by Mark Musa
risen to Heaven, left in that faithful dwelling
its roots, from where with painful sounds somebody
keeps calling out, but no one’s there to answer.
319
My days, swifter than any deer, have fled
like shadows, and for me no good has lasted
more than a wink, and few were those calm hours
whose bittersweetness I keep in my mind.
O wretched world, changing and arrogant,
a man who puts his hope in you is blind:
from you my heart was torn and now is held
by one whose flesh and bones are turned to dust.
But her best form, which still continues living
and will forever live high in the heavens,
makes me fall more in love with all her beauty;
and as my hair is changing I think only
what she is like today and where she dwells,
what it was like to see her lovely veil.
320
Sento l’aura mia antica, e i dolci colli
veggio apparire onde ’l bel lume nacque
che tenne gli occhi mei, mentr’ al Ciel piacque,
bramosi et lieti, or li ten tristi et molli.
O caduche speranze, o penser folli!
vedove l’erbe et torbide son l’acque
et voto et freddo ’l nido in ch’ ella giacque,
nel qual io vivo et morto giacer volli,
sperando alfin da le soavi piante
et da’ belli occhi suoi, che ’l cor m’ànn’ arso,
riposo alcun de le fatiche tante.
O’ servito a signor crudele et scarso:
ch’ arsi quanto ’l mio foco ebbi davante,
or vo piangendo il suo cenere sparso.
321
E’ questo ’l nido in che la mia fenice
mise l’aurate et le purpuree penne,
che sotto le sue ali il mio cor tenne
et parole et sospiri anco n’elice?
O del dolce mio mal prima radice,
ov’ è il bel viso onde quel lume venne
che vivo et lieto ardendo mi mantenne?
Sol eri in terra, or se’ nel Ciel felice
et m’ai lasciato qui misero et solo,
tal che pien di duol sempre al loco torno
che per te consecrato onoro et colo,
veggendo a’ colli oscura notte intorno
onde prendesti al Ciel l’ultimo volo
et dove li occhi tuoi solean far giorno.
320
I feel the aura of old times, sweet hills
I see appear where the fair light was born
that kept my eyes, while it was Heavens pleasure,
longing and glad, but now forlorn and wet.
Oh short-lived hopes! The madness in our thoughts!
The grass is widowed and the waters troubled,
empty and cold the nest in which she lay,
in which I live and would have liked to die,
hoping to have at last from her kind feet,
and from her lovely eyes that burned my heart
a little rest from so much laboring.
I served a lord who is both cruel and stingy:
I burned as long as I could see my fire,
now I am weeping for its scattered ashes.
321
Is this the nest where that phoenix of mine
was born to wear her gold and purple feathers,
and where she kept my heart under her wing
and still elicits sighs and words from it?
O primal root of my sweet malady,
where is the lovely face that poured with light
that kept me living, happy, while I burned?
A sun on earth and happy now in Heaven?
You left me here all wretched and alone,
so always I return to that place grieving
which I adore and honor for your sake;
I see the black of night around those hills
from where you made your final flight to Heaven
and where your eyes would bring the daylight in.
322
Mai non vedranno le mie luci asciutte
con le parti de l’animo tranquille
quelle note ov’ Amor par che sfaville
et Pietà di sua man l’abbia construtte.
Spirto già invitto a le terrene lutte,
ch’ or su dal Ciel tanta dolcezza stille
ch’a lo stil onde Morte dipartille
le disviate rime ài ricondutte:
di mie tenere frondi altro lavoro
credea mostrarte; et qual fero pianeta
ne’nvidiò inseme, o mio nobil tesoro?
chi ’nnanzi tempo mi t’asconde et vieta
che col cor veggio et co la lingua onoro?
E ’n te, dolce sospir, l’alma s’acqueta.
323
Standomi un giorno solo a la fenestra
onde cose vedea tante et si nove
ch’ era sol di mirar quasi già stanco,
una fera m’apparve da man destra
con fronte umana da far arder Giove,
cacciata da duo veltri, un nero, un bianco,
che l’un et l’altro flanco
de la fera gentil mordean si forte
che ’n poco tempo la menaro al passo
ove chiusa in un sasso
vinse molta bellezza acerba morte,
et mi fe’ sospirar sua dura sorte.
Indi per alto mar vidi una nave
con le sarte di seta et d’or la vela,
tutta d’avorio e d’ebeno contesta;
e ’l mar tranquillo et l’aura era soave
322
Never with eyes that are not wet or mind
that’s tranquil shall I hope to look upon
those verses in which Love appears to sparkle
and which the hand of Kindness has composed.
