Voi, ch' ascoltate in rime sparse il suono.

HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS PASSION

   Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear

 Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed

 When early youth my mazy wanderings led,

 Fondly diverse from what I now appear,

 Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear,

 From those by whom my various style is read,

 I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled,

 Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear.

 But now I clearly see that of mankind

 Long time I was the tale: whence bitter thought

 And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem;

 While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find,

 And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought,

 That the world's joy is but a flitting dream.

O ye, who list in scatter'd verse the sound

Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed,

When I, by youthful error first misled,

Unlike my present self in heart was found;

Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound

Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred;

If e'er true love its influence o'er ye shed,

Oh! let your pity be with pardon crown'd.

But now full well I see how to the crowd

For length of time I proved a public jest:

E'en by myself my folly is allow'd:

And of my vanity the fruit is shame,

Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest,

That worldly pleasure is a passing dream.

Ye, who may listen to each idle strain

Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was fed

In life's first morn, by youthful error led,

(Far other then from what I now remain!)

That thus in varying numbers I complain,

Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred,

If any in love's lore be practisèd,

His pardon, — e'en his pity I may obtain:

But now aware that to mankind my name

Too long has been a bye-word and a scorn,

I blush before my own severer thought;

Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame,

And deep repentance, of the knowledge born

That all we value in this world is naught.

Per far una leggiadra sua vendetta.

HOW HE BECAME THE VICTIM OF LOVE.

For many a crime at once to make me smart,

And a delicious vengeance to obtain,

Love secretly took up his bow again,

As one who acts the cunning coward's part;

My courage had retired within my heart,

There to defend the pass bright eyes might gain;

When his dread archery was pour'd amain

Where blunted erst had fallen every dart.

Scared at the sudden brisk attack, I found

Nor time, nor vigour to repel the foe

With weapons suited to the direful need;

No kind protection of rough rising ground,

Where from defeat I might securely speed,

Which fain I would e'en now, but ah, no method know!

One sweet and signal vengeance to obtain

To punish in a day my life's long crime,

As one who, bent on harm, waits place and time,

Love craftily took up his bow again.

My virtue had retired to watch my heart,

Thence of weak eyes the danger to repell,

When momently a mortal blow there fell

Where blunted hitherto dropt every dart.

And thus, o'erpower'd in that first attack,

She had nor vigour left enough, nor room

Even to arm her for my pressing need,

Nor to the steep and painful mountain back

To draw me, safe and scathless from that doom,

Whence, though alas! too weak, she fain had freed.

Era 'l giorno ch' al sol si scoloraro.

HE BLAMES LOVE FOR WOUNDING HIM ON A HOLY DAY (GOOD FRIDAY).

'Twas on the morn, when heaven its blessed ray

In pity to its suffering master veil'd,

First did I, Lady, to your beauty yield,

Of your victorious eyes th' unguarded prey.

Ah! little reck'd I that, on such a day,

Needed against Love's arrows any shield;

And trod, securely trod, the fatal field:

Whence, with the world's, began my heart's dismay.

On every side Love found his victim bare,

And through mine eyes transfix'd my throbbing heart;

Those eyes, which now with constant sorrows flow:

But poor the triumph of his boasted art,

Who thus could pierce a naked youth, nor dare

To you in armour mail'd even to display his bow!

'Twas on the blessed morning when the sun

In pity to our Maker hid his light,

That, unawares, the captive I was won,

Lady, of your bright eyes which chain'd me quite;

That seem'd to me no time against the blows

Of love to make defence, to frame relief:

Secure and unsuspecting, thus my woes

Date their commencement from the common grief.

Love found me feeble then and fenceless all,

Open the way and easy to my heart

Through eyes, where since my sorrows ebb and flow:

But therein was, methinks, his triumph small,

On me, in that weak state, to strike his dart,

Yet hide from you so strong his very bow.

Quel ch' infinita providenza ed arte.

HE CELEBRATES THE BIRTHPLACE OF LAURA.

He that with wisdom, goodness, power divine,

Did ample Nature's perfect book design,

Adorn'd this beauteous world, and those above,

Kindled fierce Mars, and soften'd milder Jove:

When seen on earth the shadows to fulfill

Of the less volume which conceal'd his will,

Took John and Peter from their homely care,

And made them pillars of his temple fair.

Nor in imperial Rome would He be born,

Whom servile Judah yet received with scorn:

E'en Bethlehem could her infant King disown,

And the rude manger was his early throne.

Victorious sufferings did his pomp display,

Nor other chariot or triumphal way.

At once by Heaven's example and decree,

Such honour waits on such humility.

