Petrarch (45 page)

for so much labor, with what
grieving urns

does Love bathe you
with ivory hands
of hers,

so cruel only to me, and so unjustly!

Not only from my hiding place and rest

I flee, but more from my own self and thoughts

that used to take me with them
high in flight
;

I seek the crowd
for me hateful, unfriendly

(who ever
thought I would
?) as place of refuge.

I’m so afraid
to find myself alone
.

Alas, Love takes me where I would not go,

and I know well I
go beyond my duty
,

thus I am more annoying,
more than ever
,

to her who
sits as monarch
in my heart.

No wiser helmsman guards from rocks his ship

so laden with its precious merchandise

than I who always kept my fragile skiff

from all the
blows
that came from her hard pride.

But now the
rain
of tears and violent gales

of sighs that never end have driven it

into my sea
of awful night and winter

to menace others
, bearing nothing more

than its own grief and pain, vanquished by waves

and now bereft of its own sails and rudder.

Amor, io fallo et veggio il mio fallire,

ma fo sì com’ uom ch’ arde e ’l foco à ’n seno;

ché ’l duol pur cresce, et la ragion ven meno,

et è già quasi vinta dal martire.

Solea frenare il mio caldo desire

per non turbare il bel viso sereno;

non posso più, di man m’ài tolto il freno,

et l’alma desperando à preso ardire.

Però s’ oltra suo stile ella s’ aventa,

tu ’l fai, che sì l’accendi et si la sproni

ch’ ogni aspra via per sua salute tenta;

et più ’l fanno i celesti et rari doni

ch’ à in sé Madonna; or fa’ almen ch’ ella il senta

et le mie colpe a se stessa perdoni.

Non à tanti animali il mar fra l’onde,

né lassù sopra ’l cerchio de la luna

vide mai tante stelle alcuna notte,

né tanti augelli albergan per li boschi,

né tant’ erbe ebbe mai campo né piaggia

quant’ à ’l mio cor pensier ciascuna sera.

Di dì in dì spero ornai l’ultima sera

che scevri in me dal vivo terren l’onde

et mi lasci dormire in qualche piaggia;

ché tanti affanni uom mai sotto la luna

non sofferse quant’ io, sannolsi i boschi

che sol vo ricercando giorno et notte.

I’ non ebbi giamai tranquilla notte,

ma sospirando andai matino et sera,

poi eh’ Amor femmi un cittadin de’ boschi;

ben fia, prima ch’ i’ posi, il mar senz’ onde,

O Love, I
err
and I can see my error,

but I act like a man whose
chest’s afire
,

whose
pain keeps growing
and whose reason fails

from nearly being
vanquished by his pain
.

I used
to fight the heat
of my desire

in order not to
darken her clear face
;

I can no more; you took control from me,

and
in despair
my soul has grown more bold.

Then if against
its style it ventures off,

the fault is yours—you burn and spur it so,

it tries
the hardest ways
to save itself—

and more the fault of those rare, heavenly gifts

which are my lady’s. At least make her see this

and then
forgive herself
my own transgressions.

There aren’t as many
fish in the sea’s waves,

nor up beyond the circle of the moon

were seen as many stars by any night,

nor do as many birds dwell in the woods,

nor any field with as much grass, or shore,

as all the thoughts my heart has every evening.

Now day to day I hope for the last evening

to cut in me
the living earth from waves

and let me go to sleep upon
some shore
;

as many trials no man beneath the moon

has suffered as I do—
they know, those woods

that
I, alone
, go searching day and night.

I’ve never had tranquility
of night,

instead I’ve always sighed
morning and evening

since Love made me a
dweller of the woods
;

before I rest
the sea will
have no waves
,

et la sua luce avrà ’l sol da la luna,

e i flor d’april morranno in ogni piaggia,

Consumendo mi vo di piaggia in piaggia

el di pensoso, poi piango la notte;

né stato ò mai se non quanto la luna.

Ratto come imbrunir veggio la sera

sospir del petto et de li occhi escono onde

da bagnar l’erbe et da crollare i boschi.

Le città son nemiche, amici i boschi

a miei pensier che per quest’alta piaggia

sfogando vo col mormorar de l’onde

per lo dolce silenzio de la notte,

tal ch’ io aspetto tutto ’l di la sera

che ’l sol si parta et dia luogo a la luna.

Deh, or foss’ io col vago de la luna

adormentato in qua’ che verdi boschi,

et questa ch’ anzi vespro a me fa sera

con essa et con Amor in quella piaggia

sola venisse a starsi ivi una notte,

e ’l di si stesse e ’l sol sempre ne l’onde!

Sovra dure onde al lume de la luna,

canzon nata di notte in mezzo i boschi,

ricca piaggia vedrai deman da sera.

the
sun’s light will be furnished
by the moon

and April’s flowers die on every shore.

Pining away I go from shore to shore,

pensive all day, and then I weep all night;

nor
am I any stabler than the moon.

No sooner than I see the dark of evening,

sighs from my breast
, and from my eyes, flow waves

to wet the grass and
tremble through the woods
.

Cities are foes
, but
friendly are the woods

to all my thoughts which on this
lofty shore

I pour out with the
murmuring of the waves

throughout the
sweetest silence of the night
:

so that I
wait
the whole day long for evening

when the sun leaves to
make way for the moon
.

Ah, were I
with the lover of the moon

fallen asleep somewhere in a green woods,

and she, who
before vespers gives me evening,

came with the moon
and Love toward that shore

alone and were to stay there
for one night
,

with day and sun forever under waves!

Above harsh waves
, under a shining moon,

canzone,
born by night
within the woods,

a rich shore you will see
tomorrow evening
.

