Petrarch
Page 40
se viva et morta ne devea tor pace.
272
Life runs away and never rests a moment
and death runs after it with mighty stride,
and present things and things back from the past
and from the future, too, wage war on me:
anticipation, memory weigh down
my heart on either side so that, in truth,
if I did not take pity on myself,
I would, by now, be free of all such thoughts.
What little sweetness my sad heart once felt
comes back to me; but from the other side
I see turbulent winds blowing my sails;
I see a storm in port, and weary now
my helmsman, and my masts and lines destroyed,
and the fair stars I loved to look at, dead.
273
What’s going on? What thoughts are these? Why still
look back to times that never can return?
Unhappy soul, why do you keep on heaping
more wood upon the fire burning you?
The gentle words and the enchanting glances
which you described and colored one by one
have been removed from earth; as well you know
it’s foolish and too late to seek them here.
Ah, don’t renew what tortures us to death;
stop following a vague, deceptive thought;
pursue what’s fixed and true that leads to good.
Let’s look for Heaven, since nothing pleases here,
for all too badly we have seen that beauty,
alive or dead, must rob us of our peace.
274
Datemi pace, o duri miei pensieri!
non basta ben ch’ Amor, Fortuna et Morte
mi fanno guerra intorno e ’n su le porte,
senza trovarmi dentro altri guerreri?
Et tu, mio cor, ancor se’ pur qual eri?
disleal a me sol, che fere scorte
vai ricettando et se’ fatto consorte
de’ miei nemici si pronti et leggieri.
In te i secreti suoi messaggi Amore,
in te spiega Fortuna ogni sua pompa,
et Morte la memoria di quel colpo
che l’avanzo di me conven che rompa,
in te i vaghi pensier s’arman d’errore:
per che d’ogni mio mal te solo incolpo.
275
Occhi miei, oscurato è ’l nostro sole,
anzi è salito al Cielo et ivi splende,
ivi il vedremo, ancora ivi n’attende
et di nostro tardar forse li dole.
Orecchie mie, l’angeliche parole
sonano in parte ove è chi meglio intende.
Pie’ miei, vostra ragion là non si stende
ov’ è colei ch’ esercitar vi sole.
Dunque perché mi date questa guerra?
Già di perder a voi cagion non fui
vederla, udirla et ritrovarla in terra.
Morte biasmate; anzi laudate Lui
che lega et scioglie, e ’n un punto apre et serra,
et dopo ’l pianto sa far lieto altrui.
274
Give me some peace, O cruel thoughts of mine!
Isn’t it enough that Love, Fortune, and Death
wage war around and at my very gates,
without having to find more foes within?
And you, my heart, are you still what you were?
Disloyal only to me by giving shelter
to cruel spies, and you’ve become an ally
of my own enemies so quick and ready.
In you does Love display his secret charms,
in you Fortune explains her every pomp,
and Death the recollection of that blow
which must break up whatever’s left of me,
in you my restless thoughts are armed with error:
on you alone I blame my every ill.
275
My eyes, that sun of ours has darkened now,
that is, it climbed to Heaven and there it shines;
we’ll see it there again, and there it waits
and mourns, perhaps, because of our delay.
My ears, angelic words are sounding there
where there are those who understand them better.
My feet, your jurisdiction does not reach
where she is now, who used to make you move.
So why do you wage war against me now?
I’m not the reason why you can no longer
see her, hear her, or find her here on earth.
Blame Death; or rather praise the One who binds
and frees, the One who opens and who closes,
and after sorrow can restore our joy.
276
Poi che la vista angelica serena
per subita partenza in gran dolore
lasciato à l’alma e ’n tenebroso orrore,
cerco parlando d’allentar mia pena.
Giusto duol certo a lamentar mi mena
(sassel chi n’è cagione, et sallo Amore),
ch’ altro rimedio non avea ’l mio core
contra i fastidi onde la vita è piena;
questo un, Morte, m’à tolto la tua mano.
Et tu che copri et guardi et ài or teco,
felice terra! quel bel viso umano:
me dove lasci sconsolato et cieco,
poscia che ’l dolce et amoroso et piano
lume degli occhi miei non è più meco?
277
S’ Amor novo consiglio non n’apporta,
per forza converrà che ’l viver cange,
tanta paura et duol l’alma trista ange;
ché ’l desir vive e la speranza è morta,
onde si sbigottisce et si sconforta
mia vita in tutto, et notte et giorno piange
stanca, senza governo in mar che frange,
e ’n dubbia via senza fidata scorta.