The High Eternal, in whose works supreme

The Master's vast creative power hath spoke:

At whose command each circling sphere awoke,

Jove mildly rose, and Mars with fiercer beam:

To earth He came, to ratify the scheme

Reveal'd to us through prophecy's dark cloak,

To sound redemption, speak man's fallen yoke:

He chose the humblest for that heavenly theme.

But He conferr'd not on imperial Rome

His birth's renown; He chose a lowlier sky,-

To stand, through Him, the proudest spot on earth!

And now doth shine within its humble home

A star, that doth each other so outvie,

That grateful nature hails its lovely birth.

Who show'd such infinite providence and skill

In his eternal government divine,

Who launch'd the spheres, gave sun and moon to shine,

And brightest wonders the dark void to fill;

On earth who came the Scriptures to maintain,

Which for long years the truth had buried yet,

Took John and Peter from the fisher's net

And gave to each his part in the heavenly reign.

He for his birth fair Rome preferr'd not then,

But lowly Bethlehem; thus o'er proudest state

He ever loves humility to raise.

Now rises from small spot like sun again,

Whom Nature hails, the place grows bright and great

Which birth so heavenly to our earth displays.

Quand' io movo i sospiri a chiamar voi.

HE PLAYS UPON THE NAME LAURETA OR LAURA.

In sighs when I outbreathe your cherish'd name,

That name which love has writ upon my heart,

LAUd instantly upon my doting tongue,

At the first thought of its sweet sound, is heard;

Your REgal state, which I encounter next,

Doubles my valour in that high emprize:

But TAcit ends the word; your praise to tell

Is fitting load for better backs than mine.

Thus all who call you, by the name itself,

Are taught at once to LAUd and to REvere,

O worthy of all reverence and esteem!

Save that perchance Apollo may disdain

That mortal tongue of his immortal boughs

Should ever so presume as e'en to speak.

Sì traviato è 'l folle mio desio.

OF HIS FOOLISH PASSION FOR LAURA.

So wayward now my will, and so unwise,

To follow her who turns from me in flight,

And, from love's fetters free herself and light,

Before my slow and shackled motion flies,

That less it lists, the more my sighs and cries

Would point where passes the safe path and right,

Nor aught avails to check or to excite,

For Love's own nature curb and spur defies.

Thus, when perforce the bridle he has won,

And helpless at his mercy I remain,

Against my will he speeds me to mine end

'Neath yon cold laurel, whose false boughs upon

Hangs the harsh fruit, which, tasted, spreads the pain

I sought to stay, and mars where it should mend.

My tameless will doth recklessly pursue

Her, who, unshackled by love's heavy chain,

Flies swiftly from its chase, whilst I in vain

My fetter'd journey pantingly renew;

The safer track I offer to its view,

But hopeless is my power to restrain,

It rides regardless of the spur or rein;

Love makes it scorn the hand that would subdue.

The triumph won, the bridle all its own,

Without one curb I stand within its power,

And my destruction helplessly presage:

It guides me to that laurel, ever known,

To all who seek the healing of its flower,

To aggravate the wound it should assuage.

La gola e 'l sonno e l' oziose piume.

TO A FRIEND, ENCOURAGING HIM TO PURSUE POETRY.

Torn is each virtue from its earthly throne

By sloth, intemperance, and voluptuous ease;

E'en nature deviates from her wonted ways,

Too much the slave of vicious custom grown.

Far hence is every light celestial gone,

That guides mankind through life's perplexing maze;

And those, whom Helicon's sweet waters please,

From mocking crowds receive contempt alone.

Who now would laurel, myrtle-wreaths obtain?

Let want, let shame, Philosophy attend!

Cries the base world, intent on sordid gain.

What though thy favourite path be trod by few;

Let it but urge thee more, dear gentle friend!

Thy great design of glory to pursue.

Intemperance, slumber, and the slothful down

Have chased each virtue from this world away;

Hence is our nature nearly led astray

From its due course, by habitude o'erthrown;

Those kindly lights of heaven so dim are grown,

Which shed o'er human life instruction's ray;

That him with scornful wonder they survey,

Who would draw forth the stream of Helicon.

"Whom doth the laurel please, or myrtle now?

Naked and poor, Philosophy, art thou!"

The worthless crowd, intent on lucre, cries.

Few on thy chosen road will thee attend;

Yet let it more incite thee, gentle friend,

To prosecute thy high-conceived emprize.

A piè de' colli ove la bella vesta.

HE FEIGNS AN ADDRESS FROM SOME BIRDS WHICH HE HAD PRESENTED.

