by Mark Musa
stame al mio laccio, et quello aurato et raro
straie onde morte piacque oltra nostro uso!
Ché non fu d’allegrezza a’ suoi dì mai,
di libertà, di vita, alma si vaga
che non cangiasse ’l suo natural modo,
togliendo anzi per lei sempre trar guai
che cantar per qualunque, et di tal piaga
morir contento, et vivere in tal nodo.
297
Due gran nemiche inseme erano agiunte,
Bellezza et Onestà, con pace tanta
che mai rebellion l’anima santa
non sentì poi ch’ a star seco fur giunte.
Et or per Morte son sparse et disgiunte:
l’una è nel Ciel che se ne gloria et vanta,
l’altra sotterra che’ begli occhi amanta
onde uscir già tant’ amorose punte.
L’atto soave, e ’l parlar saggio umile
che movea d’alto loco, e ’l dolce sguardo
che piagava il mio core (ancor l’acenna)
sono spariti; et s’ al seguir son tardo,
forse averrà che ’l bel nome gentile
consacrerò con questa stanca penna.
296
I often would accuse, but now excuse myself,
no, I respect and cherish myself more
thanks to the worthy prison, the sweet-bitter
blow that I’ve born now many years enclosed.
Envious Fates, so suddenly you broke
the spindle that was spinning soft, bright thread
around my bonds, and that rare golden arrow
for which death is beloved beyond all limits!
For never was there any soul in love
with happiness and liberty and life
that would not change its natural tendency,
choosing rather to moan because of her
than sing for someone else, and from such wounds
to die content and live in such a knot.
297
Two formidable rivals were once joined,
Beauty and Chastity, in such concordance
that conflict in her holy soul was never
felt from the moment they were joined in her.
And now they’re scattered and disjoined by Death;
one is in Heaven, glorified, exalted,
one under ground, which mantles those fair eyes
that once released so many darts of love.
The gracious way, the wise and humble speech
that came from a high place, and the sweet glance
that used to wound my heart (it still shows signs)
have vanished; and if I am slow to follow,
perhaps I shall succeed in consecrating
with weary pen her gracious, noble name.
298
Quand’ io mi volgo indietro a mirar gli anni
ch’ ànno fuggendo i miei penseri sparsi,
et spento ’l foco ove agghiacciando io arsi,
et finito il riposo pien d’affanni,
rotta la fé degli amorosi inganni,
et sol due parti d’ogni mio ben farsi,
l’una nel Cielo et l’altra in terra starsi,
et perduto il guadagno de’ miei danni,
i’ mi riscuoto, et trovomi si nudo
ch’ i’ porto invidia ad ogni estrema sorte,
tal cordoglio et paura ò di me stesso.
O mia Stella, o Fortuna, o Fato, o Morte,
o per me sempre dolce giorno et crudo,
come m’avete in basso stato messo!
299
Ov’ è la fronte che con picciol cenno
volgea il mio core in questa parte e ’n quella?
Ov’ è ’l bel ciglio et l’una et l’altra Stella
ch’ al corso del mio viver lume denno?
Ov’ è ’l valor, la conoscenza e ’l senno?
l’accorta, onesta, umil, dolce favella?
Ove son le bellezze accolte in ella
che gran tempo di me lor voglia fenno?
Ov’ è l’ombra gentil del viso umano
ch’ ora et riposo dava a l’alma stanca
et là ’ve i miei pensier scritti eran tutti?
Ov’ è colei che mia vita ebbe in mano?
Quanto al misero mondo, et quanto manca
agli occhi miei che mai non fien asciutti!
298
When I turn back to look upon those years
that flying by have scattered all my thoughts
and quenched the fire in which I, freezing, burned
and ended my repose so full of woes,
broken the faith of amorous deceptions
and made two separate parts of all my good—
the one in Heaven, the other in the ground—
and lost the profits of my painful gains,
I’m startled and I feel so very naked
that I envy the gravest of misfortunes,
so much I fear and suffer for myself.
O Star of mine, O Chance, O Fate, O Death,
O Day always so sweet yet cruel to me,
to what low state you have reduced me now!
299
Where is the brow that with the slightest movement
could make my heart turn one way or another?
Where are the lovely lashes and two stars
that shed their light upon my way of life?
Where is the valor, the knowledge, and the wit,
the prudent, honest, humble, gracious speech?
Where are the beauties gathered in her person,
that for so long have made of my will theirs?
Where is the gracious image of a face
that to my tired soul gave shade and rest
and where my every thought was once recorded?
Where is the one who had me in her hand?
How much this wretched world, how much my eyes,
that have no hope of drying, miss her now!
