English

WHEREIN HE ACCUSES LAURA OF HARDNESS

He, that in Thessaly for empire threw,
Soaking with civic blood Pharsalia's field,
As Pompey's body, stretched upon his shield,
Passed by, with tears beheld the face he knew;
David, who split the Philistine in two,
Lamented his rebellious sons, and kneeled
In generous grief when Saul, by brave death healed
Of shame, Gilboa's tribute also drew.
But you, whom never pity blanched or paled,
Who always keep your bucklers at your hand

WHEREIN HE DEPICTS THE MISERY OF PHoeBUS AT THE LOSS OF HIS LOVE

Nine times already had Latona's son
Gazed from the topmost balcony of heaven
For her who shook his breast with sighs; so even
This instant others are with sighs undone;
Then searching wearily, his great eyes run
Hither and thither for some sign or haven;
Ignorant where she lives, like a wild raven
He glared, grief-crazed, for his beloved one;
And so, the clouds of anguish intervening,
Saw not the sweet face turn, which, if I live,

WHEREIN HER RETURN REJOICES THE EARTH AND SOOTHES THE HEAVENS — THOUGH NOT HIS ANGUISH

But when her smile so sweetly flashing leaps
From ambush where it lay like light forsaken,
Stout Vulcan strives in vain to reawaken
That anvil where Sicilian lightning sleeps:
For from the grasp of Jove down to the deeps
Of boiling Etna are his thunders taken;
His sister's icy fortresses are shaken,
And in Apollo's warmth she melts, she weeps.
The red rose of the west breathes a bright wind
Which blows the ship at sea to silver beaches,

AT LAURA'S DEPARTURE THE ELEMENTS ARE VEXED WITH STORMS

When from her proper seat that tree we move,
Cherished by Phaebus once in human guise,
Black Vulcan at his labour sweats and sighs,
Renewing the grim arsenal of Jove
Who thunders now; in snows or rains that rove
Now speaks; nor Janus more than Julius plies:
Earth groans, the sun in sorrow veils his eyes
Viewing no more the Lady of his love.
Then Mars and Saturn, cruel stars, resume
Their rancour; and Orion, armed with clouds,

WHEREIN HE BEGS A FRIEND IN ROME TO LEND HIM THE WORKS OF ST. AUGUSTINE

If Love or Death prove no impediment
To the new web which herewith I prepare,
And if I can escape the golden snare,
While natural truth with truth revealed are blent
Into one truth, I may a work present
So double, modern style with language rare
And ancient mixed, that (timidly, I dare
Proclaim it) Rome herself should hail the event.
But since, to finish what is thus begun,
I lack some of the sacred threads which flew

AN " ELEGANT " NOTE [ TO CARDINAL GIOVANNI ] EXCUSING HIMSELF FOR DELAYING HIS RETURN TO AVIGNON OUT OF FEAR OF LAURA'S EYES

So much I dread the blaze and bright assault
Of her dear eyes where Love and Death agree
That, as a child the rod, so shamelessly
I fly and yield the battle by default;
From first to last, though lame I were and halt,
No place too fearsome proves but there I flee
To shun that glance whose dart is death to me,
Freezing the senses, turning them to salt:
Wherefore, if I return to see you late,

VAINLY HE SOLICITS DEATH

Had I believed that Death could set me free
From the sharp amorous thought which is my wound,
With my own hands deep, deep in the dark ground
I should long since have buried wound and me.
But, in the dread it would lead presently
From tears to tears, from wars that now abound
To others; that both ways Death would confound,
Half here, alas, half in eternity! —
Ah me, high time it were that Death had sped
The final arrow from that furious bow

VAINLY HE SOLICITS DEATH

Had I believed that Death could set me free
From the sharp amorous thought which is my wound,
With my own hands deep, deep in the dark ground
I should long since have buried wound and me.
But, in the dread it would lead presently
From tears to tears, from wars that now abound
To others; that both ways Death would confound,
Half here, alas, half in eternity! —
Ah me, high time it were that Death had sped
The final arrow from that furious bow

WHEREIN HE PURSUES SOLITUDE, BUT LOVE SHADOWS HIM EVERYWHITHER

Alone, thought-sick, I pace where none has been,
Roaming the desert with dull steps and slow,
And still glance warily about to know
If the herd follows, if the world has seen:
How else the hoofprint of the Philistine
Escape, but in some cave with grief to go!
I look distraught and haggard: I must show
No one how keen Love's tooth is, O how keen!
Meseems the very mountains and the shores,
Rivers and woods must guess the secret I

HE BEGS APOLLO TO PROTECT A LAUREL TRANSPLANTED BY HIM IN PRAISE OF LAURA

Apollo, if still burns that bright desire
Which kindled thee by the Thessalian wave:
And if the golden tresses which once gave
Such joy have not with time quite lost their fire:
From the long frosts, from seasons harsh and dire,
Which linger while thou art not here to save,
Defend these honoured branches, brief and brave,
Which did so dearly with us both conspire;
And by the virtue of that amorous hope,