Petrarch (13 page)
Authors: Mark Musa
three times triumphing
did adorn his brow—
how often and how generous Rome was
with its own blood
in the defense of others
;
and now why should she be
not generous, but
pious and most grateful
in vengeance of those merciless offenses
against the Virgin Mary’s
glorious son
?
So then how can the enemy have hope
in any human defense
if
Christ is part
of the opposing ranks?
Consider the bold
rashness of a Xerxes
,
who with intentions to tread on our shores
had done the sea an outrage with strange bridges,
and you will see
the many Persian women
all dressed in black because their husbands died,
and
tainted red
the sea of Salamis.
Not only does that miserable ruin
of those unhappy people of the East
but also
Marathon
and the mortal straits
defended by the Lion
with a few men
and a thousand others you have heard and read.
So then it is most fitting that you bend
your knees and heart to God
who has reserved your years for
so much good
.
You will see Italy and
the honored shore
,
my song, denied my eyes and hidden not
by sea or hill or stream,
but only Love
who with his
noble light
attracts me more
where more he does enflame me,
and nature is
not strong enough
for habit.
Now go,
don’t separate
from your companions,
does Love that gives us
joy and tears
abide.
Verdi panni sanguigni oscuri o persi
non vesti donna unquanco
né d’or capelli in bionda treccia attorse
si bella corne questa che mi spoglia
d’arbitrio et dal camin de libertade
seco mi tira sì ch’ io non sostegno
alcun giogo men grave.
Et se pur s’arma talor a dolersi
l’anima a cui vien manco
consiglio ove ’l martir l’adduce in forse,
rappella lei da la sfrenata voglia
subita vista, ché del cor mi rade
ogni delira impresa et ogni sdegno
fa ’l veder lei soave.
Di quanto per amor giamai soffersi
et aggio a soffrir anco
fin che mi sani ’l cor colei che ’l morse
rubella di mercé che pur l’envoglia,
vendetta fia; sol che contra umiltade
orgoglio et ira il bel passo ond’ io vegno
non chiuda et non inchiave.
Ma l’ora e ’l giorno ch’ io le luci apersi
nel bel nero et nel bianco
che mi scacciar di là dove Amor corse
novella d’esta vita che m’addoglia
furon radice, et quella in cui l’etade
nostra si mira, la qual piombo o legno
vedendo è chi non pave.
Lagrima dunque che dagli occhi versi—
per quelle che nel manco
lato mi bagna chi primier s’accorse
quadrella—dal voler mio non mi svoglia,
ché ’n giusta parte la sentenza cade;
per lei sospira l’alma, et ella è degno
che le sue piaghe lave.
Da me son fatti i miei pensier diversi:
tal già qual io mi stanco
Green clothes
, bright red or dark or purple ones
no lady ever wore
or
hair of gold
has twisted in blond braid
as beautiful as this one who deprives
me of my will,
and from the path of freedom
draws me to her, so that I cannot bear
a yoke that’s any lighter.
And if sometimes my soul takes arms complaining,
no longer having any
counsel, exposed to doubt through martyrdom,
from its unbridled will the very sight of her
will call it back, for from the heart she strips
all mad desire
, and
all of my disdain
the sight of her
makes sweet
.
All that I ever suffered in love’s name
and all I still must suffer—
until the one who pierced my heart
will cure it
,
rebel of mercy
who still makes it yearn—
shall be revenged
, as long as pride and anger
against humility
does not lock shut
The hour and the day
my eyes were opened
to lovely black and whiteness
,
which drove me from the place
Love ran to take
,
were the
first root
of this, my life of pain,
as well as she in whom
our century marvels
;
and he is made of lead or wood who sees
this one and does not tremble.
No tear, therefore, that from my eyes is shed—
as a result of those
arrows which
in my left side
bloody that
which first felt them—turns me from my desire,
for on the right place the just sentence falls
;
it’s their fault
my soul sighs
, and it is just
for them to wash her wounds.
My thoughts are now like strangers in my mind:
one driven
like me once
l’amata spada in se stessa contorse;
né quella prego che però mi scioglia,
ché men son dritte al ciel tutt’ altre strade
et non s’aspira al glorioso regno
certo in più salda nave.
Benigne stelle che compagne fersi
al fortunato flanco
quando il bel parto giù nel mondo scorse!
ch’ è Stella in terra, et come in lauro foglia
conserva verde il pregio d’onestade,
ove non spira folgore né indegno
vento mai che l’aggrave.
So io ben ch’ a voler chiuder in versi
suo’ laudi fora stanco
chi più degna la mano a scriver porse;
qual celia è di memoria in cui s’accoglia
quanta vede vertù, quanta beltade
chi gli occhi mira d’ogni valor segno,
dolce del mio cor chiave?
Quanto il sol gira, Amor più caro pegno,
Donna, di voi non ve.
had plunged the loving sword into herself;
but I do not beg her
to set me free
,
for other roads to heaven are less straight,
and one cannot hope for the realm of glory
in any ship that’s stronger.
O gracious stars, companions at the time
when its fair fruit descended to the world!
A star on earth, and
as the laurel leaf
,
she keeps the green prize of her chastity,
and lightning never strikes it nor
unworthy
wind ever makes it bend.
How well I know to want to capture all
her praise in verse
would vanquish
whoever put the worthiest hand to writing;
what cell of memory can hold within
all virtue, all the beauty that we see
when looking at her eyes, signs of all worth,
the sweet key to my heart?
As long as sun turns, lady, Love has not
a dearer pledge
than you.