300
Quanta invidia io ti porto, avara terra
ch’ abbracci quella cui veder m’è tolto
et mi contendi l’aria del bel volto
dove pace trovai d’ogni mia guerra!
Quanta ne porto al Ciel che chiude et serra
et sì cupidamente à in sé raccolto
lo spirto da le belle membra sciolto,
et per altrui sì rado si diserra!
Quanta invidia a quell’anime che ’n sorte
ànno or sua santa et dolce compagnia,
la qual io cercai sempre con tal brama!
Quant’ a la dispietata et dura Morte,
ch’ avendo spento in lei la vita mia
stassi ne’ suoi begli occhi et me non chiama!
301
Valle che de’ lamenti miei se’ piena,
fiume che spesso del mio pianger cresci,
fere selvestre, vaghi augelli, et pesci
che l’una et l’altra verde riva affrena:
aria de’ miei sospir calda et serena,
dolce sentier che sì amaro riesci,
colle che mi piacesti, or mi rincresci,
ov’ ancor per usanza Amor mi mena:
ben riconosco in voi l’usate forme,
non, lasso, in me, che da sì lieta vita
son fatto albergo d’infinita doglia.
Quinci vedea ’l mio bene, et per queste orme
torno a vedere ond’ al Ciel nuda è gita,
lasciando in terra la sua bella spoglia.
300
How much I envy you, the greedy earth
embracing her the sight of whom I’ve lost,
begrudging me the air of her sweet face
where I settled for peace in all my wars!
How much I envy Heaven, that holds and locks
and greedily has gathered to itself
the spirit freed from her exquisite limbs
but that rarely unlocks itself for others!
How much I envy those souls chosen now
to have her sweet and holy company
that I sought endlessly with such desire!
How much that merciless, unfeeling Death,
who having quenched in her my very life,
lives in her lovely eyes, but does not call me!
301
Valley, so filled with my lamenting words,
River, that swells so often with my tears,
beasts of the woods, wandering birds and fish
contained between green shores on either side,
Air, that is warmed and cleared by all my sighs,
sweet path, that leads to so much bitterness,
hill, that once pleased and now displeases me,
where love still leads me as he always did,
how well I see in you your usual traces,
but not, alas, in me who from such gladness
have now become the home of endless grief.
From here I’d see my love, and with these steps
I come to see the place where she went, bare,
to Heaven, leaving to earth her lovely spoils.
302
Levommi il mio penser in parte ov’ era
quella ch’ io cerco et non ritrovo in terra;
ivi fra lor che ’l terzo cerchio serra
la rividi più bella et meno altera.
Per man mi prese et disse: “In questa spera
sarai ancor meco, se ’l desir non erra;
i’ so’ colei che ti die’ tanta guerra
et compie’ mia giornata inanzi sera.
“Mio ben non cape in intelletto umano;
te solo aspetto, et quel che tanto amasti
et là giuso è rimaso, il mio bel velo.”
Deh, perché tacque et allargò la mano?
ch’ al suon de’ detti sì pietosi et casti,
poco mancò ch’ io non rimasi in Cielo.
303
Amor, che meco al buon tempo ti stavi
fra queste rive a’ pensier nostri amiche,
et per saldar le ragion nostre antiche
meco et col fiume ragionando andavi:
fior, frondi, erbe, ombre, antri, onde, aure soavi,
valli chiuse, alti colli, et piagge apriche,
porto de l’amorose mie fatiche,
de le fortune mie tante et si gravi:
o vaghi abitator de’ verdi boschi,
o ninfe et voi che ’l fresco erboso fondo
del liquido cristallo alberga et pasce:
i dì miei fur sì chiari, or son si foschi
come Morte che ’l fa! così nel mondo
sua ventura à ciascun dal di che nasce.
302
My thought lifted me up to where she was,
the one I seek and cannot find on earth;
there among those enclosed in the third sphere
she looked more lovely, less proud than before.
She took my hand and said: “Here in this sphere,
desire unerring, you’ll be with me again;
I am the one who made you fight so hard
and who ended my day before night came.
“My bliss no human mind can comprehend;
I only wait for you and what you loved
so much, and is down there, my lovely veil.”
Ah, why did she stop speaking and drop my hand?
For with the sound of words so kind and chaste
I came quite close to never leaving Heaven!
303
Love, who in those good times would be with me
along these banks, the friends of all our thoughts,
and who, to settle all our old accounts,
would walk and talk with me and with the river;
blooms, leaves, grass, shade, caves, waves, and gentle breezes,
valleys enclosed, high hills, and sprawling slopes,
harbor of all my amorous laborings,
of all my storms, so many and so heavy;
O carefree dwellers of the verdant woods,
O nymphs, and you whose cool and grassy bed
of liquid crystal shelters and gives food:
my days were once so bright, now they are dark
as Death, the cause of it. And so on earth
our destiny is with us from our birth.
