent where a girl
I dwelt till near my womanhood,
I had but preachings of the rood
And Aves told in solitude 180
‘To spend my heart on: and my hand
Had but the weary skill
To eke out upon silken cloth
Christ’s visage, or the long bright growth
Of Mary’s hair, or Satan wroth. 185
‘So when at last I went, and thou,
A child not known before,
Didst come to take the place I left, -
My limbs, after such lifelong theft
Of life, could be but little deft 190
‘In all that ministers delight
To noble women: I
Had learned no word of youth’s discourse,
Nor gazed on games of warriors,
Nor trained a hound, nor ruled a horse. 195
‘Besides, the daily life i’ the sun
Made me at first hold back.
To thee this came at once; to me
It crept with pauses timidly;
I am not blithe and strong like thee. 200
‘Yet my feet liked the dances well,
The songs went to my voice,
The music made me shake and weep;
And often, all night long, my sleep
Gave dreams I had been fain to keep. 205
‘But though I loved not holy things,
To hear them scorned brought pain, -
They were my childhood; and these dames
Were merely perjured in saints’ names
And fixed upon saints’ days for games. 210
‘And sometimes when my father rode
To hunt with his loud friends,
I dared not bring him to be quaff’d,
As my wont was, his stirrup-draught,
Because they jested so and laugh’d. 215
‘At last one day my brothers said,
“The girl must not grow thus, -
Bring her a jennet, - she shall ride.”
They helped my mounting, and I tried
To laugh with them and keep their side. 220
‘But brakes were rough and bents were steep
Upon our path that day:
My palfrey threw me; and I went
Upon men’s shoulders home, sore spent,
While the chase followed up the scent. 225
Our shrift-father (and he alone
Of all the household there
Had skill in leechcraft,) was away
When I reached home. I tossed, and lay
Sullen with anguish the whole day. 230
‘For the day passed ere some one brought
To mind that in the hunt
Rode a young lord she named, long bred
Among the priests, whose art (she said)
Might chance to stand me in much stead. 235
‘I bade them seek and summon him:
But long ere this, the chase
Had scattered, and he was not found. -
I lay in the same weary stound,
Therefore, until the night came round. 240
‘It was dead night and near on twelve
When the horse-tramp at length
Beat up the echoes of the court:
By then, my feverish breath was short
With pain the sense could scarce support. 245
‘My fond nurse sitting near my feet
Rose softly, - her lamp’s flame
Held in her hand, lest it should make
My heated lids, in passing, ache;
And she passed softly, for my sake. 250
‘Returning soon, she brought t
he youth
They spoke of. Meek he seemed,
But good knights held him of stout heart.
He was akin to us in part,
And bore our shield, but barred athwart. 255
‘I now remembered to have seen
His face, and heard him praised
For letter-lore and medicine,
Seeing his youth was nurtured in
Priests’ knowledge, as mine own had been.’ 260
The bride’s voice did not weaken here,
Yet by her sudden pause
She seemed to look for questioning;
Or else (small need though) ’twas to bring
Well to her mind the bygone thing. 265
Her thought, long stagnant, stirred by speech,
Gave her a sick recoil;
As, dip thy fingers through the green
That masks a pool, - where they have been
The naked depth is black between. 270
Amelotte kept her knees; her face
Was shut within her hands,
As it had been throughout the tale;
Her forehead’s whiteness might avail
Nothing to say if she were pale. 275
Although the lattice had dropped loose,
There was no wind; the heat
Being so at rest that Amelotte
Heard far beneath the plunge and float
Of a hound swimming in the moat. 280
Some minutes since, two rooks had toiled
Home to the nests that crowned
Ancestral ash-trees. Through the glare
Beating again, they seemed to tear
With that thick caw the woof o’ the air. 285
But else, ’twas at the dead of noon
Absolute silence; all,
From the raised bridge and guarded sconce
To green-clad places of pleasaunce
Where the long lake was white with swans. 290
Amelotte spoke not any word
Nor moved she once; but felt
Between her hands in narrow space
Her own hot breath upon her face,
And kept in silence the same place. 295
Aloÿse did not hear at all
The sounds without. She heard
The inward voice (past help obey’d)
Which might not slacken nor be stay’d,
But urged her till the whole were said. 300
Therefore she spoke again: ‘That night
But little could be done:
My foot, held in my nurse’s hands,
He swathed up heedfully in bands,
And for my rest gave close commands. 305
‘I slept till noon, but an ill sleep
Of dreams: through all that day
My side was stiff and caught the breath;
Next day, such pain as sickeneth
Took me, and I was nigh to death. 310
‘Life strove, Death claimed me for his own,
Through days and nights: but now
Complete Poetical Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti Page 16