Petrarch
Page 13
Diana never pleased her lover more,
when just by chance all of her naked body
he saw bathing within the chilly waters,
than did the simple mountain shepherdess
please me, the while she bathed the pretty veil
that holds her lovely blonde hair in the breeze.
So that even now in hot sunlight she makes me
tremble all over with the chill of love.
53
Spirto gentil che quelle membra reggi
dentro a le qua’ peregrinando alberga
un signor valoroso accorto et saggio:
poi che se’ giunto a l’onorata verga
colla qual Roma et suoi erranti correggi
et la richiami al suo antiquo viaggio,
io parlo a te però ch’ altrove un raggio
non veggio di vertù, ch’ al mondo è spenta,
né trovo chi di mal far si vergogni.
Che s’aspetti non so, né che s’agogni
Italia, che suoi guai non par che senta,
vecchia oziosa et lenta;
dormira sempre et non fia chi la svegli?
Le man l’avess’ io avolto entro’ capegli!
Non spero che giamai dal pigro sonno
mova la testa per chiamar ch’ uom faccia,
si gravemente è oppressa et di tal soma;
ma non senza destino a le tue braccia
che scuoter forte et sollevar la ponno
è or commesso il nostro capo Roma.
Pon man in quella venerabil chioma
securamente, et ne le trecce sparte,
si che la neghittosa esca del fango.
I’ che dì et notte del suo strazio piango
di mia speranza ò in te la maggior parte,
ché se ’l popol di Marte
devesse al proprio onore alzar mai gli occhi,
parmi pur ch’ a’ tuoi dì la grazia tocchi.
L’antiche mura ch’ ancor teme et ama
et trema ’l mondo quando si rimembra
del tempo andato e ’n dietro si rivolve,
e i sassi dove fur chiuse le membra
di ta’ che non saranno senza fama
se l’universo pria non si dissolve,
et tutto quel ch’ una ruina involve,
per te spera saldar ogni suo vizio.
O grandi Scipioni, o fedel Bruto,
quanto v’aggrada s’ egli è ancor venuto
53
Noble spirit, you who informs those members
inside of which there dwells in pilgrimage
a lord of valor who is keen and wise:
now that you have achieved the honored staff
with which you guide Rome and its erring people
and call her back to her old way of life,
to you I speak for I see nowhere else
that virtuous ray extinguished in the world
and find no one ashamed of doing wrong.
For what Italy waits or yearns I know not,
for she does not appear to feel her woes—
she’s idle, slow, and old;
will no one wake her, will she sleep forever?
If only I could grab her by the hair!
I have no hope she’ll ever move her head
in sluggish sleep, loud as the shouts may be,
so gravely she’s oppressed and by such weight;
but destiny now places in your arms,
that can shake her with strength and wake her up,
the head of all of us, the city Rome.
Now get your hands into those venerable locks
with confidence, into her unkept hair,
and pull the lazy one out of the mud.
I who all night and day weep for her torment
have placed almost all of my hope in you
for if Mars’ progeny
should ever raise their eyes to their own honor,
it seems such grace will come in your own times.
The ancient walls which all the world still fears
and loves and trembles, every time it thinks
of turning back to look at those past times,
recalling those tombstones which hold the bodies
of men who will not be without great fame
until our universe dissolves away,
and everything involving this one ruin,
through you they hope to mend all of the faults.
O great Scipioni, O faithful Brutus,
how pleased you must be now if news has reached you
romor là giù del ben locato offizio!
Come cre’ che Fabrizio
si faccia lieto udendo la novella,
et dice: “Roma mia sarà ancor bella!”
Et se cosa di qua nel ciel si cura,
l’anime che lassù son cittadine
et ànno i corpi abandonad in terra
del lungo odio civil ti pregan fine
per cui la gente ben non s’assecura,
onde ’l camin a’ lor tetti si serra,
che fur già sì devoti, et ora in guerra
quasi spelunca di ladron son fatti,
tal ch’ a’ buon solamente uscio si chiude,
et tra gli altari et tra le statue ignude
ogni impresa crudel par che se tratti
(deh quanto diversi atti!),
né senza squille s’incomincia assalto
che per Dio ringraziar fur poste in alto.
Le donne lagrimose, e ’l vulgo inerme
de la tenera etate, e i vecchi stanchi
ch’ ànno sé in odio et la soverchia vita,
e i neri fraticelli, e i bigi, e i bianchi,
coll’altre schiere travagliate e ’nferme,
gridan: “O signor nostro, aita, aita!”
et la povera gente sbigottita
ti scopre le sue piaghe a mille a mille,
ch’ Anibale, non ch’ altri, farian pio.
