With grief and tears (my soul's proud sovereign's food)
I ever nourish still my aching heart;
I feel my blanching cheek, and oft I start
As on Love's sharp engraven wound I brood.
But she, who e'er on earth unrivall'd stood,
Flits o'er my couch, when prostrate by his dart
I lie; and there her presence doth impart.
Whilst scarce my eyes dare meet their vision'd good,
With that fair hand in life I so desired,
She stays my eyes' sad tide; her voice's tone
Awakes the balm earth ne'er to man can give:
And thus she speaks:—"Oh! vain hath wisdom fired
The hopeless mourner's breast; no more bemoan,
I am not dead—would thou like me couldst live!"
I ever nourish still my aching heart;
I feel my blanching cheek, and oft I start
As on Love's sharp engraven wound I brood.
But she, who e'er on earth unrivall'd stood,
Flits o'er my couch, when prostrate by his dart
I lie; and there her presence doth impart.
Whilst scarce my eyes dare meet their vision'd good,
With that fair hand in life I so desired,
She stays my eyes' sad tide; her voice's tone
Awakes the balm earth ne'er to man can give:
And thus she speaks:—"Oh! vain hath wisdom fired
The hopeless mourner's breast; no more bemoan,
I am not dead—would thou like me couldst live!"
Wollaston.
SONNET LXXII.
Ripensando a quel ch' oggi il ciel onora.
HE WOULD DIE OF GRIEF WERE SHE NOT SOMETIMES TO CONSOLE HIM BY HER PRESENCE.
To that soft look which now adorns the skies,
The graceful bending of the radiant head,
The face, the sweet angelic accents fled,
That soothed me once, but now awake my sighs
Oh! when to these imagination flies,
I wonder that I am not long since dead!
'Tis she supports me, for her heavenly tread
Is round my couch when morning visions rise!
In every attitude how holy, chaste!
How tenderly she seems to hear the tale
Of my long woes, and their relief to seek!
But when day breaks she then appears in haste
The well-known heavenward path again to scale,
With moisten'd eye, and soft expressive cheek!
The graceful bending of the radiant head,
The face, the sweet angelic accents fled,
That soothed me once, but now awake my sighs
Oh! when to these imagination flies,
I wonder that I am not long since dead!
'Tis she supports me, for her heavenly tread
Is round my couch when morning visions rise!
In every attitude how holy, chaste!
How tenderly she seems to hear the tale
Of my long woes, and their relief to seek!
But when day breaks she then appears in haste
The well-known heavenward path again to scale,
With moisten'd eye, and soft expressive cheek!
Morehead.
'Tis sweet, though sad, my trembling thoughts to raise,
As memory dwells upon that form so dear,
And think that now e'en angels join to praise
The gentle virtues that adorn'd her here;
That face, that look, in fancy to behold—
To hear that voice that did with music vie—
The bending head, crown'd with its locks of gold—
All, all that charm'd, now but sad thoughts supply.
How had I lived her bitter loss to weep,
If that pure spirit, pitying my woe,
Had not appear'd to bless my troubled sleep,
Ere memory broke upon the world below?
What pure, what gentle greetings then were mine!
In what attention wrapt she paused to hear
My life's sad course, of which she bade me speak!
But as the dawn from forth the East did shine
Back to that heaven to which her way was clear,
She fled,—while falling tears bedew'd each cheek.
As memory dwells upon that form so dear,
And think that now e'en angels join to praise
The gentle virtues that adorn'd her here;
That face, that look, in fancy to behold—
To hear that voice that did with music vie—
The bending head, crown'd with its locks of gold—
All, all that charm'd, now but sad thoughts supply.
How had I lived her bitter loss to weep,
If that pure spirit, pitying my woe,
Had not appear'd to bless my troubled sleep,
Ere memory broke upon the world below?
What pure, what gentle greetings then were mine!
In what attention wrapt she paused to hear
My life's sad course, of which she bade me speak!
But as the dawn from forth the East did shine
Back to that heaven to which her way was clear,
She fled,—while falling tears bedew'd each cheek.
Wrottesley.
SONNET LXXIII.
Fu forse un tempo dolce cosa amore.
HE COMPLAINS OF HIS SUFFERINGS, WHICH ADMIT OF NO RELIEF.
Love, haply, was erewhile a sweet relief;
I scarce know when; but now it bitter grows
Beyond all else. Who learns from life well knows,
As I have learnt to know from heavy grief;
She, of our age, who was its honour chief,
Who now in heaven with brighter lustre glows,
Has robb'd my being of the sole repose
It knew in life, though that was rare and brief.
Pitiless Death my every good has ta'en!
Not the great bliss of her fair spirit freed
Can aught console the adverse life I lead.
I wept and sang; who now can wake no strain,
But day and night the pent griefs of my soul
From eyes and tongue in tears and verses roll.
I scarce know when; but now it bitter grows
Beyond all else. Who learns from life well knows,
As I have learnt to know from heavy grief;
She, of our age, who was its honour chief,
Who now in heaven with brighter lustre glows,
Has robb'd my being of the sole repose
It knew in life, though that was rare and brief.
Pitiless Death my every good has ta'en!
Not the great bliss of her fair spirit freed
Can aught console the adverse life I lead.
I wept and sang; who now can wake no strain,
But day and night the pent griefs of my soul
From eyes and tongue in tears and verses roll.
Macgregor.
SONNET LXXIV.
Spinse amor e dolor ove ir non debbe.
REFLECTING THAT LAURA IS IN HEAVEN, HE REPENTS HIS EXCESSIVE GRIEF, AND IS CONSOLED.
