by Mark Musa
volando tanto su nel bel sereno
ch’ i’ veggia il mio Signore et la mia donna!
348
From the most lovely eyes and brightest face
that ever shone, from the most beautiful hair
that made the sun and gold seem not as lovely,
from sweetest speech and from the sweetest smile,
and from the hands and arms that could have conquered
without a move those who are most rebellious
to Love, from the most lovely slender feet,
and from the body made in Paradise,
my spirits took their life; now they delight
the heavenly King and his winged couriers
and I am left down here naked and blind.
I wait for just one comfort for my pain:
that she who can see every thought of mine
obtain for me the grace to be with her.
349
Sometimes I seem to hear the messenger
my lady sends to call me to herself,
so I’ve been changing inside and without,
and I’ve been so reduced in a few years
that now I hardly recognize myself!
The way I used to live I have all banished.
How happy I would be to know just when,
and yet the time could not be too far off.
Happy the day that I shall from my earthly
prison escape, leaving broken and scattered
this heavy, frail garment of my own life,
and I shall take my leave from sad thick shadows,
soaring through clearness of bright skies so high
that I may see my Lord and see my Lady.
350
Questo nostro caduco et fragil bene,
ch’ è vento et ombra et à nome beltate,
non fu giamai se non in questa etate
tutto in un corpo, et ciò fu per mie pene;
ché Natura non vol, né si convene,
per far ricco un, por li altri in povertate;
or verso in una ogni sua largitate
(perdonimi qual è bella o si tene).
Non fu simil bellezza antica o nova,
né sarà, credo; ma fu sì coverta
ch’ a pena se n’accorse il mondo errante.
Tosto disparve, onde ’l cangiar mi giova
la poca vista a me dal Cielo offerta
sol per piacer a le sue luci sante.
351
Dolci durezze et placide repulse
piene di casto amore et di pietate,
leggiadri sdegni che le mie infiammate
voglie tempraro (or me n’accorgo) e ’nsulse,
gentil parlar in cui chiaro refulse
con somma cortesia somma onestate,
fior di vertù, fontana di beltate,
ch’ ogni basso penser del cor m’avulse,
divino sguardo da far l’uom felice,
or fiero in affrenar la mente ardita
a quel che giustamente si disdice,
or presto a confortar mia fraie vita:
questo bel variar fu la radice
di mia salute, ch’ altramente era ita.
350
This frail and perishable good of ours
which is a wind and shadow known as beauty
never existed, save in our own day,
all in one body, all to my own sorrow,
for Nature does not wish, nor is it fitting,
to make one rich by making others poor;
now all her riches she poured into one
(forgive me if you’re beautiful, or think so).
Such beauty old or new there never was
nor will there be, I think; it was so hidden
that hardly did the erring world take note.
It quickly vanished, and I am pleased to change
the brief sight that was offered me by Heaven
for the sole pleasure of her holy eyes.
351
Sweet sternness and repulses calmly dealt,
filled with a love that’s chaste and full of pity,
and charming indignation which my flaming
and vain desires tempered—now clear to me—
the gracious speech in which shone bright the highest
of courtesy with highest honesty,
flower of virtuousness, fountain of beauty,
that tore out every low thought from my heart,
glance so divine it brings man happiness,
now fierce in reining in a daring mind
from that which is forbidden, justly so,
now quick in comforting my fragile life:
this lovely variation was the root
of my salvation—without it I was lost.
352
Spirto felice che si dolcemente
volgei quelli occhi più chiari che ’l sole
et formavi i sospiri et le parole
vive ch’ ancor mi sonan ne la mente:
già ti vid’ io d’onesto foco ardente
mover i pie’ fra l’erbe et le viole
(non come donna, ma com’ angel sole)
di quella ch’ or m’è più che mai presente,
la qual tu poi, tornando al tuo Fattore,
lasciasti in terra, et quel soave velo
che per alto destin ti venne in sorte.
Nel tuo partir parti del mondo Amore
et Cortesia, e ’l sol cadde del cielo,
et dolce incominciò farsi la Morte.
353
Vago augelletto, che cantando vai
o ver piangendo il tuo tempo passato
vedendoti la notte e ’l verno a lato
e ’l di dopo le spalle e i mesi gai,
se come i tuoi gravosi affanni sai,
così sapessi il mio simile stato,
verresti in grembo a questo sconsolato
a partir seco i dolorosi guai.
I’ non so se le parti sarian pari,
ché quella cui tu piangi è forse in vita,
di ch’ a me Morte e ’l Ciel son tanto avari;
ma la stagion et l’ora men gradita,
col membrar de’ dolci anni et de li amari,
a parlar teco con pietà m’invita.