Beneath the verdant hills-where the fair vest

Of earthly mould first took the Lady dear,

Who him that sends us, feather'd captives, here

Awakens often from his tearful rest-

Lived we in freedom and in quiet, blest

With everything which life below might cheer,

No foe suspecting, harass'd by no fear

That aught our wanderings ever could molest;

But snatch'd from that serener life, and thrown

To the low wretched state we here endure,

One comfort, short of death, survives alone:

Vengeance upon our captor full and sure!

Who, slave himself at others' power, remains

Pent in worse prison, bound by sterner chains.

Beneath those very hills, where beauty threw

Her mantle first o'er that earth-moulded fair,

Who oft from sleep, while shedding many a tear,

Awakens him that sends us unto you,

Our lives in peacefulness and freedom flew,

E'en as all creatures wish who hold life dear;

Nor deem'd we aught could in its course come near,

Whence to our wanderings danger might accrue.

But from the wretched state to which we're brought,

Leaving another with sereneness fraught,

Nay, e'en from death, one comfort we obtain;

That vengeance follows him who sent us here;

Another's utmost thraldom doomed to bear,

Bound he now lies with a still stronger chain.

Quando 'l pianeta che distingue l' ore.

WITH A PRESENT OF FRUIT IN SPRING.

When the great planet which directs the hours

To dwell with Taurus from the North is borne,

Such virtue rays from each enkindled horn,

Rare beauty instantly all nature dowers;

Nor this alone, which meets our sight, that flowers

Richly the upland and the vale adorn,

But Earth's cold womb, else lustreless and lorn,

Is quick and warm with vivifying powers,

Till herbs and fruits, like these I send, are rife.

— So she, a sun amid her fellow fair,

Shedding the rays of her bright eyes on me,

Thoughts, acts, and words of love wakes into life-

But, ah! for me is no new Spring, nor e'er,

Smile they on whom she will, again can be.

When Taurus in his house doth Phoebus keep,

There pours so bright a virtue from his crest

That Nature wakes, and stands in beauty drest,

The flow'ring meadows start with joy from sleep:

Nor they alone rejoice-earth's bosom deep

(Though not one beam illumes her night of rest)

Responsive smiles, and from her fruitful breast

Gives forth her treasures for her sons to reap.

Thus she, who dwells amid her sex a sun,

Shedding upon my soul her eyes' full light,

Each thought creates, each deed, each word of love:

But though my heart's proud mastery she hath won

Alas! within me dwells eternal night:

My spirit ne'er Spring's genial breath doth prove.

Gloriosa Colonna, in cui s' appoggia.

TO STEFANO COLONNA THE ELDER, INVITING HIM TO THE COUNTRY.

Glorious Colonna! still the strength and stay

Of our best hopes, and the great Latin name

Whom power could never from the true right way

Seduce by flattery or by terror tame:

No palace, theatres, nor arches here,

But, in their stead, the fir, the beech, and pine

On the green sward, with the fair mountain near

Paced to and fro by poet friend of thine;

Thus unto heaven the soul from earth is caught;

While Philomel, who sweetly to the shade

The livelong night her desolate lot complains,

Fills the soft heart with many an amorous thought:

— Ah! why is so rare good imperfect made

While severed from us still my lord remains.

Glorious Colonna! thou, the Latins' hope,

The proud supporter of our lofty name,

Thou hold'st thy path of virtue still the same,

Amid the thunderings of Rome's Jove-the Pope.

Not here do human structures interlope

The fir to rival, or the pine-tree's claim,

The soul may revel in poetic flame

Upon yon mountain's green and gentle slope.

And thus from earth to heaven the spirit soars,

Whilst Philomel her tale of woe repeats

Amid the sympathising shades of night,

Thus through man's breast love's current sweetly pours:

Yet still thine absence half the joy defeats, —

Alas! my friend, why dim such radiant light?

Lassare il velo o per sole o per ombra.

PERCEIVING HIS PASSION, LAURA'S SEVERITY INCREASES.

Never thy veil, in sun or in the shade,

Lady, a moment I have seen

Quitted, since of my heart the queen

Mine eyes confessing thee my heart betray'd

While my enamour'd thoughts I kept conceal'd.

Those fond vain hopes by which I die,

In thy sweet features kindness beam'd:

Changed was the gentle language of thine eye

Soon as my foolish heart itself reveal'd;

And all that mildness which I changeless deem'd-

All, all withdrawn which most my soul esteem'd.

Yet still the veil I must obey,

Which, whatsoe'er the aspect of the day,

Thine eyes' fair radiance hides, my life to overshade.