Sorrow and Love encouraged my poor tongue,
Discreet in sadness, where it should not go,
To speak of her for whom I burn'd and sung,
What, even were it true, 'twere wrong to show.
That blessèd saint my miserable state
Might surely soothe, and ease my spirit's strife,
Since she in heaven is now domesticate
With Him who ever ruled her heart in life.
Wherefore I am contented and consoled,
Nor would again in life her form behold;
Nay, I prefer to die, and live alone.
Fairer than ever to my mental eye,
I see her soaring with the angels high,
Before our Lord, her maker and my own.
Discreet in sadness, where it should not go,
To speak of her for whom I burn'd and sung,
What, even were it true, 'twere wrong to show.
That blessèd saint my miserable state
Might surely soothe, and ease my spirit's strife,
Since she in heaven is now domesticate
With Him who ever ruled her heart in life.
Wherefore I am contented and consoled,
Nor would again in life her form behold;
Nay, I prefer to die, and live alone.
Fairer than ever to my mental eye,
I see her soaring with the angels high,
Before our Lord, her maker and my own.
Macgregor.
My love and grief compell'd me to proclaim
My heart's lament, and urged me to convey
That, were it true, of her I should not say
Who woke alike my song and bosom's flame.
For I should comfort find, 'mid this world's shame,
To mark her soul's beatified array,
To think that He who here had own'd its sway,
Doth now within his home its presence claim.
And true I comfort find—myself resign'd,
I would not woo her back to earthly gloom;
Oh! rather let me die, or live still lone!
My mental eye, that holds her there enshrined,
Now paints her wing'd, bright with celestial bloom,
Prostrate beneath our mutual Heaven's throne.
My heart's lament, and urged me to convey
That, were it true, of her I should not say
Who woke alike my song and bosom's flame.
For I should comfort find, 'mid this world's shame,
To mark her soul's beatified array,
To think that He who here had own'd its sway,
Doth now within his home its presence claim.
And true I comfort find—myself resign'd,
I would not woo her back to earthly gloom;
Oh! rather let me die, or live still lone!
My mental eye, that holds her there enshrined,
Now paints her wing'd, bright with celestial bloom,
Prostrate beneath our mutual Heaven's throne.
Wollaston.
SONNET LXXV.
Gli angeli eletti e l' anime beate.
HE DIRECTS ALL HIS THOUGHTS TO HEAVEN, WHERE LAURA AWAITS AND BECKONS HIM.
The chosen angels, and the spirits blest,
Celestial tenants, on that glorious day
My Lady join'd them, throng'd in bright array
Around her, with amaze and awe imprest.
"What splendour, what new beauty stands confest
Unto our sight?"—among themselves they say;
"No soul, in this vile age, from sinful clay
To our high realms has risen so fair a guest."
Delighted to have changed her mortal state,
She ranks amid the purest of her kind;
And ever and anon she looks behind,
To mark my progress and my coming wait;
Now my whole thought, my wish to heaven I cast;
'Tis Laura's voice I hear, and hence she bids me haste.
Celestial tenants, on that glorious day
My Lady join'd them, throng'd in bright array
Around her, with amaze and awe imprest.
"What splendour, what new beauty stands confest
Unto our sight?"—among themselves they say;
"No soul, in this vile age, from sinful clay
To our high realms has risen so fair a guest."
Delighted to have changed her mortal state,
She ranks amid the purest of her kind;
And ever and anon she looks behind,
To mark my progress and my coming wait;
Now my whole thought, my wish to heaven I cast;
'Tis Laura's voice I hear, and hence she bids me haste.
Nott.
The chosen angels, and the blest above,
Heaven's citizens!—the day when Laura ceased
To adorn the world, about her thronging press'd,
Replete with wonder and with holy love.
"What sight is this?—what will this beauty prove?"
Said they; "for sure no form in charms so dress'd,
From yonder globe to this high place of rest,
In all the latter age, did e'er remove!"
She, pleased and happy with her mansion new,
Compares herself with the most perfect there;
And now and then she casts a glance to view
If yet I come, and seems to wish me near.
Rise then, my thoughts, to heaven!—vain world, adieu!
My Laura calls! her quickening voice I hear!
Heaven's citizens!—the day when Laura ceased
To adorn the world, about her thronging press'd,
Replete with wonder and with holy love.
"What sight is this?—what will this beauty prove?"
Said they; "for sure no form in charms so dress'd,
From yonder globe to this high place of rest,
In all the latter age, did e'er remove!"
She, pleased and happy with her mansion new,
Compares herself with the most perfect there;
And now and then she casts a glance to view
If yet I come, and seems to wish me near.
Rise then, my thoughts, to heaven!—vain world, adieu!
My Laura calls! her quickening voice I hear!
Charlemont.
SONNET LXXVI.
Donna che lieta col Principio nostro.
HE CONJURES LAURA, BY THE PURE LOVE HE EVER BORE HER, TO OBTAIN FOR HIM A SPEEDY ADMISSION TO HER IN HEAVEN.
Lady, in bliss who, by our Maker's feet,
As suited for thine excellent life alone,
Art now enthroned in high and glorious seat,
Adorn'd with charms nor pearls nor purple own;
O model high and rare of ladies sweet!
Now in his face to whom all things are known,
Look on my love, with that pure faith replete,
As long my verse and truest tears have shown,
And know at last my heart on earth to thee
Was still as now in heaven, nor wish'd in life
More than beneath thine eyes' bright sun to be:
Wherefore, to recompense the tedious strife,
Which turn'd my liege heart from the world away,
Pray that I soon may come with thee to stay.