352
Spirit so happy who so very sweetly
would move those eyes that shone more than the sun
and who would shape the sighs and form the words
that live and still are sounding in my mind,
I saw you once aglow with virtuous fire
moving among the grass and violets
(not like a lady but an angel would)
the feet of her who lives in me forever,
whom you then, once returned to your First Maker,
left down on earth with that soft veil
that you received from highest destiny.
When you left so did Love then leave the world,
and Courtesy, the sun fell from the sky,
and Death began to taste sweet to me then.
353
O lovely little bird singing away
in tones of grief for all the time gone by,
you see the night and winter at your side,
the day and all those happy months behind;
aware as you are of your grievous troubles
could you be so of my plight as your own,
you would fly straight to the bosom of this wretch
to share with him some of his painful grief.
I cannot say our portions would be equal,
since she you weep for may still have her life
with which Heaven and Death for me are stingy;
but the forbidding season and the hour,
the memory of sweet years and bitter ones,
invites me to discuss with you my pity.
354
Deh, porgi mano a l’affannato ingegno,
Amor, et a lo stile stanco et frale
per dir di quella ch’ è fatta immortale
et cittad
ina del celeste regno;
dammi, Signor, che ’l mio dir giunga al segno
de le sue lode, ove per sé non sale,
se vertù, se beltà non ebbe eguale
il mondo che d’aver lei non fu degno.
Responde: “Quanto ’l Ciel et io possiamo,
e i buon consigli e ’l conversar onesto,
tutto fu in lei di che noi Morte à privi;
forma par non fu mai dal dì ch’ Adamo
aperse li occhi in prima; et basti or questo,
piangendo il dico, et tu piangendo scrivi.”
355
O tempo, O ciel volubil che fuggendo
inganni i ciechi et miseri mortali,
O dì veloci più che vento et strali!
ora ab experto vostre frodi intendo.
Ma scuso voi et me stesso riprendo:
ché Natura a volar v’aperse l’ali,
a me diede occhi; et io pur ne’ miei mali
li tenni onde vergogna et dolor prendo,
et sarebbe ora, et è passata omai,
di rivoltarli in più secura parte
et poner fine a l’infiniti guai.
Né dal tuo giogo, Amor, l’alma si parte,
ma dal suo mal, con che studio tu ’l sai:
non a caso è vertute, anzi è bell’arte.
354
Ah, now reach out and help my weary mind,
Love, and my fragile, worn-out style as well,
to speak of her who has become immortal
and citizen of the celestial realm;
allow, my Lord, my words to hit the final
mark of her praise—they cannot reach themselves,
such virtue and such beauty had no equal
here in our world unworthy of her presence.
He answers: “All Heaven, all that I can do,
and all good counsel and her honest talk,
was all in her of whom Death has deprived us;
“a form like hers there never was since Adam
first opened up his eyes!—let this suffice.
I speak in tears, and now in tears you write.”
355
O time, O wheeling heavens that in your flight
deceive us blind and miserable mortals,
O days swifter than any wind or arrow,
now ab experto I have learned your frauds.
You I excuse, and I accuse myself,
for Nature gave you wings with which to fly;
she gave me eyes which I fixed only on
what did me harm, and I’m ashamed and sorry,
and it is time, the time is past already,
to turn them in a more secure direction
and put an end to all my endless woes.
Not from your yoke, Love, does my soul depart
but from my harms—and you know with what effort:
virtue’s no accident, it’s a fine art!
356
L’aura mia sacra al mio stanco riposo
spira sì spesso ch’ i’ prendo ardimento
di dirle il mal ch’ i’ ò sentito et sento,
che vivendo ella non sarei stat’ oso.
I’ incomincio da quel guardo amoroso
che fu principio a sì lungo tormento,
poi seguo come misero et contento
di di in di, d’ora in ora, Amor m’à roso.
Ella si tace et di pietà depinta
fiso mira pur me; parte sospira
et di lagrime oneste il viso adorna;
onde l’anima mia dal dolor vinta,
mentre piangendo allor seco s’adira,
sciolta dal sonno a se stessa ritorna.
357
Ogni giorno mi par più di mill’anni
ch’ i’ segua la mia fida et cara duce
che mi condusse al mondo, or mi conduce
per miglior via a vita senza affanni;
et non mi posson ritener l’inganni
del mondo, ch’ i’ ’l conosco; et tanta luce
dentro al mio core infin dal Ciel traluce
ch’ i’ ’ncomincio a contar il tempo e i danni.