Wherefore, my unkind fair one, say,

Whether the sun fierce darts his ray,

Or whether gloom o'erspreads the sky,

That envious veil is ne'er thrown by;

Though well you read my heart, and knew

How much I long'd your charms to view?

While I conceal'd each tender thought,

That my fond mind's destruction wrought,

Your face with pity sweetly shone;

But, when love made my passion known,

Your sunny locks were seen no more,

Nor smiled your eyes as heretofore;

Behind a jealous cloud retired

Those beauties which I most admired.

And shall a veil thus rule my fate?

O cruel veil, that whether heat

Or cold be felt, art doom'd to prove

Fatal to me, shadowing the lights I love!

Se la mia vita dall' aspro tormento.

HE HOPES THAT TIME WILL RENDER HER MORE MERCIFUL.

If o'er each bitter pang, each hidden throe

Sadly triumphant I my years drag on,

Till even the radiance of those eyes is gone,

Lady, which star-like now illume thy brow;

And silver'd are those locks of golden glow,

And wreaths and robes of green aside are thrown,

And from thy cheek those hues of beauty flown,

Which check'd so long the utterance of my woe,

Haply my bolder tongue may then reveal

The bosom'd annals of my heart's fierce fire,

The martyr-throbs that now in night I veil:

And should the chill Time frown on young Desire.

Still, still some late remorse that breast may feel,

And heave a tardy sigh-ere love with life expire.

Lady, if grace to me so long be lent

From love's sharp tyranny and trials keen,

Ere my last days, in life's far vale, are seen,

To know of thy bright eyes the lustre spent,

The fine gold of thy hair with silver sprent,

Neglected the gay wreaths and robes of green,

Pale, too, and thin the face which made me, e'en

'Gainst injury, slow and timid to lament:

Then will I, for such boldness love would give,

Lay bare my secret heart, in martyr's fire

Years, days, and hours that yet has known to live;

And, though the time then suit not fair desire,

At least there may arrive to my long grief,

Too late of tender sighs the poor relief.

Quando fra l' altre donne ad ora ad ora.

THE BEAUTY OF LAURA LEADS HIM TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF THE SUPREME GOOD.

Throned on her angel brow, when Love displays

His radiant form among all other fair,

Far as eclipsed their choicest charms appear,

I feel beyond its wont my passion blaze.

And still I bless the day, the hour, the place,

When first so high mine eyes I dared to rear;

And say, "Fond heart, thy gratitude declare,

That then thou had'st the privilege to gaze.

'Twas she inspired the tender thought of love,

Which points to heaven, and teaches to despise

The earthly vanities that others prize:

She gave the soul's light grace, which to the skies

Bids thee straight onward in the right path move;

Whence buoy'd by hope e'en, now I soar to worlds above."

When Love, whose proper throne is that sweet face,

At times escorts her 'mid the sisters fair,

As their each beauty is than hers less rare,

So swells in me the fond desire apace.

I bless the hour, the season and the place,

So high and heavenward when my eyes could dare;

And say: "My heart! in grateful memory bear

This lofty honour and surpassing grace:

From her descends the tender truthful thought,

Which follow'd, bliss supreme shall thee repay,

Who spurn'st the vanities that win the crowd:

From her that gentle graceful love is caught,

To heaven which leads thee by the right-hand way,

And crowns e'en here with hopes both pure and proud."

Occhi miei lassi, mentre ch' io vi giro.

HE INVITES HIS EYES TO FEAST THEMSELVES ON LAURA.

My wearied eyes! while looking thus

On that fair fatal face to us,

Be wise, be brief, for-hence my sighs-

Already Love our bliss denies.

Death only can the amorous track

Shut from my thoughts which leads them back

To the sweet port of all their weal;

But lesser objects may conceal

Our light from you, that meaner far

In virtue and perfection are.

Wherefore, poor eyes! ere yet appears,

Already nigh, the time of tears,

Now, after long privation past,

Look, and some comfort take at last.

Io mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passo.

ON QUITTING LAURA.

With weary frame which painfully I bear,

I look behind me at each onward pace,

And then take comfort from your native air,

Which following fans my melancholy face;

The far way, my frail life, the cherish'd fair

Whom thus I leave, as then my thoughts retrace,

I fix my feet in silent pale despair,

And on the earth my tearful eyes abase.

At times a doubt, too, rises on my woes,

"How ever can this weak and wasted frame

Live from life's spirit and one source afar?"

Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows-

"This high pure privilege true lovers claim,

Who from mere human feelings franchised are!"

