Petrarch (15 page)

the lovely, quiet glance

wherein the rays of Love burn with such heat

that they melt me away before my time,

and those decorous words

rare in the world, unique,

which were bestowed on me so courteously,

are gone now
, and I pardon

all other wrongs more easily

than to have been denied

the graciousness of her angelic greeting

which would
wake up my heart

to virtue set aflame by such desire,

I cannot hope to ever hear a thing

to comfort me more than my heaving sighs.

Et per pianger ancor con più diletto,

le man bianche sottili

et le braccia gentili

et gli atti suoi soavemente alteri

e i dolci sdegni alteramente umili

e ’l bel giovenil petto,

torre d’alto intelletto,

mi celan questi luoghi alpestri et feri,

et non so s’ io mi speri

vederla anzi ch’ io mora;

però ch’ ad ora ad ora

s’erge la speme et poi non sa star ferma,

ma ricadendo afferma

di mai non veder lei che ’l ciel onora,

ov’ alberga onestate et cortesia,

et dov’ io prego che ’l mio albergo sia.

Canzon, s’ al dolce loco

la donna nostra vedi,

credo ben che tu credi

ch’ ella ti porgerà la bella mano

ond’ io son sì lontano;

non la toccar, ma reverente ai piedi

le di’ ch’ io sarò là tosto ch’ io possa,

o spirto ignudo od uom di carne et d’ossa.

That I may weep
with still greater delight
,

the
white and slender
hands,

and graciousness of arms

and all her movements beautifully proud,

and her disdain, sweet and so proudly humble,

and the fair, youthful breast,

the tower of high intellect,

these
wild and rocky places
hide from me,

and can I hope to see her

again before I die;

because hour after hour

hope surges but cannot sustain itself,

and falling reaffirms

it shall not see the one whom Heaven honors,

in whom dwells honesty and courtesy,

and where I pray that I may
make my home
.

Song, if in
that sweet place

you come to see our lady,

I know
that you, too, know

that
she will offer you her lovely hand

from which I am so distant;

do not touch it
, but kneeling at her feet

tell her I’ll be there
soon as possible

as naked soul
or man of flesh and bone.

Orso, e’ non furon mai fiumi né stagni

né mare ov’ ogni rivo si disgombra,

né di muro o di poggio o di ramo ombra,

né nebbia che ’l ciel copra e ’l mondo bagni,

né altro impedimento ond’ io mi lagni,

qualunque più l’umana vista ingombra,

quanto d’un vel che due begli occhi adombra

et par che dica: “Or ti consuma et piagni.”

Et quel lor inchinar ch’ ogni mia gioia

spegne o per umiltate o per orgoglio

cagion sarà che ’nanzi tempo i’ moia.

Et d’una bianca mano anco mi doglio

ch’ è stata sempre accorta a farmi noia

et contra gli occhi miei s’è fatta scoglio.

Io temo sì de’ begli occhi l’assalto

ne’ quali Amore et la mia morte alberga,

ch’ i’ fuggo lor come fanciul la verga,

et gran tempo è ch’ i’ presi il primier salto.

Da ora inanzi faticoso od alto

loco non fia dove ’l voler non s’erga

per no scontrar chi miei sensi disperga

lassando, come suol, me freddo smalto.

Dunque s’ a veder voi tardo mi volsi

per non ravvicinarmi a chi mi strugge,

fallir forse non fu di scusa indegno.

Più dico, che ’l tornar a quel ch’ uom fugge

e’l cor che di paura tanta sciolsi

fur de la fede mia non leggier pegno.

Orso, there never was a lake nor pond nor river

nor sea
where every stream
unloads its waters,

nor shadow of a wall
or hill or branch

nor fog that covers sky and wets the world,

nor other obstacle that I can blame,

however much it
hinders human sight
,

more than a veil
that shades two lovely eyes

and seems to say: “
Now weep
and waste away.”

That downward glance
of theirs which all my joy

smothers
through pride or through humility

will be the cause of early death for me.

And I
complain as well of a white hand

that always has been quick to do me harm

rising against my eyes just
like a reef
.

I fear so
that attack
of lovely eyes

in which Love and my death both make their home,

I run from them as a child
flees the rod
,

and time has passed since I took
my first leap
.

From now on there exists no hard or high

place my desire will not seek to climb

in order not to have my senses scattered

by one who’s wont to leave me as
cold stone
.

If I
return so late
to see you, then,

not to be near the one who makes me suffer,

it is, perhaps, a fault that’s worth forgiving.

I add: that to return to what man flees

and with a heart freed of so great a fear

were no small pledge
of faith I bear toward you.

S’ Amore o Morte non dà qualche stroppio

a la tela novella ch’ ora ordisco,

et s’ io mi svolvo dal tenace visco

mentre che l’un coll’altro vero accoppio,

i’ farò forse un mio lavor sì doppio

tra lo stil de’ moderni e ’l sermon prisco

che (paventosamente a dirlo ardisco)

in fin a Roma n’udirai lo scoppio.

Ma però che mi manca a fornir l’opra

alquanto de le fila benedette

ch’ avanzaro a quel mio diletto padre,

perché tien verso me le man sì strette

contra tua usanza? F prego che tu l’opra,

et vedrai riuscir cose leggiadre.

Quando dal proprio sito si rimove

l’arbor ch’ amò già Febo in corpo umano,

sospira et suda a l’opera Vulcano

per rinfrescar l’aspre saette a Giove,

il qual or tona or nevica et or piove

senza onorar più Cesare che Giano;

la terra piange e ’l sol ci sta lontano

che la sua cara amica ved’ altrove.