Spirit unvanquished once by earthly strife,
who now distills such sweetness from the heavens
that you gave back my wandering poetry
the style it had before Death cut it off,
some other product of my tender leaves
I hoped to show you. What cruel planet envied
our union so, O noble treasure of mine?
Who hides and takes you from me much too early,
you whom I see by heart, honor by tongue?
In you, sweet sigh, my soul finds its repose.
323
One day while at my window all alone,
where I saw many and such strange things happen
that merely looking at them made me weary,
I saw a beast appear on my right side
with human face to make Jove flare with love
pursued by two swift hounds, one black one white,
who dug their teeth so deep
into both sides of such a noble beast
that in no time they forced her to the pass
where, trapped within the stone,
untimely death then vanquished such great beauty,
and I sighed from the sight of her harsh fate.
Then out on the deep sea I saw a boat
with silken ropes and sails made out of gold
all wrought with ivory and ebony;
the sea was calm, the breeze was gently blowing,
e ’l ciel qual è se nulla nube il vela,
ella carca di ricca merce onesta.
Poi repente tempesta
oriental turbò sì l’aere et Fonde
che la nave percosse ad uno scoglio.
O che grave cordoglio,
breve ora oppresse et poco spazio asconde
l’alte ricchezze a null’altre seconde!
In un boschetto novo i rami santi
fiorian d’un lauro giovenetto et schietto
ch’ un delli arbor parea di paradiso;
et di sua ombra uscian sì dolci canti
di vari augelli et tant’ altro dilett
o
che dal mondo m’avean tutto diviso.
Et mirandol io fiso,
cangiossi ’l cielo intorno, et tinto in vista
folgorando ’l percosse et da radice
quella pianta felice
subito svelse, onde mia vita è trista,
che simile ombra mai non si racquista.
Chiara fontana in quel medesmo bosco
sorgea d’un sasso et acque fresche et dolci
spargea soavemente mormorando;
al bel seggio riposto ombroso et fosco
né pastori appressavan né bifolci,
ma ninfe et muse a quel tenor cantando.
Ivi m’assisi, et quando
più dolcezza prendea di tal concento
et di tal vista, aprir vidi uno speco
et portarsene seco
la fonte e ’l loco, ond’ ancor doglia sento
et sol de la memoria mi sgomento.
Una strania fenice, ambedue l’ale
di porporavestita e ’l capo d’oro,
vedendo per la selva altera et sola,
veder forma celeste ed immortale
prima pensai, fin ch’ a lo svelto alloro
giunse ed al fonte che la terra invola.
Ogni cosa al fin vola:
and there was not a cloud to veil the sky;
with rich and precious cargo she was laden.
And then a sudden storm
out of the East so shook the air and waters,
the boat was shattered up against the rocks.
Oh what oppressing grief:
in short time crushed, and little space now hides,
high riches that are second to no others!
Within a youthful grove were flowering
the boughs of a young, slender laurel tree
that seemed to have been grown in Paradise;
and from her shade there came so sweet a sound
of different birds and so much other joy
that it had cut me off from the real world.
And as I stared at her
the sky around her changed, and turning black
it struck with lightning, and then by the roots
that happy plant was torn
up suddenly, and now my life is sorrow,
for shade like this can never be regained.
Inside that very grove a sparkling fountain
sprang from a rock, and its fresh, loving waters
it poured forth with a gentle murmuring.
To that secluded place so fair and shady
no shepherds and no boors would come, but only
muses and nymphs singing to that clear flow.
I sat down there, and while
I took more sweetness from such harmony
and from that sight, I saw a chasm open
and sweep it all away,
fountain and place, and I am still left grieving,
and just the thought of it fills me with fear.
A marvelous phoenix with both of its wings
adorned in purple and its head in gold,
I saw there in the woods, proud and alone.
At first I thought it was a holy thing,
immortal, till it reached the torn-out laurel
and came upon the spring stolen away.
All things rush to their end;
chè mirando le frondi a terra sparse
e ’l troncon rotto et quel vivo umor secco,
volse in se stessa il becco,
quasi sdegnando, e ’n un punto disparse,
onde ’l cor di pietate et d’amor m’arse.
Alfin vid’ io per entro i fiori et l’erba
pensosa ir sì leggiadra et bella Donna
che mai nol penso ch’ i’ non arda et treme,
umile in sé, ma ’ncontra Amor superba;
ed avea in dosso si candida gonna,
si testa, ch’or et neve parea inseme,
ma le parti supreme
eran avolte d’una nebbia oscura.
Punta poi nel tallon d’un picciol angue
come fior coito langue
lieta si dipartio, non che secura:
ahi nulla altro che pianto al mondo dura!
Canzon, tu puoi ben dire:
“Queste sei visioni al signor mio
àn fatto un dolce di morir desio.”