As suited for thine excellent life alone,
Art now enthroned in high and glorious seat,
Adorn'd with charms nor pearls nor purple own;
O model high and rare of ladies sweet!
Now in his face to whom all things are known,
Look on my love, with that pure faith replete,
As long my verse and truest tears have shown,
And know at last my heart on earth to thee
Was still as now in heaven, nor wish'd in life
More than beneath thine eyes' bright sun to be:
Wherefore, to recompense the tedious strife,
Which turn'd my liege heart from the world away,
Pray that I soon may come with thee to stay.
Macgregor.
Lady! whose gentle virtues have obtain'd
For thee a dwelling with thy Maker blest,
To sit enthroned above, in angels' vest
(Whose lustre gold nor purple had attain'd):
Ah! thou who here the most exalted reign'd,
Now through the eyes of Him who knows each breast,
That heart's pure faith and love thou canst attest,
Which both my pen and tears alike sustain'd.
Thou, knowest, too, my heart was thine on earth,
As now it is in heaven; no wish was there
But to avow thine eyes, its only shrine:
Thus to reward the strife which owes its birth
To thee, who won my each affection'd care,
Pray God to waft me to his home and thine!
For thee a dwelling with thy Maker blest,
To sit enthroned above, in angels' vest
(Whose lustre gold nor purple had attain'd):
Ah! thou who here the most exalted reign'd,
Now through the eyes of Him who knows each breast,
That heart's pure faith and love thou canst attest,
Which both my pen and tears alike sustain'd.
Thou, knowest, too, my heart was thine on earth,
As now it is in heaven; no wish was there
But to avow thine eyes, its only shrine:
Thus to reward the strife which owes its birth
To thee, who won my each affection'd care,
Pray God to waft me to his home and thine!
Wollaston.
SONNET LXXVII.
Da' più begli occhi e dal più chiaro viso.
HIS ONLY COMFORT IS THE EXPECTATION OF MEETING HER AGAIN IN HEAVEN.
The brightest eyes, the most resplendent face
That ever shone; and the most radiant hair,
With which nor gold nor sunbeam could compare;
The sweetest accent, and a smile all grace;
Hands, arms, that would e'en motionless abase
Those who to Love the most rebellious were;
Fine, nimble feet; a form that would appear
Like that of her who first did Eden trace;
These fann'd life's spark: now heaven, and all its choir
Of angel hosts those kindred charms admire;
While lone and darkling I on earth remain.
Yet is not comfort fled; she, who can read
Each secret of my soul, shall intercede;
And I her sainted form behold again.
That ever shone; and the most radiant hair,
With which nor gold nor sunbeam could compare;
The sweetest accent, and a smile all grace;
Hands, arms, that would e'en motionless abase
Those who to Love the most rebellious were;
Fine, nimble feet; a form that would appear
Like that of her who first did Eden trace;
These fann'd life's spark: now heaven, and all its choir
Of angel hosts those kindred charms admire;
While lone and darkling I on earth remain.
Yet is not comfort fled; she, who can read
Each secret of my soul, shall intercede;
And I her sainted form behold again.
Nott.
Yes, from those finest eyes, that face most sweet
That ever shone, and from that loveliest hair,
With which nor gold nor sunbeam may compare,
That speech with love, that smile with grace replete,
From those soft hands, those white arms which defeat.
Themselves unmoved, the stoutest hearts that e'er
To Love were rebels; from those feet so fair,
From her whole form, for Eden only meet,
My spirit took its life—now these delight
The King of Heaven and his angelic train,
While, blind and naked, I am left in night.
One only balm expect I 'mid my pain—
That she, mine every thought who now can see,
May win this grace—that I with her may be.
That ever shone, and from that loveliest hair,
With which nor gold nor sunbeam may compare,
That speech with love, that smile with grace replete,
From those soft hands, those white arms which defeat.
Themselves unmoved, the stoutest hearts that e'er
To Love were rebels; from those feet so fair,
From her whole form, for Eden only meet,
My spirit took its life—now these delight
The King of Heaven and his angelic train,
While, blind and naked, I am left in night.
One only balm expect I 'mid my pain—
That she, mine every thought who now can see,
May win this grace—that I with her may be.
Macgregor.
SONNET LXXVIII.
E' mi par d' or in ora udire il messo.
HE FEELS THAT THE DAY OF THEIR REUNION IS AT HAND.
Methinks from hour to hour her voice I hear:
My Lady calls me! I would fain obey;
Within, without, I feel myself decay;
And am so alter'd—not with many a year—
That to myself a stranger I appear;
All my old usual life is put away—
Could I but know how long I have to stay!
Grant, Heaven, the long-wish'd summons may be near!
Oh, blest the day when from this earthly gaol
I shall be freed, when burst and broken lies
This mortal guise, so heavy yet so frail,
When from this black night my saved spirit flies,
Soaring up, up, above the bright serene,
Where with my Lord my Lady shall be seen.
My Lady calls me! I would fain obey;
Within, without, I feel myself decay;
And am so alter'd—not with many a year—
That to myself a stranger I appear;
All my old usual life is put away—
Could I but know how long I have to stay!
Grant, Heaven, the long-wish'd summons may be near!
Oh, blest the day when from this earthly gaol
I shall be freed, when burst and broken lies
This mortal guise, so heavy yet so frail,
When from this black night my saved spirit flies,
Soaring up, up, above the bright serene,
Where with my Lord my Lady shall be seen.
Macgregor.
SONNET LXXIX.
L' aura mia sacra al mio stanco riposo.
HE TELLS HER IN SLEEP OF HIS SUFFERINGS, AND, OVERCOME BY HER SYMPATHY, AWAKES.