Imaginata guida la conduce,
ché la vera è sotterra; anzi è nel Cielo,
onde più che mai chiara al cor traluce,
agli occhi no, ch’ un doloroso velo
contende lor la disiata luce
et me fa si per tempo cangiar pelo.
276
Since the serene, angelic sight of her
has with its quick departure left my soul
in greatest pain and in the shade of horror,
I try by speaking to slow down my pain.
For sure it is just grief drives me to grieve
(who caused it knows, and Love knows it as well),
for my heart knew no other way to cure
all of those ills of which life is so full.
This one cure, Death, your hand has snatched from me.
And you who cover, guard, and hold with you,
fortunate earth, that lovely, human face,
where do you leave me, comfortless and blind,
now that the sweet and amorous and mild
light of my eyes no longer is with me?
277
If Love does not give me some new advice,
I shall be forced to change my life with death,
such fear and grief afflict my saddened soul
because desire lives and hope is dead,
and so bewildered, unconsoled my life
is totally, that night and day it weeps,
weary without a helm in stormy seas
and on a dubious course with no true guide.
An imaginary guide is driving it,
the true one’s underground—no, she’s in Heaven
whence she shines even brighter through my heart,
not through my eyes, because a veil of sorrow
forbids them to behold the longed-for light
and turns my hair to grey before it’s time.
278
Ne l’età sua più bella et più fiorita,
quando aver suol Amor in noi più forza,
lasciando in terra la
terrena scorza
è l’aura mia vital da me partita
et viva et bella et nuda al Ciel salita;
indi mi signoreggia, indi mi sforza.
Deh, perché me del mio mortal non scorza
l’ultimo di, ch’ è primo a l’altra vita,
che, come i miei pensier dietro a lei vanno,
così leve espedita et lieta l’alma
la segua, et io sia fuor di tanto affanno?
Ció che s’indugia è proprio per mio danno,
per far me stesso a me più grave salma.
O che bel morir era, oggi è terzo anno!
279
Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde
mover soavemente a l’aura estiva,
o roco mormorar di lucide onde
s’ode d’una fiorita et fresca riva
là ’v’ io seggia d’amor pensoso et scriva,
lei che ’l Ciel ne mostrò, terra n’asconde
veggio et odo et intendo, ch’ ancor viva
di si lontano a’ sospir miei risponde.
“Deh, perché inanzi ’l tempo ti consume?”
mi dice con pietate. “A che pur versi
degli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume?
“Di me non pianger tu, ch’ e’ miei di fersi,
morendo, eterni; et ne l’interno lume,
quando mostrai de chiuder, gli occhi apersi.”
278
In her loveliest age, while in full bloom,
when Love is wont to reach its peak of power,
leaving her earthly vesture to the earth,
my living aura took her leave from me,
and living, lovely, naked rose to Heaven:
from there she rules, from there she drains my strength.
Ah, why is not my mortal part divested
by my last day, the first of the next life;
then, as my thoughts go following after her
so, light, unburdened, joyful would my soul
go after her and I be out of trouble?
All the delay is truly to my loss,
and makes my corpse much heavier to carry.
How sweet a death three years ago today!
279
If sound of birds complaining or green leaves
that rustle gently in a summer breeze,
or the faint murmuring of transparent waves,
I hear from a shore fresh with flowers blooming,
while sitting there with love in thought and writing,
the one whom Heaven showed us and earth hides,
I see and hear and feel, for still alive,
so far away she answers to my sighs.
“Why do you waste away before your time?”
she asks me pityingly. “Why do you still
pour forth from your sad eyes a stream of sorrow?
“Don’t weep for me, for my day has become
through death eternal; into internal light
my eyes were opened when they seemed to close.”
280
Mai non fui in parte ove si chiar vedessi
quel che veder vorrei poi ch’ io nol vidi,
né dove in tanta libertà mi stessi,
né ’mpiessi il ciel de sì amorosi stridi;
né giamai vidi valle aver sì spessi
luoghi da sospirar riposti et fidi,
né credo già ch’ Amore in Cipro avessi
o in altra riva sì soavi nidi.
L’acque parlan d’amore, et l’òra e i rami,
et gli augelletti e i pesci e i fiori et l’erba,
tutti inseme pregando ch’ i’ sempre ami.
Ma tu, ben nata, che dal Ciel mi chiami,
per la memoria di tua morte acerba
preghi ch’ i’ sprezzi ’l mondo e i suoi dolci ami.
281
Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto
fuggendo altrui et, s’ esser po, me stesso
vo con gli occhi bagnando l’erba e ’l petto,
rompendo co’ sospir l’aere da presso!