Real natura, angelico intelletto,

chiara alma, pronta vista, occhio cerviero,

providenzia veloce, alto pensero

et veramente degno di quel petto!

Sendo di donne un bel numero eletto

per adornar il di festo et altero,

subito scorse il buon giudicio intero

fra tanti et sì bei volti il più perfetto.

L’altre, maggior di tempo o di fortuna,

trarsi in disparte comandò con mano

et caramente accolse a sé quell’una;

li occhi et la fronte con sembiante umano

basciolle sì che rallegrò ciascuna;

me empiè d’invidia l’atto dolce et strano.

Là ver l’aurora, che si dolce l’aura

al tempo novo suol movere i fiori

et li augelletti incominciar lor versi,

sì dolcemente i pensier dentro a l’alma

mover mi sento a chi li à tutti in forza

che ritornar convenmi a le mie note.

Temprar potess’ io in sì soavi note

i miei sospiri ch’ addolcissen Laura,

facendo a lei ragion ch’ a me fa forza!

Ma pria fia ’l verno la stagion de’ fiori

ch’ amor fiorisca in quella nobil alma

che non curò giamai rime né versi.

Quante lagrime, lasso, et quanti versi

ò già sparti al mio tempo, e ’n quante note

ò riprovato umiliar quell’alma!

A regal nature, angel’s intellect,

an unflawed soul, quick sight,
eye of the lynx
,

a
swift foresight
, thought of the highest level,

one truly
worthy to dwell
in that breast!

Finding many a lady
there selected

to adorn the lofty day and its festivity,

his good, sound judgment quickly recognized

the best among
so many lovely faces.

The others, all of greater age or fortune,

he ordered
with a gesture
to one side

and sweetly called that one to come to him;

with a kind look her eyes and then her brow

he kissed which filled the others there with joy

and me with envy for this
strange, sweet action
.

When day is dawning and so sweet an aura

that always comes in spring to stir the flowers,

and little birds begin to sing their verses,

so sweetly I feel thoughts inside my soul

stirred
by the one who holds them in her force

that I consent to go back
to my notes
.

Could I but temper with
such gentle notes

my sighs in order that they
sweeten Laura
,

reasoning
with the one who uses force!

But winter will become the season for flowers

before love blossoms
in that noble soul

who never cared for rhymes or for my verses
.

How many tears, alas, how many verses

I’ve scattered in my time; in how many notes

I’ve tried again
to make humble that soul
!

Ella si sta pur com’ aspr’ alpe a l’aura

dolce, la quai ben move frondi et fiori

ma nulla po se ’ncontr’ a maggior forza.

Omini et dei solea vincer per forza

Amor, come si legge in prose e ’n versi,

et io ’l provai in sul primo aprir de’ fiori;

ora né ’l mio signor, né le sue note,

né ’l pianger mio, né i preghi pon far Laura

trarre o di vita o di martir quest’alma.

A l’ultimo bisogno, o misera alma,

accampa ogni tuo ingegno, ogni tua forza,

mentre fra noi di vita alberga l’aura.

Nulla al mondo è che non possano i versi:

et li aspidi incantar sanno in lor note,

non che ’l gelo adornar di novi fiori.

Ridon or per le piagge erbette et fiori:

esser non po che quella angelica alma

non senta il suon de l’amorose note;

se nostra ria fortuna è di più forza,

lagrimando et cantando i nostri versi

et col bue zoppo andrem cacciando l’aura.

In rete accolgo l’aura e ’n ghiaccio i fiori,

e ’n versi tento sorda et rigida alma

che né forza d’Amor prezza né note.

She stands like a
rough mountain
to the aura

sweet, that indeed does move the
leaves and flowers

but can do nothing against
a greater force
.

Mankind and gods are vanquished by the force

of Love, as we read both in prose and verse,

and I felt this when buds first turned to flowers;

but now neither my lord nor his own notes,

nor tears of mine nor prayers can cause Laura

to draw from life
or martyrdom this soul.

In your last need, O miserable soul,

collect all of your wit, all of your force

while still among us dwells the living aura.

There’s nothing can’t be done
by means of verses:

they can
charm even serpents
with their notes,

and
decorate the frost
with newborn flowers.

The slopes
now laugh with tender grass and flowers:

it cannot be that her angelic soul

hears not the sound of all these
amorous notes
;

if
our cruel fortune
has a
greater force
,

we shall, weeping and singing out our verses,

go like the
lame ox
hunting for the aura.

In nets
I catch the aura, in ice the flowers,

in verse I woo a
deaf and rigid soul

who prizes neither
force of love nor notes.

I’ ò pregato Amor, e ’l ne riprego,

che mi scusi appo voi, dolce mia pena,

amaro mio diletto, se con piena

fede dal dritto mio sentier mi piego.

I’ nol posso negar, Donna, et nol nego,

che la ragion ch’ ogni bona alma affrena

non sia dal voler vinta, ond’ ei mi mena

talor in parte ov’ io per forza il sego.

Voi con quel cor che di si chiaro ingegno,

di si alta vertute il cielo alluma

quanto mai piovve da benigna Stella,

devete dir pietosa et senza sdegno:

“Che po questi altro? il mio volto il consuma.

Ei perché ingordo, et io perché sì bella?”

L’alto signor dinanzi a cui non vale

nasconder né fuggir né difesa,

di bel piacer m’avea la mente accesa

con un ardente et amoroso strale;

et, ben che ’l primo colpo aspro et mortale

fossi da sé, per avanzar sua impresa

una saetta di pietate à presa

et quinci et quindi il cor punge et assale.

L’una piaga arde et versa foco et fiamma,

lagrime l’altra, che ’l dolor distilla

per li occhi mei del vostro stato rio;