On my oft-troubled sleep my sacred air
So softly breathes, at last I courage take,
To tell her of my past and present ache,
Which never in her life my heart did dare.
I first that glance so full of love declare
Which served my lifelong torment to awake,
Next, how, content and wretched for her sake,
Love day by day my tost heart knew to tear.
She speaks not, but, with pity's dewy trace,
Intently looks on me, and gently sighs,
While pure and lustrous tears begem her face;
My spirit, which her sorrow fiercely tries,
So to behold her weep with anger burns,
And freed from slumber to itself returns.
So softly breathes, at last I courage take,
To tell her of my past and present ache,
Which never in her life my heart did dare.
I first that glance so full of love declare
Which served my lifelong torment to awake,
Next, how, content and wretched for her sake,
Love day by day my tost heart knew to tear.
She speaks not, but, with pity's dewy trace,
Intently looks on me, and gently sighs,
While pure and lustrous tears begem her face;
My spirit, which her sorrow fiercely tries,
So to behold her weep with anger burns,
And freed from slumber to itself returns.
Macgregor.
SONNET LXXX.
Ogni giorno mi par più di mill' anni.
FAR FROM FEARING, HE PRAYS FOR DEATH.
Each day to me seems as a thousand years,
That I my dear and faithful star pursue,
Who guided me on earth, and guides me too
By a sure path to life without its tears.
For in the world, familiar now, appears
No snare to tempt; so rare a light and true
Shines e'en from heaven my secret conscience through,
Of lost time and loved sin the glass it rears.
Not that I need the threats of death to dread,
(Which He who loved us bore with greater pain)
That, firm and constant, I his path should tread:
'Tis but a brief while since in every vein
Of her he enter'd who my fate has been,
Yet troubled not the least her brow serene.
That I my dear and faithful star pursue,
Who guided me on earth, and guides me too
By a sure path to life without its tears.
For in the world, familiar now, appears
No snare to tempt; so rare a light and true
Shines e'en from heaven my secret conscience through,
Of lost time and loved sin the glass it rears.
Not that I need the threats of death to dread,
(Which He who loved us bore with greater pain)
That, firm and constant, I his path should tread:
'Tis but a brief while since in every vein
Of her he enter'd who my fate has been,
Yet troubled not the least her brow serene.
Macgregor.
SONNET LXXXI.
Non può far morte il dolce viso amaro.
SINCE HER DEATH HE HAS CEASED TO LIVE.
Death cannot make that beauteous face less fair,
But that sweet face may lend to death a grace;
My spirit's guide! from her each good I trace;
Who learns to die, may seek his lesson there.
That holy one! who not his blood would spare,
But did the dark Tartarean bolts unbrace;
He, too, doth from my soul death's terrors chase:
Then welcome, death! thy impress I would wear.
And linger not! 'tis time that I had fled;
Alas! my stay hath little here avail'd,
Since she, my Laura blest, resign'd her breath:
Life's spring in me hath since that hour lain dead,
In her I lived, my life in hers exhaled,
The hour she died I felt within me death!
But that sweet face may lend to death a grace;
My spirit's guide! from her each good I trace;
Who learns to die, may seek his lesson there.
That holy one! who not his blood would spare,
But did the dark Tartarean bolts unbrace;
He, too, doth from my soul death's terrors chase:
Then welcome, death! thy impress I would wear.
And linger not! 'tis time that I had fled;
Alas! my stay hath little here avail'd,
Since she, my Laura blest, resign'd her breath:
Life's spring in me hath since that hour lain dead,
In her I lived, my life in hers exhaled,
The hour she died I felt within me death!
Wollaston.
CANZONE VI.
Quando il suave mio fido conforto.
SHE APPEARS TO HIM, AND, WITH MORE THAN WONTED AFFECTION, ENDEAVOURS TO CONSOLE HIM.
When she, the faithful soother of my pain,
This life's long weary pilgrimage to cheer,
Vouchsafes beside my nightly couch to appear,
With her sweet speech attempering reason's strain;
O'ercome by tenderness, and terror vain,
I cry, "Whence comest thou, O spirit blest?"
She from her beauteous breast
A branch of laurel and of palm displays,
And, answering, thus she says.
"From th' empyrean seat of holy love
Alone thy sorrows to console I move."
This life's long weary pilgrimage to cheer,
Vouchsafes beside my nightly couch to appear,
With her sweet speech attempering reason's strain;
O'ercome by tenderness, and terror vain,
I cry, "Whence comest thou, O spirit blest?"
She from her beauteous breast
A branch of laurel and of palm displays,
And, answering, thus she says.
"From th' empyrean seat of holy love
Alone thy sorrows to console I move."
In actions, and in words, in humble guise
I speak my thanks, and ask, "How may it be
That thou shouldst know my wretched state?" and she
"Thy floods of tears perpetual, and thy sighs
Breathed forth unceasing, to high heaven arise.
And there disturb thy blissful state serene;
So grievous hath it been,
That freed from this poor being, I at last
To a better life have pass'd,
Which should have joy'd thee hadst thou loved as well
As thy sad brow, and sadder numbers tell."
I speak my thanks, and ask, "How may it be
That thou shouldst know my wretched state?" and she
"Thy floods of tears perpetual, and thy sighs
Breathed forth unceasing, to high heaven arise.
And there disturb thy blissful state serene;
So grievous hath it been,
That freed from this poor being, I at last
To a better life have pass'd,
Which should have joy'd thee hadst thou loved as well
As thy sad brow, and sadder numbers tell."