Et se ben guardi a la magion di Dio
ch’ arde oggi tutta, assai poche faville
spegnendo fien tranquille
le voglie che si mostran sì ’nfiammate,
onde fien l’opre tue nel ciel laudate.
Orsi, lupi, leoni, aquile, et serpi
ad una gran marmorea colonna
fanno noia sovente et a sé danno;
di costor piange quella gentil donna
che t’à chiamato a ciò che di lei sterpi
le male piante che fiorir non sanno.
Passato è già più che ’l millesimo anno
down there of how well placed this office is!
To think how very glad
Fabricius must have been to hear such news;
he says: “My Rome you shall once more be lovely.”
And if the heavens care for things down here,
then all those citizen-souls who dwell up there
whose bodies were abandoned here on earth,
pray that you end this lengthy, civil hatred
because of which the people are not safe
and which has closed the pathway to their temples,
so well attended once, and now in war
have been transformed into a den of thieves,
whose doors are closed only to men of good,
and there among their altars and bare statues
all kinds of cruel activity takes place—
ah, how diverse those acts—
nor do they start attacking without bells
placed there on high to give thanks to our God.
Women in tears and the defenseless throng
of all the young and all the old and tired
who hate themselves and their lives overlived
and the black friars and the grey, the white,
and all the other groups of sick and weary
cry out: “O Lord of ours, help us, help us!”
and all of these poor people in bewilderment,
thousands and thousands show you all their wounds
which
would make even Hannibal feel pity.
And if you take a good look at God’s house
that’s all aflame today, by putting out a few
sparks you could calm these wills
that show that they are so enflamed today;
whereby your good works will be praised in Heaven.
The bears and wolves, the lions, eagles, and snakes
to a great column that is made of marble
give trouble, and they often harm themselves;
because of them that noble lady weeps
that called for you to uproot from herself
all those bad plants that know not how to flower.
More than a thousand years have now gone by
che ’n lei mancar quell’anime leggiadre
che locata l’avean là dov’ ell’ era.
Ahi nova gente oltra misura altera,
irreverente a tanta et a tal madre!
Tu marito, tu padre:
ogni soccorso di tua man s’attende,
che ’l maggior padre ad altr’ opera intende.
Rade volte adiven ch’ a l’alte imprese
fortuna ingiuriosa non contrasti,
ch’ a gli animosi fatti mal s’accorda.
Ora sgombrando ’l passo onde tu intrasti
famisi perdonar molt’ altre offese,
ch’ al men qui da se stessa si discorda;
pero che quanto ’l mondo si ricorda
ad uom mortal non fu aperta la via
per farsi, come a te, di fama eterno,
che puoi drizzar, s’ i’ non falso discerno,
in stato la più nobil monarchia.
Quanta gloria ti fia
dir: “Gli altri l’aitar giovene et forte,
questi in vecchiezza la scampò da morte.”
Sopra ’l monte Tarpeio, canzon, vedrai
un cavalier ch’ Italia tutta onora,
pensoso più d’altrui che di se stesso.
Digli: “Un che non ti vide ancor da presso,
se non come per fama uom s’innamora,
dice che Roma ogniora
con gli occhi di dolor bagnati et molli
ti chier mercé da tutti sette i colli.”
since all those noble souls did pass away
that made her what she was in their own day.
Ah, you newcomers haughty beyond limits,
irreverent to a mother great as she!
Be husband, be her father!
All help we wait to come from your own hand—
the greater Father is fixed on other work.
Rarely it happens that injurious Fortune
is not in conflict with high undertakings
for she does not agree with daring deeds.
Now, having cleared the way by which you entered,
she leads me to forgive all her misdeeds,
for here, at least, she differs from herself;
in all the time this world of ours remembers
was the way not clear to mortal man as now
it is to you, to reach eternal fame,
for you can raise that monarchy most noble
up on its feet, if I am not mistaken.
What glory to hear said:
“The others helped her in her youth and strength,
but he saved her from death when she was old.”
Upon Tarpeian Mount, my song, you’ll see
a knight to whom all Italy pays honor,
who thinks of others more than of himself.
Tell him: “One who’s not seen you yet up close,
but only as one falls in love through fame,
says Rome keeps begging you
with eyes all wet and dripping with its pain,
from all her seven hills to show her mercy.”
54
Perch’ al viso d’Amor portava insegna,
mosse una pellegrina il mio cor vano,
ch’ ogni altra mi parea d’onor men degna;
et lei seguendo su per l’erbe verdi,
udi’ dir alta voce di lontano:
“Ahi quanti passi per la selva perdi!”
Allor mi strinsi a l’ombra d’un bel faggio
tutto pensoso, e rimirando intorno
vidi assai periglioso il mio viaggio;
et tornai in dietro quasi a mezzo ’l giorno.