304
Mentre che ’l cor dagli amorosi vermi
fu consumato e ’n fiamma amorosa arse,
di vaga fera le vestigia sparse
cercai per poggi solitari et ermi;
et ebbi ardir, cantando, di dolermi
d’Amor, di lei che si dura m’apparse,
ma l’ingegno et le rime erano scarse
in quella etate ai pensier novi e ’nfermi.
Quel foco è morto e ’l copre un picciol marmo
che se col tempo fossi ito avanzando
(come già in altri) infino a la vecchiezza,
di rime armato ond’ oggi mi disarmo,
con stil canuto, avrei fatto parlando
romper le pietre et pianger di dolcezza.
305
Anima bella, da quel nodo sciolta
che più bel mai non seppe ordir Natura:
pon dal Ciel mente a la mia vita oscura,
da si lieti pensieri a pianger volta.
La falsa opinion dal cor s’è tolta
che mi fece alcun tempo acerba et dura
tua dolce vista; omai tutta secura
volgi a me gli occhi e i miei sospiri ascolta.
Mira ’l gran sasso donde Sorga nasce,
et vedra’vi un che sol tra l’erbe et l’acque
di tua memoria et di dolor si pasce;
ove giace il tuo albergo et dove nacque
il nostro amor vo’ ch’ abbandoni et lasce,
per non veder ne’ tuoi quel ch’ a te spiacque.
304
During that time my heart by loving worms
was all devoured and burned with flames of love,
the scattered footprints of a charming beast
I sought upon the lonely and wild hills;
and I dared in my verses to complain
of Love, of her, who seemed so cruel to me,
but wit and poetry were not so strong
at that age of unstable and strange thoughts.
That fire’s dead and covered by meager marble,
but had it gone on growing, as time passed,
as is the case with others, until old age,
armed with the verse I am rejecting now,
with style mature, I would have with my poems
shattered stone, and made it weep with sweetness.
305
Beautiful soul, now loosened from that knot,
the loveliest that nature could create:
from Heaven now give thought to my dark life,
which once in happy thought has turned to tears.
Gone from your heart now is the false opinion
that made at times your sweet appearance turn
severe and cruel toward me; now all secure,
look upon me and listen to my sighs.
Look to the lofty rock where Sorgue is born,
you’ll see one there amid the grass and waters
who feeds upon your memory and pain;
the place where your house stands and where our love
was born I want you to abandon, leave,
not to see what displeased you in your people.
306
Quel sol che mi mostrava il cammin destro
di gire al Ciel con gloriosi passi,
tornando al sommo Sole, in pochi sassi
chiuse ’l mio lume e ’l suo carcer terrestro,
ond’ io son fatto un animal silvestro
che co’ pie vaghi, solitari et lassi
porto ’l cor grave et gli oechi umidi et bassi
al mondo, ch’ è per me un deserto alpestro.
Così vo ricercando ogni contrada
ov’ io la vidi; et sol tu che m’affligi,
Amor, vi
en meco et mostrimi ond’ io vada;
lei non trov’ io, ma suoi santi vestigi
tutti rivolti a la superna strada
veggio, lunge da’ laghi averni et stigi.
307
I’ pensava assai destro esser su l’ale
(non per lor forza, ma di chi le spiega)
per gir cantando a quel bel nodo eguale
onde Morte m’assolve, Amor mi lega.
Trovaimi a l’opra via più lento et fraie
d’un picciol ramo cui gran fascio piega,
et dissi: “A cader va chi troppo sale,
né si fa ben per uom quel che ’l ciel nega.”
Mai non poria volar penna d’ingegno,
non che stil grave o lingua, ove Natura
volò tessendo il mio dolce ritegno;
seguilla Amor con sì mirabil cura
in adornarlo, ch’ i’ non era degno
pur de la vista: ma fu mia ventura.
306
The sun which lit for me the rightful road
that leads the way to Heaven with glorious steps,
back to the highest sun, in a few stones
has closed my light and her own earthly jail,
so I’ve become a wild beast of the woods,
and with my wandering feet, alone and weary,
I bear a heavy heart, eyes wet and brooding
in a world for me a desert on a cliff.
Thus I go searching through all of those regions
where I saw her; and you, my sole affliction,
Love, come with me and show me where to go;
I do not find her, but her holy footprints
all clearly leading to the road to Heaven
I see, and far from the infernal lakes.
307
I thought my wings were strong enough to soar
(not by their power but by his who spreads them),
in song that’s worthy of that lovely knot
from which Death loosens me and Love still binds.
I found myself at work much slower, frailer
than a small branch bent by a heavy burden,
and I said: “He will fall who flies too high,