"Oh! not thy ills, I but deplore my own,
In darkness, and in grief remaining here,
Certain that thou hast reach'd the highest sphere,
As of a thing that man hath seen and known.
Would God and Nature to the world have shown
Such virtue in a young and gentle breast,
Were not eternal rest
The appointed guerdon of a life so fair?
Thou! of the spirits rare,
Who, from a course unspotted, pure and high,
Are suddenly translated to the sky.
In darkness, and in grief remaining here,
Certain that thou hast reach'd the highest sphere,
As of a thing that man hath seen and known.
Would God and Nature to the world have shown
Such virtue in a young and gentle breast,
Were not eternal rest
The appointed guerdon of a life so fair?
Thou! of the spirits rare,
Who, from a course unspotted, pure and high,
Are suddenly translated to the sky.
"But I! how can I cease to weep? forlorn,
Without thee nothing, wretched, desolate!
Oh, in the cradle had I met my fate,
Or at the breast! and not to love been born!"
And she: "Why by consuming grief thus worn?
Were it not better spread aloft thy wings,
And now all mortal things,
With these thy sweet and idle fantasies,
At their just value prize,
And follow me, if true thy tender vows,
Gathering henceforth with me these honour'd boughs?"
Without thee nothing, wretched, desolate!
Oh, in the cradle had I met my fate,
Or at the breast! and not to love been born!"
And she: "Why by consuming grief thus worn?
Were it not better spread aloft thy wings,
And now all mortal things,
With these thy sweet and idle fantasies,
At their just value prize,
And follow me, if true thy tender vows,
Gathering henceforth with me these honour'd boughs?"
Then answering her:—"Fain would I thou shouldst say
What these two verdant branches signify."
"Methinks," she says, "thou may'st thyself reply,
Whose pen has graced the one by many a lay.
The palm shows victory; and in youth's bright day
I overcame the world, and my weak heart:
The triumph mine in part,
Glory to Him who made my weakness strength!
And thou, yet turn at length!
'Gainst other powers his gracious aid implore,
That we may be with Him thy trial o'er!"
What these two verdant branches signify."
"Methinks," she says, "thou may'st thyself reply,
Whose pen has graced the one by many a lay.
The palm shows victory; and in youth's bright day
I overcame the world, and my weak heart:
The triumph mine in part,
Glory to Him who made my weakness strength!
And thou, yet turn at length!
'Gainst other powers his gracious aid implore,
That we may be with Him thy trial o'er!"
"Are these the crisped locks, and links of gold
That bind me still? And these the radiant eyes.
To me the Sun?" "Err not with the unwise,
Nor think," she says, "as they are wont. Behold
In me a spirit, among the blest enroll'd;
Thou seek'st what hath long been earth again:
Yet to relieve thy pain
'Tis given me thus to appear, ere I resume
That beauty from the tomb,
More loved, that I, severe in pity, win
Thy soul with mine to Heaven, from death and sin."
That bind me still? And these the radiant eyes.
To me the Sun?" "Err not with the unwise,
Nor think," she says, "as they are wont. Behold
In me a spirit, among the blest enroll'd;
Thou seek'st what hath long been earth again:
Yet to relieve thy pain
'Tis given me thus to appear, ere I resume
That beauty from the tomb,
More loved, that I, severe in pity, win
Thy soul with mine to Heaven, from death and sin."
I weep; and she my cheek,
Soft sighing, with her own fair hand will dry;
And, gently chiding, speak
In tones of power to rive hard rocks in twain;
Then vanishing, sleep follows in her train.
Soft sighing, with her own fair hand will dry;
And, gently chiding, speak
In tones of power to rive hard rocks in twain;
Then vanishing, sleep follows in her train.
Dacre.
CANZONE VII.
Quell' antiquo mio dolce empio signore.
LOVE, SUMMONED BY THE POET TO THE TRIBUNAL OF REASON, PASSES A SPLENDID EULOGIUM ON LAURA.
Long had I suffer'd, till—to combat more
In strength, in hope too sunk—at last before
Impartial Reason's seat,
Whence she presides our nobler nature o'er,
I summon'd my old tyrant, stern and sweet;
There, groaning 'neath a weary weight of grief,
With fear and horror stung,
Like one who dreads to die and prays relief,
My plea I open'd thus: "When life was young,
I, weakly, placed my peace within his power,
And nothing from that hour
Save wrong I've met; so many and so great
The torments I have borne,
That my once infinite patience is outworn,
And my life worthless grown is held in very hate!
In strength, in hope too sunk—at last before
Impartial Reason's seat,
Whence she presides our nobler nature o'er,
I summon'd my old tyrant, stern and sweet;
There, groaning 'neath a weary weight of grief,
With fear and horror stung,
Like one who dreads to die and prays relief,
My plea I open'd thus: "When life was young,
I, weakly, placed my peace within his power,
And nothing from that hour
Save wrong I've met; so many and so great
The torments I have borne,
That my once infinite patience is outworn,
And my life worthless grown is held in very hate!
"Thus sadly has my time till now dragg'd by
In flames and anguish: I have left each way
Of honour, use, and joy,
This my most cruel flatterer to obey.
What wit so rare such language to employ
That yet may free me from this wretched thrall.
Or even my complaint,
So great and just, against this ingrate paint?
O little sweet! much bitterness and gall!
How have you changed my life, so tranquil, ere
With the false witchery blind,
That alone lured me to his amorous snare!
If right I judge, a mind
I boasted once with higher feelings rife,
—But he destroy'd my peace, he plunged me in this strife!
In flames and anguish: I have left each way
Of honour, use, and joy,
This my most cruel flatterer to obey.
What wit so rare such language to employ
That yet may free me from this wretched thrall.