Allor riprende ardir Saturno et Marte,

crudeli stelle, et Orione armato

spezza a’ tristi nocchier governi et sarte.

Eolo a Nettuno et a Giunon turbato

fa sentire et a noi come si parte

il bel viso dagli angeli aspettato.

If Love
or Death does not come to cut short

this new cloth
which I now prepare for weaving,

and I can free myself
from the thick glue

while I am joining
one truth with the other
,

I shall, perhaps, compose a work
so doubled

between the
modern style and ancient tongue

that then (
and I dare say it, fearfully
)

as far as Rome
you’ll hear the bang
it makes.

But since I’m missing to complete the work

a number of the venerable threads

that were so plenteous to my
cherished father
,

Why are your hands
so tightly shut to me?

—it’s not like you. I beg you, open them,

and you will see delightful things pour forth.

When from its proper dwelling place departs

the tree that Phoebus loved in human form,

then
Vulcan pants and sweats
over his work

in order to replenish Jove’s fierce bolts,

who now thunders
, now snows and sometimes rains

without respecting Caesar more than Janus;

the earth weeps
and
the sun stays far away

because he sees his dear friend somewhere else.

Then
Mars and Saturn
regain all their boldness—

harshest planets, and the
armed Orion

shatters the luckless sailors’
shrouds and rudders
;

Aeolus, angry
, shows Neptune and Juno

and us, too,
how it feels
when she departs

with that
sweet face awaited
by the angels.

Ma poi che ’l dolce riso umile et piano

più non asconde sue bellezze nove,

le braccia a la fucina indarno move

l’antiquissimo fabbro ciciliano;

ch’ a Giove tolte son l’arme di mano

temprate in Mongibello a tutte prove,

et sua sorella par che si rinove

nel bel guardo d’Apollo a mano a mano.

Del lito occidental si move un fiato

che fa securo il navigar senza arte

et desta i flor tra l’erba in ciascun prato;

stelle noiose fuggon d’ogni parte,

disperse dal bel viso inamorato

per cui lagrime moite son già sparte.

Il figliuol di Latona avea già nove

volte guardato dal balcon sovrano

per quella ch’ alcun tempo mosse in vano

i suoi sospiri et or gli altrui commove;

poi che cercando stanco non seppe ove

s’albergasse da presso o di lontano,

mostrossi a noi qual uom per doglia insano

che molto amata cosa non ritrove.

Et così tristo standosi in disparte,

tornar non vide il viso che laudato

sarà, s’ io vivo, in più di mille carte,

et pietà lui medesmo avea cangiato

sì che’ begli occhi lagrimavan parte:

però l’aere ritenne il primo stato.

But now that the sweet smile, humble, serene,

no longer hides its
beauties so unusual
,

in vain
around the forge he works his arms,

the
very ancient smith of Sicily
;

Jove’s weapons have been taken from his hands,

those tempered to all proof in Mongibello;

his sister
slowly seems to be renewing

beneath Apollo’s beautiful array.

And
from the western shore
there comes a breeze

that makes it safe to sail without precaution

and wakens fields of flowers in the grass;

malignant planets
flee from every side

dispersed by beauty
of her loving face

for which so many tears have now been shed.

Latona’s son
already had looked
nine

times from his
lofty balcony
in search

of her who once had moved in vain his sighs

and now excites the sighs
of someone else
;

when, weary from his searching, he could not

find
where she lived
, nearby or faraway,

he looked to us like one
gone mad with grief

at having lost something
he greatly treasured
.

And so, in sadness
fixed off by himself
,

he did not see
the face return
whose praise,

if I live on, shall fill thousands of pages,

and he himself was
changed by his compassion

while from her lovely eyes she poured her tears,

but all the air
retained its previous state
.

Que’ che ’n Tesaglia ebbe le man sì pronte

a farla del civil sangue vermiglia

pianse morto il marito di sua figlia

raffigurato a le fatezze conte;

e ’l pastor ch’ a Golia ruppe la fronte

pianse la ribellante sua famiglia,

et sopra ’l buon Saul cangiò le ciglia,

ond’ assai può dolersi il fiero monte.

Ma voi, che mai pietà non discolora

et ch’ avete gli schermi sempre accorti

contra l’arco d’Amor che ’ndarno tira,

mi vedete straziare a mille morti

né lagrima però discese ancora

da’ be’ vostr’occhi, ma disdegno et ira.

Il mio adversario in cui veder solete

gli occhi vostri ch’ Amore e ’l Ciel onora

colle non sue bellezze v’innamora

più che ’n guisa mortal soavi et liete.

Per consiglio di lui, Donna, m’avete

scacciato del mio dolce albergo fora:

misero esilio! avegna ch’ i’ non fora

d’abitar degno ove voi sola siete.

Ma s’ io v’era con saldi chiovi fisso,

non dovea specchio farvi per mio danno

a voi stessa piacendo aspra et superba.

Certo, se vi rimembra di Narcisso,

questo et quel corso ad un termino vanno—

ben che di sì bel fior sia indegna l’erba.

The man in Thessaly
with hands so anxious

to turn it crimson bathed in civil blood,

wept for the death of his own daughter’s husband

recognized by his features
known to all;

the shepherd
, too, who broke Goliath’s brow

wept hard for his rebellious family

and changed expression
over the good Saul

whence
the wild mountain
has much cause to grieve;

but you
whom pity never can discolor

and who always have your defenses ready

against Love’s bow which does not hit its mark,

you see me
torn
a thousand times to death

and not a tear as yet have I seen fall

from your fair eyes, only disdain and anger.

My enemy
in which you often see