Petrarch (38 page)

but my own spirit that is hidden there

does not fear yours or anybody’s power;

my spirit,
without tacking
port and starboard,

straight to the breeze
and toward the
golden leaves
,

beating the wings that
favor his desire
,

resists the current, wind and sail and oars.

King over others
, proud and haughty river,

who
meets the sun
when he brings us the day,

and leaves
a light more lovely
in the west,

you carry
on your horn
my mortal part;

the rest of me
, covered with plumes of love,

flies back to be in his sweet
dwelling place
.

Amor fra l’erbe una leggiadra rete

d’oro e di perle tese sott’ un ramo

dell’arbor sempre verde ch’ i’ tant’ amo,

ben che n’abbia ombre più triste che liete.

L’esca fu ’l seme ch’ egli sparge et miete

dolce et acerbo, ch’ i’ pavento et bramo;

le note non fur mai, dal dì ch’ Adamo

aperse gli occhi, sì soavi et quete;

e ’l chiaro lume che sparir fa ’l sole

folgorava dintorno, e ’l fune avolto

era a la man ch’ avorio et neve avanza.

Così caddi a la rete, et qui m’àn colto

gli atti vaghi et l’angeliche parole

e ’l piacer e ’l desire et la speranza.

Amor che ’ncende il cor d’ardente zelo

di gelata paura il ten costretto;

et quai sia più fa dubbio a l’intelletto

la speranza o ’l temor, la fiamma o ’l gelo.

Trem’ al più caldo, ard’ al più freddo cielo,

sempre pien di desire et di sospetto

pur come donna in un vestire schietto

celi un uom vivo, o sotto un picciol velo.

Di queste pene è mia propia la prima,

arder dì et notte; et quanto è ’l dolce male

né ’n penser cape, non che ’n versi o ’n rima;

l’altra non già, che ’l mio bel foco è tale

ch’ ogni uom pareggia, et del suo lume in cima

chi volar pensa indarno spiega l’ale.

Love set amid the grass his
pretty net

of gold and pearls, spread out beneath a branch

of
that tree, ever green
, I love so much,

though it gives shade of sadness more than joy.

The bait
was that same seed he sows and reaps,

the sweet and bitter which I fear and yearn for;

the call was never, since the day that Adam

opened his eyes, more soft or gently sung.

And the bright light
that makes the sunlight fade

was lightening all around;
the rope
was wrapped

around
the hand
that outdoes
snow and ivory
.

I fell into the net and I was captured

by charming gestures
, by angelic words,

by pleasure and desire, and by hope.

Love that lights up the heart with
flaming zeal
,

with
icy fear
has a tight hold on it;

he makes the mind uncertain which is greater,

the hope or is it fear, the flame or frost.

It shivers when it’s hottest, burns when coldest,

full of desire, always,
full of fear
,

as if a lady
hid a living man

beneath her simple dress or
little veil
.

Of these two pains
the first is mine, to burn

both day and night; no thought can grasp how great

is
my sweet sickness
, nor can verse or rhyme;

the other not
, for my fair flame considers

all men alike
, and one who thinks of flying

above her light
has spread his wings in vain.

Se ’l dolce sguardo di costei m’ancide

et le soavi parolette accorte,

et s’ Amor sopra me la fa si forte

sol quando parla o ver quando sorride,

lasso, che fia se forse ella divide—

o per mia colpa o per malvagia sorte—

gli occhi suoi da mercé, sì che di morte

là dove or m’assicura allor mi sfide?

Però’s i’ tremo et vo col cor gelato

qualor veggio cangiata sua figura,

questo temer d’antiche prove è nato:

femina è cosa mobile per natura,

ond’ io so ben ch’ un amoroso stato

in cor di donna picciol tempo dura.

Amor, Natura et la bella alma umile

ov’ ogn’ alta vertute alberga et regna

contra me son giurati: Amor s’ingegna

ch’ i’ mora a fatto e ’n ciò segue suo stile;

Natura ten costei d’un si gentile

laccio che nullo sforzo è che sostegna;

ella è sì schiva ch’ abitar non degna

più ne la vita faticosa et vile.

Così lo spirto d’or in or ven meno

a quelle belle care membra oneste

che specchio eran di vera leggiadria;

et s’ a Morte Pietà non stringe ’l freno,

lasso, ben veggio in che stato son queste

vane speranze ond’ io viver solia.

If that sweet glance of hers
can make me die

as can those gentle,
pointed words
of hers,

if Love gives her such power over me

even when she speaks, or only if she smiles,

grief, what would happen if she were, perhaps—

through my own fault or some bad luck—
to cut

the pity from her eyes, threatening me

with death
there where till now she
reassures me
?

So if I tremble with
a heart of ice

whenever I see her expression change,

my fear is born
from long experience
:

a woman
is by nature changeable;

and I am well aware that
love’s condition

lasts little time
within a lady’s heart.

Nature and Love and the fair, humble soul

in which all lofty virtue dwells and reigns

have all
conspired against me
: Love contrives

to
truly make me die
, as is his fashion;

nature holds that soul with
thread so tender

that it
cannot sustain
the slightest force;

she is
so shy
that she no longer deigns

to live this life so wearisome and vile.

And so the breath of life is slowly fading

within those worthy, cherished,
lovely limbs

that were the
mirror of true graciousness
;

if Pity does not stop
the course of Death,

alas, how well I see the state of these

vain hopes
I have been used to living on.

Questa fenice de l’aurata piuma

al suo bel collo candido gentile

forma senz’ arte un sì caro monile

ch’ ogni cor addolcisce e ’l mio consuma;

forma un diadema natural ch’ alluma

l’aere dintorno, et ’l tacito focile

d’Amor tragge indi un liquido sottile

foco che m’arde a la più algente bruma.