Or even my complaint,
So great and just, against this ingrate paint?
O little sweet! much bitterness and gall!
How have you changed my life, so tranquil, ere
With the false witchery blind,
That alone lured me to his amorous snare!
If right I judge, a mind
I boasted once with higher feelings rife,
—But he destroy'd my peace, he plunged me in this strife!
"Less for myself to care, through him I've grown.
And less my God to honour than I ought:
Through him my every thought
On a frail beauty blindly have I thrown;
In this my counsellor he stood alone,
Still prompt with cruel aid so to provoke
My young desire, that I
Hoped respite from his harsh and heavy yoke.
But, ah! what boots—though changing time sweep by,
If from this changeless passion nought can save—
A genius proud and high?
Or what Heaven's other envied gifts to have,
If still I groan the slave
Of the fierce despot whom I here accuse,
Who turns e'en my sad life to his triumphant use?
And less my God to honour than I ought:
Through him my every thought
On a frail beauty blindly have I thrown;
In this my counsellor he stood alone,
Still prompt with cruel aid so to provoke
My young desire, that I
Hoped respite from his harsh and heavy yoke.
But, ah! what boots—though changing time sweep by,
If from this changeless passion nought can save—
A genius proud and high?
Or what Heaven's other envied gifts to have,
If still I groan the slave
Of the fierce despot whom I here accuse,
Who turns e'en my sad life to his triumphant use?
"'Twas he who made me desert countries seek,
Wild tribes and nations dangerous, manners rude,
My path with thorns he strew'd,
And every error that betrays the weak.
Valley and mountain, marsh, and stream, and sea,
On every side his snares were set for me.
In June December came,
With present peril and sharp toil the same;
Alone they left me never, neither he,
Nor she, whom I so fled, my other foe:
Untimely in my tomb,
If by some painful death not yet laid low.
My safety from such doom
Heaven's gracious pity, not this tyrant, deigns,
Who feeds upon my grief, and profits in my pains!
Wild tribes and nations dangerous, manners rude,
My path with thorns he strew'd,
And every error that betrays the weak.
Valley and mountain, marsh, and stream, and sea,
On every side his snares were set for me.
In June December came,
With present peril and sharp toil the same;
Alone they left me never, neither he,
Nor she, whom I so fled, my other foe:
Untimely in my tomb,
If by some painful death not yet laid low.
My safety from such doom
Heaven's gracious pity, not this tyrant, deigns,
Who feeds upon my grief, and profits in my pains!
"No quiet hour, since first I own'd his reign,
I've known, nor hope to know: repose is fled
From my unfriendly bed,
Nor herb nor spells can bring it back again.
By fraud and force he gain'd and guards his power
O'er every sense; soundeth from steeple near,
By day, by night, the hour,
I feel his hand in every stroke I hear.
Never did cankerworm fair tree devour,
As he my heart, wherein he, gnawing, lurks,
And, there, my ruin works.
Hence my past martyrdom and tears arise,
My present speech, these sighs,
Which tear and tire myself, and haply thee,
—Judge then between us both, thou knowest him and me!"
I've known, nor hope to know: repose is fled
From my unfriendly bed,
Nor herb nor spells can bring it back again.
By fraud and force he gain'd and guards his power
O'er every sense; soundeth from steeple near,
By day, by night, the hour,
I feel his hand in every stroke I hear.
Never did cankerworm fair tree devour,
As he my heart, wherein he, gnawing, lurks,
And, there, my ruin works.
Hence my past martyrdom and tears arise,
My present speech, these sighs,
Which tear and tire myself, and haply thee,
—Judge then between us both, thou knowest him and me!"
With fierce reproach my adversary rose:
"Lady," he spoke, "the rebel to a close
Is heard at last, the truth
Receive from me which he has shrunk to tell:
Big words to bandy, specious lies to sell,
He plies right well the vile trade of his youth,
Freed from whose shame, to share
My easy pleasures, by my friendly care,
From each false passion which had work'd him ill,
Kept safe and pure, laments he, graceless, still
The sweet life he has gain'd?
And, blindly, thus his fortune dares he blame,
Who owes his very fame
To me, his genius who sublimed, sustain'd,
In the proud flight to which he, else, had dared not aim?
"Lady," he spoke, "the rebel to a close
Is heard at last, the truth
Receive from me which he has shrunk to tell:
Big words to bandy, specious lies to sell,
He plies right well the vile trade of his youth,
Freed from whose shame, to share
My easy pleasures, by my friendly care,
From each false passion which had work'd him ill,
Kept safe and pure, laments he, graceless, still
The sweet life he has gain'd?
And, blindly, thus his fortune dares he blame,
Who owes his very fame
To me, his genius who sublimed, sustain'd,
In the proud flight to which he, else, had dared not aim?
"Well knows he how, in history's every page,
The laurell'd chief, the monarch on his throne,
The poet and the sage,
Favourites of fortune, or for virtue known,
Were cursed by evil stars, in loves debased,
Soulless and vile, their hearts, their fame, to waste:
While I, for him alone,
From all the lovely ladies of the earth,
Chose one, so graced with beauty and with worth,
The eternal sun her equal ne'er beheld.
Such charm was in her life,
Such virtue in her speech with music rife,
Their wondrous power dispell'd
Each vain and vicious fancy from his heart,
—A foe I am indeed, if this a foeman's part!
The laurell'd chief, the monarch on his throne,
The poet and the sage,
Favourites of fortune, or for virtue known,
Were cursed by evil stars, in loves debased,
Soulless and vile, their hearts, their fame, to waste:
While I, for him alone,
From all the lovely ladies of the earth,
Chose one, so graced with beauty and with worth,
The eternal sun her equal ne'er beheld.