Giovene donna sotto un verde lauro
vidi più bianca et più fredda che neve
non percossa dal sol molti et molt’anni;
e ’l suo parlare e ’l bel viso et le chiome
mi piacquen sì ch’ i’ l’ ò dinanzi agli occhi
ed avrò sempre ov’ io sia in poggio o ’n riva.
Allor saranno i miei pensieri a riva
che foglia verde non si trovi in lauro;
quando avrò queto il cor, asciutti gli occhi,
vedrem ghiacciare il foco, arder la neve;
non ò tanti capelli in queste chiome
quanti vorrei quel giorno attender anni.
Ma perché vola il tempo et fuggon gli anni
sì ch’ a la morte in un punto s’arriva
o colle brune o colle bianche chiome,
seguirò l’ombra di quel dolce lauro
per lo più ardente sole et per la neve,
fin che l’ultimo dì chiuda quest’occhi.
Non fur giamai veduti sì begli occhi
o. ne la nostra etade o ne’ prim’ anni
che mi struggon così come ’l sol neve,
onde procede lagrimosa riva
ch’ Amor conduce a pie’ del duro lauro
ch’ à i rami di diamante et d’or le chiome.
I’ temo di cangiar pria volto et chiome
che con vera pietà mi mostri gli occhi
l’idolo mio scolpito in vivo lauro,
ché s’ al contar non erro oggi à sett’ anni
che sospirando vo di riva in riva
la notte e ’l giorno, al caldo ed a la neve.
Dentro pur foco et for candida neve,
sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome,
sempre piangendo andrò per ogni riva,
per far forse pietà venir ne gli occhi
di tal che nascerà dopo mill’ anni,
se tanto viver po ben coito lauro.
A young maiden
beneath the green of laurel
I saw
, more white, more cold than all that snow
unstruck by sun
for many, many years;
those words of hers, her lovely face, her hair
I loved so much—
I keep her in my eyes
and always shall, whether on hill or shore.
But only then will my thoughts
reach the shore
when no green leaf
is found upon the laurel,
when my heart is at peace and dry my eyes:
we’ll see
the fire freeze and blazing snow
;
upon my head
there is not as much hair
as years I would await the longed-for day.
But since time flies and fleeting are the years
that bring us rapidly upon death’s shore,
whether it be
with dark or with white hair
I’ll chase the shadow
of that lovely laurel
throughout the hottest day and through the snow
until the final day closes my eyes.
Never have there been seen such lovely eyes
now in our time or
in the world’s first years
as those
that melt me
as the sun does snow,
and from which springs a flow to
tearful shore
that Love leads to the foot of the hard laurel
that’s made of
diamond branches and golden hair
.
I fear that I will change
in face and hair
before she shows true mercy in her eyes,
my idol who is carved
in living laurel,
for if I do not err, it’s
seven years
today that I go sighing shore to shore,
both night and day and in the heat and snow.
Ablaze within but outside white as snow,
with thoughts like these alone and with changed hair,
I’ll always go in tears on every shore,
to stir, perhaps, some pity in the eyes
of someone born
here in a thousand years,
if for so long can live the
cared-for laurel
.
L’auro e i topacii al sol sopra la neve
vincon le bionde chiome presso a gli occhi
che menan gli anni miei sì tosto a riva.
Questa anima gentil che si diparte
anzi tempo chiamata a l’altra vita,
se lassuso è quanto esser de’ gradita,
terrà del ciel la più beata parte;
s’ ella riman fra ’l terzo lume et Marte
fia la vista del sole scolorita,
poi ch’ a mirar sua bellezza infinita
l’anime degne intorno a lei fien sparte;
se si posasse sotto al quarto nido
ciascuna de le tre saria men bella,
et essa sola avria la fame e ’l grido;
nel quinto giro non abitrebbe ella,
ma se vola più alto, assai mi fido
che con Giove sia vinta ogni altra Stella.
All gold and topaz
in sun above the snow
are spent by the gold hair next to those eyes
that lead my years so quickly to the shore.
This gracious soul that takes its leave of us,
called to the other life before its time,
if she’s as dear as she must be up there,
will occupy
heaven’s most blessed part
.
Should she dwell
between Mars and the third light,
the bright face of the sun
would lose its color
,
for
in admiration of her
endless beauty
the blessed souls will gather all around her;
if
under the fourth nest
she came to rest,
each of the three
would look less beautiful
and
she alone would have fame and renown
;
she would not make her home in the
fifth sphere
,
but
should she fly up higher
, I am sure
that Jove and all the other stars would lose.
Quanto più m’avicino al giorno estremo
che l’umana miseria suol far breve,
più veggio il tempo andar veloce et leve
e ’l mio di lui sperar fallace et scemo.
I’ dico a’ miei pensier: “Non molto andremo
d’amor parlando omai, ché ’l duro et greve
terreno incarco come fresca neve
si va struggendo, onde noi pace avremo;
“perché con lui cadrà quella speranza
che ne fe’ vaneggiar sì lungamente,
e ’l riso e ’l pianto, et la paura et l’ira:
“sì vedrem chiaro poi come sovente
per le cose dubbiose altri s’avanza,
et come spesso indarno si sospira.”
Già fiammeggiava l’amorosa Stella
per l’oriente, et l’altra che Giunone
suol far gelosa nel settentrione
rotava i raggi suoi lucente et bella;
levata era a filar la vecchiarella
discinta et scalza, et desto avea ’l carbone,
et gli amanti pungea quella stagione