Quante fiate sol, pien di sospetto,
per luoghi ombrosi et foschi mi son messo,
cercando col penser l’alto diletto
che Morte à tolto, ond’ io la chiamo spesso!
Or in forma di ninfa o d’altra diva
che del più chiaro fondo di Sorga esca
et pongasi a sedere in su la riva,
or l’ò veduto su per l’erba fresca
calcare i fior com’ una donna viva,
mostrando in vista che di me le ’ncresca.
280
I’ve never found a place where I could see
more clearly what I’d like to see but cannot,
nor where I found myself with so much freedom
or filled the heavens with such cries of love;
nor have I ever seen a valley thicker
with hidden, trusty places made for sighing,
nor do I think Love ever had in Cyprus
or on another shore a sweeter nest.
The waters speak of love, the breeze and branches,
the little birds, the fish, the grass and flowers
all begging me to always be in love.
But you, fortunate one, who calls from Heaven
with memory of your untimely death
beg me to scorn the world with its sweet hooks.
281
How many times I go to my sweet nest,
fleeing others, and if I can, myself,
my eyes bathing my breast, wetting the grass,
and breaking with my sighs the air around me!
How many times alone, all full of fear
have I gone into gloomy, shadowy places
searching in thought for the exalted joy
that Death, on whom I often call, has snatched!
Sometimes in form of nymph or other goddess
arising from the clearest depths of Sorgue
she comes to take her place upon the shore,
sometimes I’ve seen her there upon fresh grass,
walking on flowers like a living lady,
her face revealing sorrow for my state.
282
Alma felice che sovente torni
a consolar le mie notti dolenti
con gli occhi tuoi, che morte non à spenti
ma sovra ’l mortal modo fatti adorni:
quanto gradisco ch’ e’ miei tristi giorni
a rallegrar de tua vista consenti!
così comincio a ritrovar presenti
le tue bellezze a’ suoi usati soggiorni.
Là ’ve cantando andai di te molt’anni
or, come vedi, vo di te piangendo—
di te piangendo no, ma de’ miei danni.
Sol un riposo trovo in molti affanni,
che quando torni te conosco e ’ntendo
a l’andar, a la voce, al volto, a’ panni.
283
Discolorato ài, Morte, il più bel volto
che mai si vide, e i più begli occhi spenti;
spirto più acceso di vertuti ardenti
del più leggiadro et più bel nodo ài sciolto.
In un momento ogni mio ben m’ài tolto,
post’ ài silenzio a’ più soavi accenti
che mai s’udiro, et me pien di lamenti:
quant’ io veggio m’è noia et quant’ io ascolto.
Ben torna a consolar tanto dolore
Madonna, ove pietà la riconduce,
né trovo in questa vita altro soccorso;
et se come ella parla et come luce
ridir potessi, accenderei d’amore
non dirò d’uom, un cor di tigre o d’orso.
282
Soul full of bliss who often comes to me
to soothe my nights of sorrow with your eyes
which Death has not extinguished but has made
more beautiful than any living thing,
how I thank you for granting my sad days
some happiness by showing me you
r image!
So now I have begun to rediscover
your many beauties where they’ve always been.
There where I sang of you for many years
now, as you see, I sing for you in tears—
no, not in tears for you but for my loss.
Only one joy I find in all my cares,
that when you come I truly know it’s you
from how you walk, your voice, your face, your clothes.
283
You have discolored, Death, the loveliest face
we ever saw and quenched the loveliest eyes;
the brightest spirit with its ardent virtues,
from the most charming, loveliest knot you’ve loosed.
You’ve robbed me of my wealth in just one instant,
you’ve silenced the most gentle sounds of speech
we ever heard and left me with laments:
all that I see, all that I hear is pain.
She does, indeed, return to soothe such sorrow,
Madonna, and it’s pity leads her back—
in this life I can find no other help;
and how she speaks and how she shines, if I
could tell you, I could set aflame with love
not only hearts of men but tigers, bears!
284
Sì breve è ’l tempo e ’l penser sì veloce
che mi rendon Madonna cosi morta,
ch’ al gran dolor la medicina è corta:
pur mentr’ io veggio lei, nulla mi noce.
Amor, che m’à legato et tienmi in croce,
trema quando la vede in su la porta
de l’alma, ove m’ancide ancor sì scorta,
si dolce in vista, et sì soave in voce.
Come donna in suo albergo altera vene,
scacciando de l’oscuro et grave core
co la fronte serena i pensier tristi;
l’alma, che tanta luce non sostene,
sospira et dice: “O benedette l’ore
del di che questa via con li occhi apristi!”
285
Né mai pietosa madre al caro figlio
né donna accesa al suo sposo diletto