Such charm was in her life,
Such virtue in her speech with music rife,
Their wondrous power dispell'd
Each vain and vicious fancy from his heart,
—A foe I am indeed, if this a foeman's part!
"Such was my anger, these my hate and slights,
Than all which others could bestow more sweet;
Evil for good I meet,
If thus ingratitude my grace requites.
So high, upon my wings, he soar'd in fame,
To hear his song, fair dames and gentle knights
In throngs delighted came.
Among the gifted spirits of our time
His name conspicuous shines; in every clime
Admired, approved, his strains an echo find.
Such is he, but for me
A mere court flatterer who was doom'd to be,
Unmark'd amid his kind,
Till, in my school, exalted and made known
By her, who, of her sex, stood peerless and alone!
Than all which others could bestow more sweet;
Evil for good I meet,
If thus ingratitude my grace requites.
So high, upon my wings, he soar'd in fame,
To hear his song, fair dames and gentle knights
In throngs delighted came.
Among the gifted spirits of our time
His name conspicuous shines; in every clime
Admired, approved, his strains an echo find.
Such is he, but for me
A mere court flatterer who was doom'd to be,
Unmark'd amid his kind,
Till, in my school, exalted and made known
By her, who, of her sex, stood peerless and alone!
"If my great service more there need to tell,
I have so fenced and fortified him well,
That his pure mind on nought
Of gross or grovelling now can brook to dwell;
Modest and sensitive, in deed, word, thought,
Her captive from his youth, she so her fair
And virtuous image press'd
Upon his heart, it left its likeness there:
Whate'er his life has shown of good or great,
In aim or action, he from us possess'd.
Never was midnight dream
So full of error as to us his hate!
For Heaven's and man's esteem
If still he keep, the praise is due to us,
Whom in its thankless pride his blind rage censures thus!
I have so fenced and fortified him well,
That his pure mind on nought
Of gross or grovelling now can brook to dwell;
Modest and sensitive, in deed, word, thought,
Her captive from his youth, she so her fair
And virtuous image press'd
Upon his heart, it left its likeness there:
Whate'er his life has shown of good or great,
In aim or action, he from us possess'd.
Never was midnight dream
So full of error as to us his hate!
For Heaven's and man's esteem
If still he keep, the praise is due to us,
Whom in its thankless pride his blind rage censures thus!
"In fine, 'twas I, my past love to exceed,
Who heavenward fix'd his hope, who gave him wings
To fly from mortal things,
Which to eternal bliss the path impede;
With his own sense, that, seeing how in her
Virtues and charms so great and rare combined,
A holy pride might stir
And to the Great First Cause exalt his mind,
(In his own verse confess'd this truth we see,)
While that dear lady whom I sent to be
The grace, the guard, and guide
Of his vain life"—But here a heart-deep groan
I sudden gave, and cried,
"Yes! sent and snatch'd her from me." He replied,
"Not I, but Heaven above, which will'd her for its own!"
Who heavenward fix'd his hope, who gave him wings
To fly from mortal things,
Which to eternal bliss the path impede;
With his own sense, that, seeing how in her
Virtues and charms so great and rare combined,
A holy pride might stir
And to the Great First Cause exalt his mind,
(In his own verse confess'd this truth we see,)
While that dear lady whom I sent to be
The grace, the guard, and guide
Of his vain life"—But here a heart-deep groan
I sudden gave, and cried,
"Yes! sent and snatch'd her from me." He replied,
"Not I, but Heaven above, which will'd her for its own!"
At length before that high tribunal each—
With anxious trembling I, while in his mien
Was conscious triumph seen—
With earnest prayer concluded thus his speech:
"Speak, noble lady! we thy judgment wait."
She then with equal air:
"It glads me to have heard your keen debate,
But in a cause so great,
More time and thought it needs just verdict to declare!"
With anxious trembling I, while in his mien
Was conscious triumph seen—
With earnest prayer concluded thus his speech:
"Speak, noble lady! we thy judgment wait."
She then with equal air:
"It glads me to have heard your keen debate,
But in a cause so great,
More time and thought it needs just verdict to declare!"
Macgregor.
[OF PARTS ONLY]
I cited once t' appear before the noble queen,
That ought to guide each mortal life that in this world is seen,
That pleasant cruel foe that robbeth hearts of ease,
And now doth frown, and then doth fawn, and can both grieve and please;
And there, as gold in fire full fined to each intent,
Charged with fear, and terror eke I did myself present,
As one that doubted death, and yet did justice crave,
And thus began t' unfold my cause in hope some help to have.
That ought to guide each mortal life that in this world is seen,
That pleasant cruel foe that robbeth hearts of ease,
And now doth frown, and then doth fawn, and can both grieve and please;
And there, as gold in fire full fined to each intent,
Charged with fear, and terror eke I did myself present,
As one that doubted death, and yet did justice crave,
And thus began t' unfold my cause in hope some help to have.
"Madam, in tender youth I enter'd first this reign,
Where other sweet I never felt, than grief and great disdain;
And eke so sundry kinds of torments did endure.
As life I loathed, and death desired my cursèd case to cure;
And thus my woeful days unto this hour have pass'd
In smoky sighs and scalding tears, my wearied life to waste;
O Lord! what graces great I fled, and eke refused
To serve this cruel crafty Sire that doubtless trust abused."
Where other sweet I never felt, than grief and great disdain;
And eke so sundry kinds of torments did endure.