I look behind each step I onward trace,

Scarce able to support my wearied frame,

Ah, wretched me! I pantingly exclaim,

And from her atmosphere new strength embrace;

I think on her I leave-my heart's best grace-

My lengthen'd journey-life's capricious flame-

I pause in withering fear, with purpose tame,

Whilst down my cheek tears quick each other chase.

My doubting heart thus questions in my grief:

"Whence comes it that existence thou canst know

When from thy spirit thou dost dwell entire?"

Love, holy Love, my heart then answers brief:

"Such privilege I do on all bestow

Who feed my flame with nought of earthly fire!"

Movesi 'l vecchierel canuto e bianco.

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A PILGRIM.

The palmer bent, with locks of silver gray,

Quits the sweet spot where he has pass'd his years,

Quits his poor family, whose anxious fears

Paint the loved father fainting on his way;

And trembling, on his aged limbs slow borne,

In these last days that close his earthly course,

He, in his soul's strong purpose, finds new force,

Though weak with age, though by long travel worn:

Thus reaching Rome, led on by pious love,

He seeks the image of that Saviour Lord

Whom soon he hopes to meet in bliss above:

So, oft in other forms I seek to trace

Some charm, that to my heart may yet afford

A faint resemblance of thy matchless grace.

As parts the aged pilgrim, worn and gray,

From the dear spot his life where he had spent,

From his poor family by sorrow rent,

Whose love still fears him fainting in decay:

Thence dragging heavily, in life's last day,

His suffering frame, on pious journey bent,

Pricking with earnest prayers his good intent,

Though bow'd with years, and weary with the way,

He reaches Rome, still following his desire

The likeness of his Lord on earth to see,

Whom yet he hopes in heaven above to meet;

So I, too, seek, nor in the fond quest tire,

Lady, in other fair if aught there be

That faintly may recall thy beauties sweet.

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso.

HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.

Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain,

And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs,

When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes,

For whom the world's allurements I disdain,

But when I see that gentle smile again,

That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise,

It pours on every sense a blest surprise;

Lost in delight is all my torturing pain.

Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies:

When all thy soothing charms my fate removes

At thy departure from my ravish'd view.

To that sole refuge its firm faith approves

My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies,

And wing'd with fond remembrance follows you.

Tears, bitter tears adown my pale cheek rain,

Bursts from mine anguish'd breast a storm of sighs,

Whene'er on you I turn my passionate eyes,

For whom alone this bright world I disdain.

True! to my ardent wishes and old pain

That mild sweet smile a peaceful balm supplies,

Rescues me from the martyr fire that tries,

Rapt and intent on you whilst I remain;

Thus in your presence-but my spirits freeze

When, ushering with fond acts a warm adieu,

My fatal stars from life's quench'd heaven decay.

My soul released at last with Love's apt keys

But issues from my heart to follow you,

Nor tears itself without much thought away.

Quand' io son tutto volto in quella parte.

HE FLIES, BUT PASSION PURSUES HIM.

When I reflect and turn me to that part

Whence my sweet lady beam'd in purest light,

And in my inmost thought remains that light

Which burns me and consumes in every part,

I, who yet dread lest from my heart it part

And see at hand the end of this my light,

Go lonely, like a man deprived of light,

Ignorant where to go; whence to depart.

Thus flee I from the stroke which lays me dead,

Yet flee not with such speed but that desire

Follows, companion of my flight alone.

Silent I go:-but these my words, though dead,

Others would cause to weep-this I desire,

That I may weep and waste myself alone.

When all my mind I turn to the one part

Where sheds my lady's face its beauteous light,

And lingers in my loving thought the light

That burns and racks within me ev'ry part,

I from my heart who fear that it may part,

And see the near end of my single light,

Go, as a blind man, groping without light,

Who knows not where yet presses to depart.

Thus from the blows which ever wish me dead

I flee, but not so swiftly that desire

Ceases to come, as is its wont, with me.

Silent I move: for accents of the dead

Would melt the general age: and I desire

That sighs and tears should only fall from me.

Son animali al mondo di sì altera.

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A MOTH.

Creatures there are in life of such keen sight

That no defence they need from noonday sun,

And others dazzled by excess of light

Who issue not abroad till day is done,

And, with weak fondness, some because 'tis bright,

Who in the death-flame for enjoyment run,

Thus proving theirs a different virtue quite-

Alas! of this last kind myself am one;

For, of this fair the splendour to regard,

I am but weak and ill-against late hours

And darkness gath'ring round-myself to ward.

Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers,

My destiny condemns me still to turn

Where following faster I but fiercer burn.