English

WHEREIN HIS THEME IS ONLY GRIEF AND LAMENTATION

Those eyes, the flame of my melodious Muse,
The arms, the hands, the feet, that lovely face
Which set me alien to the human race,
Self-exiled from all vain and vulgar use;
Those crisp close locks of golden Syracuse;
The dazzling Eden of that smile whose grace
Opened the gates the fiery sentinels pace —
A pinch of dust no feelings now confuse!
And yet I live — and hate each day I live,
Without the loved familiar beacon tossed
In tempest, a perpetual fugitive!

WHEREIN THE DAWN DOUBLES HIS ANGUISH

When I behold the rose breathe on Aurora
Its lovely flush and see her bright locks dripping
A golden dew, this heart that watched night slipping
Exclaims, " Ah happy Tithonus, there lies Laura!
Thou canst each twilight sleep in the radiant aura
Of Love's dear head; but not for me the sipping
Of such delights, till the shears do their clipping
And Love is drenched by flower-handed Flora.
Between thee and thy Thetis looms no curtain:
That dusk will bring her back to thee is certain

WHEREIN HE INVOKES BLESSINGS UPON LAURA FOR HAVING RESISTED HIS PASSION

How goes the world! Now please me and delight me
What once proved darkest pain; and now I feel
Past sorrows were provided but to heal,
For brief war peace eternal to requite me.
O hopes, O wishes sent but to excite me!
The bane of lovers, Love's tempestuous seal!
Far worse had she my feverish appeal
Approved who now with Heaven must reunite me!
But blinded love and the mind's stubborn metal
Pushed me to trespass and my bosom's shame

WHEREIN HE PERCEIVES THE WISDOM OF HER APPARENT INDIFFERENCE IN THE PAST

My soul of flame (more than the loveliest
Lovely, O more than ever generous Heaven
Bestowed!) alas, has left me here bereaven
For golden precincts and the star of rest!
Meseems I now but wake: and for the best
I see she barred my passion, kept it even,
As, with her gentle coldness she would leaven
The fiery tumult roaring in my breast.
For such shrewd caution I press gratitude
Upon her that with her so sweet disdain

WHEREIN VAUCLUSE IS CROWDED WITH AGONIZING MEMORIES

This air responsive proves to sighs alone
When, from harsh rocks I see the landscape smile
Where she was born who, for a weary while,
Nurtured my hope from bud to fruit full-blown.
Now I am desolate — and she is flown;
A solitary mourner, I revile
My dim defeated eyes that must beguile
With tears the loneliness they look upon.
No root, no stone among these empty hills,
No branch, no brilliant leaf these glades among,
Nor in the valley flowers starring grass,

ON THE DEATH OF HIS FRIEND SENNUCCIO

O my Sennuccio! Still I can console
My dolorous solitude, though I stand bereft,
Since, from the body's prison which you left,
You glide on such proud wings to reach your goal.
Now at one sweep you compass either pole,
The stars in their bright orbits, our sight cleft
In twain you see, our treasures forced by theft
Most dear... But your bliss must my grief control.
One grace, then! In the third and brilliant sphere
Salute Guittone! Cino and Dante hail!

WHEREIN HIS LADY RETURNS IN PITY TO CONSOLE AND COUNSEL HIM

Ah, could I phrase her sighings of sweet fire
Audible to my soul in whispers flaming
From hers who, though in spheres beyond our claiming,
Still lives, feels, moves, loves, breathes — ah, what desire
Would my words rouse! ... How keenly you inquire,
With what pure jealous love — but with no blaming —
All weakness, all retreat, all terror shaming
Back to the steep road that points always higher!
And I, who understand your chaste compassion,

ONLY HER COUNSEL HAS POWER TO HEAL

Never did doting mother her dear son,
Or to her loved lord the solicitous spouse,
When danger darkened lord or lad or house,
Such tender precept give as that true One,
Who, often looking down from her high throne
On my grim exile, bends compassionate brows
Upon my fortune (the old look that knows!)
As any friend or parent would have done.
Now virtuous affection prompts, now terror,
Her pregnant words that point the several ways
To seek or shun — hard truth and easy error;

WHEREIN HE REMEMBERS

So brief the time, the thought so fugitive
Which Laura in her death to me affords
These cannot cure a grief more sharp than swords;
Yet, when she lights my dream, pain cannot live.
Love, from whose torture there is no reprieve,
Trembles to see my soul drawn heavenwards
By her, my soul where her face, her voice lords
The tyranny which he was first to weave.
As rules the mistress sovereign in her house,
So from my heavy heart her quiet brows

WHEREIN HE CRIES OUT UPON DEATH AND FINDS HIS ONLY RESPITE IN VISIONS

You have outraged, O Death, the sweetest face
That ever I knew, and drowned the deepest eyes;
Forcing the seals and shattering the device
Of a noble spirit, breaking the golden vase!
A flash — and I am stricken: O most base!
On those too lovely lips your thumb's weight lies,
That talked such music! And you bear my cries,
And I go blind with tears from place to place.
Assuredly my Lady helps me then
When Love and Pity lead her where I stand;