As life I loathed, and death desired my cursèd case to cure;
And thus my woeful days unto this hour have pass'd
In smoky sighs and scalding tears, my wearied life to waste;
O Lord! what graces great I fled, and eke refused
To serve this cruel crafty Sire that doubtless trust abused."
"What wit can use such words to argue and debate,
What tongue express the full effect of mine unhappy state;
What hand with pen can paint t' uncipher this deceit;
What heart so hard that would not yield that once hath seen his bate;
What great and grievous wrongs, what threats of ill success,
What single sweet, mingled with mass of double bitterness.
With what unpleasant pangs, with what an hoard of pains,
Hath he acquainted my green years by his false pleasant trains."
What tongue express the full effect of mine unhappy state;
What hand with pen can paint t' uncipher this deceit;
What heart so hard that would not yield that once hath seen his bate;
What great and grievous wrongs, what threats of ill success,
What single sweet, mingled with mass of double bitterness.
With what unpleasant pangs, with what an hoard of pains,
Hath he acquainted my green years by his false pleasant trains."
"Who by resistless power hath forced me sue his dance,
That if I be not much abused had found much better
And when I most resolved to lead most quiet life, chance;
He spoil'd me of discordless state, and thrust me in truceless strife.
He hath bewitch'd me so that God the less I served,
And due respect unto myself the further from me swerv'd;
He hath the love of one so painted in my thought,
That other thing I can none mind, nor care for as I ought.
And all this comes from him, both counsel and the cause.
That whet my young desire so much to th' honour of his laws."
That if I be not much abused had found much better
And when I most resolved to lead most quiet life, chance;
He spoil'd me of discordless state, and thrust me in truceless strife.
He hath bewitch'd me so that God the less I served,
And due respect unto myself the further from me swerv'd;
He hath the love of one so painted in my thought,
That other thing I can none mind, nor care for as I ought.
And all this comes from him, both counsel and the cause.
That whet my young desire so much to th' honour of his laws."
Harington MS.
SONNET LXXXII.
Dicemi spesso il mio fidato speglio.
HE AWAKES TO A CONVICTION OF THE NEAR APPROACH OF DEATH.
My faithful mirror oft to me has told—
My weary spirit and my shrivell'd skin
My failing powers to prove it all begin—
"Deceive thyself no longer, thou art old."
Man is in all by Nature best controll'd,
And if with her we struggle, time creeps in;
At the sad truth, on fire as waters win,
A long and heavy sleep is off me roll'd;
And I see clearly our vain life depart,
That more than once our being cannot be:
Her voice sounds ever in my inmost heart.
Who now from her fair earthly frame is free:
She walk'd the world so peerless and alone,
Its fame and lustre all with her are flown.
My weary spirit and my shrivell'd skin
My failing powers to prove it all begin—
"Deceive thyself no longer, thou art old."
Man is in all by Nature best controll'd,
And if with her we struggle, time creeps in;
At the sad truth, on fire as waters win,
A long and heavy sleep is off me roll'd;
And I see clearly our vain life depart,
That more than once our being cannot be:
Her voice sounds ever in my inmost heart.
Who now from her fair earthly frame is free:
She walk'd the world so peerless and alone,
Its fame and lustre all with her are flown.
Macgregor.
The mirror'd friend—my changing form hath read.
My every power's incipient decay—
My wearied soul—alike, in warning say
"Thyself no more deceive, thy youth hath fled."
'Tis ever best to be by Nature led,
We strive with her, and Death makes us his prey;
At that dread thought, as flames the waters stay,
The dream is gone my life hath sadly fed.
I wake to feel how soon existence flies:
Once known, 'tis gone, and never to return.
Still vibrates in my heart the thrilling tone
Of her, who now her beauteous shrine defies:
But she, who here to rival, none could learn,
Hath robb'd her sex, and with its fame hath flown.
My every power's incipient decay—
My wearied soul—alike, in warning say
"Thyself no more deceive, thy youth hath fled."
'Tis ever best to be by Nature led,
We strive with her, and Death makes us his prey;
At that dread thought, as flames the waters stay,
The dream is gone my life hath sadly fed.
I wake to feel how soon existence flies:
Once known, 'tis gone, and never to return.
Still vibrates in my heart the thrilling tone
Of her, who now her beauteous shrine defies:
But she, who here to rival, none could learn,
Hath robb'd her sex, and with its fame hath flown.
Wollaston.
SONNET LXXXIII.
Volo con l' ali de' pensieri al cielo.
HE SEEMS TO BE WITH HER IN HEAVEN.
So often on the wings of thought I fly
Up to heaven's blissful seats, that I appear
As one of those whose treasure is lodged there,
The rent veil of mortality thrown by.
A pleasing chillness thrills my heart, while I
Listen to her voice, who bids me paleness wear—
"Ah! now, my friend, I love thee, now revere,
For changed thy face, thy manners," doth she cry.
She leads me to her Lord: and then I bow,
Preferring humble prayer, He would allow
That I his glorious face, and hers might see.
Thus He replies: "Thy destiny's secure;
To stay some twenty, or some ten years more,
Is but a little space, though long it seems to thee."
Up to heaven's blissful seats, that I appear
As one of those whose treasure is lodged there,
The rent veil of mortality thrown by.
A pleasing chillness thrills my heart, while I
Listen to her voice, who bids me paleness wear—
"Ah! now, my friend, I love thee, now revere,
For changed thy face, thy manners," doth she cry.
She leads me to her Lord: and then I bow,
Preferring humble prayer, He would allow
That I his glorious face, and hers might see.
Thus He replies: "Thy destiny's secure;
To stay some twenty, or some ten years more,
Is but a little space, though long it seems to thee."
Nott.