Purpurea vesta d’un ceruleo lembo

sparso di rose i belli omeri vela,

novo abito et bellezza unica et sola!

Fama ne l’odorato et ricco grembo

d’arabi monti lei ripone et cela,

che per lo nostro ciel si altera vola.

Se Virgilio et Omero avessin visto

quel sole il qual vegg’ io con gli occhi miei,

tutte lor forze in dar fama a costei

avrian posto et l’un stil coll’altro misto;

di che sarebbe Enea turbato, et tristo

Achille, Ulisse et gli altri semidei,

et quel che resse anni cinquantasei

si bene il mondo, et quel ch’ ancise Egisto.

Quel fiore antico di vertuti et d’arme,

come sembiante stella ebbe con questo

novo flor d’onestate et di bellezze!

Ennio di quel cantò ruvido carme,

di quest ’altro io, et o, pur non molesto

gli sia il mio ingegno e ’l mio Iodar non sprezze!

This phoenix with the feathers made of gold,

around her lovely, pure white, gracious neck

forms naturally
a necklace
that’s so precious

it sweetens every heart, but mine consumes;

she forms a natural diadem
that lights

the air around it; and the
silent flint

of Love extracts from it a
subtle liquid

fire that makes me burn
when it is coldest
.

A
purple gown
all bordered with sky blue

sprinkled with roses veils her lovely shoulders:

new dress, beauty unique
that stands alone
!

Fame has her hidden in the
rich and fragrant

bosom of the mountains of Arabia,

but she in majesty
flies through our skies
.

If Virgil and if Homer could have seen

that sun, the one I see
with my own eyes
,

they would have joined their forces to give fame

to her by
mixing their two styles
in one;

this would have made
Aeneas sad, and troubled

Achilles, Ulysses, and the other demigods,

and him who ruled
for fifty and six years

the world so well, and
him Aegisthus killed
.

That
ancient flower of virtue
and of arms,

how similar was his star of fate to this

new flower
of
all honesty and beauty
!

Ennius
sang of him in verse that’s rough,

and I of her, and, oh,
I hope my wit

will please her and that she not hate my praises!

Giunto Alessandro a la famosa tomba

del fero Achille, sospirando disse:

“O fortunato che sì chiara tromba

trovasti et chi di te sì alto scrisse!”

Ma questa pura et candida colomba

a cui non so s’ al mondo mai par visse

nel mio stil frale assai poco rimbomba.

Così son le sue sorti a ciascun fisse;

ché d’Omero dignissima e d’Orfeo

o del pastor ch’ ancor Mantova onora,

ch’ andassen sempre lei sola cantando,

stella difforme et fato sol qui reo

commise a tal che ’l suo bel nome adora

ma forse scema sue Iode parlando.

Almo sol, quella fronde ch’ io sola amo

tu prima amasti, or sola al bel soggiorno

verdeggia et senza par poi che l’adorno

suo male et nostro vide in prima Adamo.

Stiamo a mirarla, i’ ti pur prego et chiamo,

o sole; et tu pur fuggi et fai dintorno

ombrare i poggi et te ne porti il giorno,

et fuggendo mi tòi quel ch’ i’ più bramo.

L’ombra che cade da quell’umil colle

ove favilla il mio soave foco,

ove ’l gran lauro fu picciola verga,

crescendo mentr’ io parlo, agli occhi tolle

la dolce vista del beato loco

ove ’l mio cor con la sua donna alberga.

When Alexander reached
the famous tomb

of fierce Achilles, sighing he announced:

“Fortunate one, who found
so clear a trumpet

and one who wrote so loftily of you!”

But this immaculate and
pure white dove

whose equal, I think
, never walked this earth,

in these frail words of mine
resounds too little
—

and so the destiny of each is fixed;

of Homer she’s most worthy and of
Orpheus

and of the
shepherd Mantua still honors
,

that they sing only constantly of her,

but
star deformed
and fate—their only error—

gave her to one who
loves her lovely name

but
mars, perhaps, her praise
in poetry.

Sustaining sun, that branch alone I love

and you first loved,
alone in her sweet home

now flourishes, unrivaled, since the time

Adam first saw his own and
our fair fall
.

Let’s stay
to gaze at her, I beg of you,

O sun; but still you flee and cast your shade

on every hillside
carrying off the day,

and in your flight you take
what I most yearn for
.

The shadow falling from that low hillside

there where my gentle fire was a spark,

where the great laurel was a
little sapling
,

growing as I speak,
takes from my eyes

the lovely sight of that place which is blessed

and where my heart is dwelling with his lady.

Passa la nave mia colma d’oblio

per aspro mare a mezza notte il verno

enfra Scilla et Caribdi, et al governo

siede ’l signore anzi ’l nimico mio;

à ciascun remo un penser pronto et rio

che la tempesta e ’l fin par ch’ abbi a scherno;

la vela rompe un vento umido eterno

di sospir, di speranze et di desio;

pioggia di lagrimar, nebbia di sdegni

bagna et rallenta le già stanche sarte

che son d’error con ignoranzia attorto.

Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni,

morta fra l’onde è la ragion et l’arte

tal ch’ incomincio a desperar del porto.

Una candida cerva sopra l’erba

verde m’apparve con duo corna d’oro,

fra due riviere all’ombra d’un alloro,

levando ’l sole a la stagione acerba.

Era sua vista sì dolce superba

ch’ i’ lasciai per seguirla ogni lavoro,

come l’avaro che ’n cercar tesoro

con diletto l’affanno disacerba.