WHEREIN THE FACE BELIES THE HEART

When traitorous Egypt the dishonoured head
Of Pompey sent to Caesar, it appears
Proud Julius dropped a few deliberate tears
To cloak delight; and when misfortune spread
On Hannibal the shadow of her dread,
Whilst his lieutenants wept, he laughed their fears
And his away, though, ringed with spies and spears,
He heard Doom trampling with relentless tread.
So cheats the mind by frequent hues and veils
Its various passions in their several shades:
Now with a mask of sorrow, now of joy:

WHEREIN, EVEN AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS OF FUTILE STRUGGLE, HE STILL HOPES TO OVERCOME HIS PASSION

Alas! I know too well how Death destroys us,
How Fate with mortal mischief overtakes us!
How soon the dear delightful World forsakes us,
How swiftly Time with treachery enjoys us!
I see how brief the grace with which Hope buoys us!
Though in a flash the final trumpet wakes us,
The ardours double by which Love still breaks us,
And still with tears and tortures Love employs us.
I must observe how season follows season,

WHEREIN HE RECALLS THE SAD SWEET SOUVENIRS OF LOVE

That window where my whole sun sets and rises
Forever dazzling, lending earth new lustres,
And that where still, when savage Boreas blusters
In the brief days, the gusts assume fierce guises;
That seat of stone where she soliloquizes
In solitude beneath the cypress clusters;
Haunts where her shadow gleamed; soft grass that musters
Proud memories of her radiant enterprises;
That spot where Love first wrought my overthrowing;
The sweet new season that, without relenting,

WHEREIN HE MODESTLY COUNSELS A FRIEND TO ESCHEW WORLDLY DELIGHTS

Friend, since our fate gives all too frequent proof
Of hopes stamped down in dust before their fruit,
Come, let us lift our hearts to Heaven! Let lute
And voice lift up our hearts to Heaven's proud roof!
This earth we tread with such an arrogant hoof
Conceals the serpent at the blossom's root:
It charms the eye — and strikes fangs at the foot;
A hell at hand, a paradise aloof.
Ah then, as thou wouldst wish, ere too, too late,
To relish peace, sweet peace of mind to know,

WHEREIN HE CONSOLES HIS FRIEND ORSO UPON HIS ENFORCED ABSENCE FROM A TOURNEY

Orso, upon thy splendid steed God's will
May set a check to turn him from his course,
But who against itself that heart may force
Which worships honour, shuns dishonour still?
Ah, do not sigh! Its praise our pens must fill,
Though Fate curb rider and encumber horse:
Already, thither blown by wide remorse,
Thy heart stands chief in courtesy, courage, skill.
Sufficient on the jousting field to find
Itself with sacred auspices aligned

WHEREIN HE REGRETS HIS LOSS OF LIBERTY AND CONFESSES HIS PRESENT VASSALAGE

Ah Liberty, so lovely, so denied!
Alas, how well you teach my bitter heart
To mourn that peace it knew before Love's dart
Smote me the great wound perilous in my side!
Mine eyes are bandaged and bewitched, the pride
And power of reason dully draw apart,
Shun every task, turn blind and deaf to ARt,
By my own folly poisoned and defied.
Nothing but what pertains to her, my death,
Attracts my ears; and from my tongue there goes

WHEREIN, HAVING ONCE FALLEN, HE IS FORCED TO THE ETERNAL SLAVERY OF LOVE

So, with perpetual expectation spent,
And in this lingering war of sighs defeated,
I scorn desires and hate the hopes repeated,
And loathe the fetters of my discontent;
But that pure face within my soul deep-seated,
Stamped there, with every motion evident,
Hedges me in, refuses to relent,
Proves incomplete an agony completed.
This marked my doom when liberty's hard highway
Was like another Eden barred with flame:
The mere pursuit of sense is filled with shame.

WHEREIN HE COMPLAINS OF LAURA THAT, AWARE OF HIS PASSION, SHE FEIGNS NOT TO KNOW IT

Could I in living lines my thoughts enclose
As in my heart I shut their shadows in,
No soul so savage but my song would win
To pity and to burning Ah's and Oh's.
But you, dear fatal eyes, that dealt the blows
Against which shield and helmet proved too thin,
You see me through and through stripped to the skin,
Though never I lament my secret woes.
And still, since through my heart your high look pours
A flame of light as floods the sun through glass,

WHEREIN HE EXPLAINS WHY THE LOVER TURNS PALE AS DEATH BEFORE THE BELOVED, AND YET JOYS IN IT

When through the eyes deep in the heart's core looms
The fatal image, other thoughts depart;
Those virtues which are rooted in the heart
Leave all the limbs like dead things out of tombs.
From the first miracle a second blooms,
For the great function (such is Nature's art),
Routed and fugitive, will reach some part
Which feeds revenge and soothes the exile's dooms.
Wherefore the colour of death's in both our faces,

WHEREIN LOVE FORETELLS THE POET OF HIS RETURN TO LAURA AND POETRY

Write — so Love told my heart and often said —
Write what thou seest large in letters of gold,
That white as ashes is the flock I fold,
And in a moment made alive and dead.
Time was thy spirit felt my power spread
A public proof to lovers young and old;
When other passions found in thee a hold,
I soon caught up with thee, though thou hadst fled.
And if the eyes where first I stood revealed,
Those brilliant eyes where my sweet flag unfurled,