Né minacce temer debbo di morte,
che ’l Re sofferse con più grave pena
per farme a seguitar constante et forte,
et or novellamente in ogni vena
intrò di lei che m’era data in sorte,
et non turbo la sua fronte serena.
356
Into my weary sleep my sacred aura
so often breathes that I become courageous
and tell her of the ills I felt and feel
which I would dare not do were she still living.
And I start with that glance inspiring love
which was the start of such long suffering,
I follow then with how, wretched and happy,
daily, hourly, Love gnawed away at me.
She is silent, her face colored with pity,
her look fixed all on me; meanwhile she sighs,
and tears, sincere, make her face beautiful;
and then my soul, so overcome with sorrow,
starting to cry, grows angry with itself,
shaken from sleep, comes to itself again.
357
Each day to me is like a thousand years
until I follow my dear, faithful guide
who led me in the world and leads me now
by better roads to life without a care;
I cannot be held back by the deceits
of our world for I know them; so much light
shines down into my heart from high in Heaven
that I begin to count my time and losses.
Nor do I need to fear the threats of death
which with far greater pain the King once suffered
to make me strong and firm to follow Him,
and which not long ago entered each vein
of her it was my destiny to have
and did not seem to trouble her clear brow.
358
Non po far Morte il dolce viso amaro,
ma ’l dolce viso dolce po far Morte:
che bisogn’ a morir ben altre scorte?
quella mi scorge ond’ ogni ben imparo;
et quei che del suo sangue non fu avaro,
che col pe’ ruppe le tartaree porte,
col suo morir par che mi riconforte.
Dunque vien, Morte, il tuo venir m’è caro,
et non tardar, ch’ egli è ben tempo omai;
et se non fusse, e’ fu ’l tempo in quel punto
che Madonna passò di questa vita.
D’allor inanzi, un dì non vissi mai;
seco fui in via, et seco al fin son giunto,
et mia giornata ò co’ suoi pie’ fornita.
359
Quando il soave mio fido conforto
per dar riposo a la mia vita stanca
ponsi del letto in su la sponda manca
con quel suo dolce ragionare accorto,
tutto di pièta et di paura smorto
dico: “Onde vien tu ora, o felice alma?”
Un ramoscel di palma
et un di lauro trae del suo bel seno,
et dice: “Dal sereno
Ciel empireo et di quelle sante parti
mi mossi, et vengo sol per consolarti.”
In atto et in parole la ringrazio
umilemente, et poi demando: “Or donde
sai tu il mio stato?” Et ella: “Le triste onde
del pianto di che mai tu non se’ sazio,
coll’aura de’ sospir’, per tanto spazio
passano al Cielo et turban la mia pace.
358
Death cannot change a sweet face into bitter,
but a sweet face can surely make Death sweet.
To die what need have I of other guides?
The one who teaches me all good guides me;
and He who was not stingy with his blood,
who broke the gates of Tartar with his foot,
f
rom his own death it seems I take my strength.
So come Death, for your coming’s dear to me,
do not delay, the time is surely right,
and were it not, the time was right the moment
my lady passed away and left this life.
From that time on I never lived a day;
with her I lived, with her I’ve reached the end,
and I have ended my day in her steps.
359
When that kind, faithful comforter of mine
to give my tired life a little rest
sits at my bedside there on my left side
with that sweet talk of hers so full of wisdom,
I turn pale in my anguish, and in fear
say: “Where do you come from, O happy soul?”
A little branch of palm
and a laurel one she takes from her fair bosom
and says: “From the serene
Empyrean, and from those holy parts
I came, and I come only to console you.”
With words and gestures I give her my thanks
humbly and then I ask: “How do you know
about my state?” And she: “The doleful waves
of tears with which you’re never satisfied,
joined with your breeze of sighs, through so much space
travel to Heaven, and they disturb my peace.
Si forte ti dispiace
che di questa miseria sia partita
et giunta a miglior vita?
che piacer ti devria, se tu m’amasti
quanto in sembianti et ne’ tuoi dir mostrasti.”
Rispondo: “Io non piango altro che me stesso
che son rimaso in tenebre e ’n martire,
certo sempre del tuo al Ciel salire
come di cosa ch’ uom vede da presso.
Come Dio et Natura avrebben messo
in un cor giovenil tanta vertute,
se l’eterna salute
non fusse destinata al tuo ben fare?
O de l’anime rare
ch’ altamente vivesti qui tra noi
et che subito al Ciel volasti poi!
“Ma io che debbo altro che pianger sempre
misero et sol, che senza te son nulla!