55
Quel foco ch’ i’ pensai che fosse spento
dal freddo tempo et da l’età men fresca
fiamma et martir ne l’anima rinfresca.
Non fur mai tutte spente, a quel ch’ i’ veggio,
ma ricoperte alquanto le faville,
et temo no ’l secondo error sia peggio.
Per lagrime ch’ i’ spargo a mille a mille
conven che ’l duol per gli occhi si distille
dal cor, ch’ à seco le faville et l’esca,
non pur qual fu, ma pare a me che cresca.
Qual foco non avrian già spento et morto
l’onde che gli occhi tristi versan sempre?
Amor, avegna mi sia tardi accorto,
vol che tra duo contrari mi distempre,
et tende lacci in sì diverse tempre
che quand’ ò più speranza che ’l cor n’esca,
allor più nel bel viso mi rinvesca.
54
Because she bore Love’s colors in her face
a pilgrim soul moved my unsteady heart—
all others seemed less worthy of my honor;
and as I followed her along green grass,
I heard cry out in loud voice from afar:
“How many steps you’re wasting in the woods!”
Then I sought shade beneath a handsome beech;
full of my thought, and looking all around,
I saw how very dangerous was my voyage;
then I turned to go back around midday.
55
That fire which I thought had been extinguished
by the cold times and by an age less fresh
renews the flame and suffering of my soul.
Not all those sparks died out, as I can see,
but they were merely covered up a bit—
I fear my second error might be worse.
By means of tears I scatter by the thousands
the pain I feel must drip out of my heart
that holds within it both the sparks and tinder,
not as before, but I think it grows more.
What fire still could burn and not be killed
by floods that my sad eyes keep pouring forth?
Love, even though I realized it late,
between two opposites wants me to struggle,
and he puts out snares of such different types
that when I hope the most to free my heart,
he captures me the more with her fair face.
56
Se col cieco desir che ’l cor distrugge
contando lore no m’inganno io stesso,
ora mentre ch’ io parlo il tempo fugge
ch’ a me fu insieme et a mercé promesso.
Qual ombra è sì crudel che ’l seme adugge
ch’ al disiato frutto era sì presso?
et dentro dal mio ovil qual fera rugge?
tra la spiga et la man qual muro è messo?
Lasso, nol so, ma sì conosco io bene
che per far più dogliosa la mia vita
Amor m’addusse in sì gioiosa spene;
et or di quel ch’ i’ ò letto mi sovene,
che ’nanzi al dì de l’ultima partita
uom beato chiamar non si convene.
57
Mie venture al venir son tarde et pigre,
la speme incerta, e ’l desir monta et cresce,
onde e ’l lassare et l’aspettar m’incresce;
et poi al partir son più levi che tigre.
Lasso, le nevi fien tepide et nigre,
e ’l mar senz’ onda, et per l’alpe ogni pesce,
et corcherassi il sol là oltre, ond
’ esce
d’un medesimo fonte Eufrate e Tigre,
prima ch’ i’ trovi in ciò pace né triegua
o Amore o Madonna altr’ uso impari,
che m’ànno congiurato a torto incontra;
et s’ i’ ò alcun dolce, è dopo tanti amari
che per disdegno il gusto si dilegua.
Altro mai di lor grazie non m’incontra.
56
If, counting all the hours with blind desire
gnawing my heart, I tell myself the truth,
then now, while I am speaking, time is passing,
the time promised to me and to my pity.
What shadow is so cruel to harm the seed
that is so close to the desired fruit?
And in my sheepfold what wild beast is roaring?
Between the grain and hand what wall exists?
Alas, I do not know, but I know well
that Love, to make my life more sorrowful,
has led me into such a joyous hope,
and now what I once read comes back to mind:
before the day we finally depart
a man cannot consider himself blest.
57
Good fortune is both slow and late in coming
(desire mounts and grows and hope’s uncertain,
so waiting and forsaking both pain me),
then swifter than a tiger it departs.
Alas, the snow will fall both warm and black,
the sea waveless, the fish up in the mountains,
the sun will come to rest beyond that place
where Tigris and Euphrates share one source,
before I find in this some peace or truce,
or Love or lady find another way,
those two who plotted wrongfully against me;
when I taste sweet, it’s after so much bitter,
that through my scorn the taste begins dissolving
and nothing else do I get from their graces.
58
La guancia che fu già piangendo stanca
riposate su l’un, Signor mio caro,
et siate ormai di voi stesso più avaro
a quel crudel che’ suoi seguaci imbianca;
coll’altro richiudete da man manca
la strada a’ messi suoi ch’ indi passaro,
mostrandovi un d’agosto et di gennaro,
perch’ a la lunga via tempo ne manca;
et col terzo bevete un suco d’erba
che purghe ogni pensier che ’l cor afflige,
dolce a la fine et nel principio acerba.