324
Amor, quando fioria
mia spene e ’l guidardon di tanta fede,
tolta m’è quella ond’ attendea mercede.
Ahi dispietata Morte, ahi crudel vita!
luna m’à posto in doglia
et mie speranze acerbamente à spente;
l’altra mi ten qua giù contra mia voglia,
et lei che se n’è gita
seguir non posso, ch’ ella no ’l consente.
Ma pur ogni or presente
nel mezzo del meo cor Madonna siede,
et qual è la mia vita, ella se ’l vede.
for, seeing all the leaves strewn on the ground,
the trunk broken, those living waters dry,
against herself she turned
her beak, as if in scorn, and quickly vanished—
pity and love then set my heart aflame.
At last I saw through grass and flowers walking
in thought a lady fair, so full of joy—
to think of it sets me aflame and shaking—
humble within herself, haughty to Love;
and she had on a gown so very white,
so woven that it seemed of snow and gold,
but all the upper part
of her was shrouded in a mist of dark.
Then stung upon her heel by a small snake,
as a cut flower withers,
she left in joy and more than confident:
ah, nothing but our tears last in this world!
My song, you well may say:
“These six visions just given to my lord
have given him a sweet wish to know death.”
324
Love, when my hope was blossoming,
the guerdon of such faithfulness as mine,
taken from me was she who promised mercy.
Ah Death that shows no pity, ah cruel Life!
One fixes me in sorrow
and kills my hopes before they have matured;
the other holds me here against my will,
and she who is now gone
I cannot follow, Death will not allow.
But still, always in presence
in my heart’s very center sits Madonna,
and she sees for herself what my life’s like.
325
Tacer non posso, et temo non adopre
contrario effetto la mia lingua al core
che vorria far onore
a la sua donna, che dal Ciel n’ascolta.
Come poss’ io, se non m’insegni, Amore,
con parole mortaii aguagliar l’opre
divine et quel che copre
alta umiltate in se stessa raccolta?
Ne la bella pregione onde or è sciolta
poco era stato ancor l’alma gentile
al tempo che di lei prima m’accorsi;
onde subito corsi
(ch’ era de l’anno et di mi’ etate aprile)
a coglier fiori in quei prati dintorno,
sperando a li occhi suoi piacer sì addorno.
Muri eran d’alabastro e ’l tetto d’oro,
d’avorio uscio, et fenestre di zaffiro
onde ’l primo sospiro
mi giunse al cor et giugnerà l’estremo;
inde i messi d’Amor armati usciro
di saette et di foco, ond’ io di loro
coronad d’alloro,
pur come or fusse, ripensando tremo.
D’un bel diamante quadro et mai non scemo
vi si vedea nel mezzo un seggio altero
ove sola sedea la bella donna;
dinanzi una colonna
cristallina, et iv’ entro
ogni pensero
scritto et for tralucea sì chiaramente
che mi fea lieto et sospirar sovente.
A le pungenti ardenti et lucide arme,
a la vittoriosa insegna verde
contra cui in campo perde
Giove et Apollo et Polifemo et Marte,
ov’ è ’l pianto ogni or fresco et si rinverde,
giunto mi vidi, et non possendo aitarme
preso lassai menarme
ond’ or non so d’uscir la via né l’arte.
325
Silent I cannot be, but still I fear
my tongue may not achieve my heart’s intent
whose wish it is to honor
its lady who is hearing us from Heaven.
How can I, if you do not teach me, Love,
with mortal words do justice to the work
divine, concealed in high
humility collected in itself?
Not long had she been in the lovely prison
from which she now is free, that gracious soul,
when I first realized that she existed;
and so quickly I ran—
the April of my years and of that year—
to gather flowers in the fields around
and hoping, so adorned, to please her eyes.
The walls were alabaster, the roof gold,
the entrance ivory, sapphire the windows
from where the first of sighs
reached to my heart as will my very last,
from where Love’s messengers burst forth all armed
with flame and arrows, and whenever I
think of them crowned in laurel
again I tremble as if then were now.
Within there could be seen a lofty throne
of diamond squarely cut, without a fault,
on which the lovely lady sat alone;
in front of her a column
crystalline where all of the thoughts inscribed
inside of it shone through so brilliantly
that often I was happy in my sighing.
To the piercing, all aflame, and shining arms,
and to that green ensign of victory
against which in a battle
Jove and Apollo, Polyphemus, Mars
would lose, where tears are always fresh and green
I saw that I had come, and helplessly
I let myself be taken
and have no way or means of getting out.
Ma sì com’ uom talor che piange et parte
vede cosa che li occhi e ’l cor alletta,