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The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch
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And did commit them to the Tuscan youth,
Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:
With others more, whose names I fully knew,
(My guide instructed me,) that overthrew
The power of Love: 'mongst whom, of all the rest,
Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.
Anna Hume.
THE SAME
When gods and men I saw in Cupid's chain
Promiscuous led, a long uncounted train,
By sad example taught, I learn'd at last
Wisdom's best rule—to profit from the past
Some solace in the numbers too I found,
Of those that mourn'd, like me, the common wound
That Phœbus felt, a mortal beauty's slave,
That urged Leander through the wintry wave;
That jealous Juno with Eliza shared,
Whose more than pious hands the flame prepared;
That mix'd her ashes with her murder'd spouse.
A dire completion of her nuptial vows.
(For not the Trojan's love, as poets sing,
In her wan bosom fix'd the secret string.)
And why should I of common ills complain,
Shot by a random shaft, a thoughtless swain?
Unarm'd and unprepared to meet the foe,
My naked bosom seem'd to court the blow.
One cause, at least, to soothe my grief ensued;
When I beheld the ruthless power subdued;
And all unable now to twang the string,
Or mount the breeze on many-colour'd wing.
But never tawny monarch of the wood
His raging rival meets, athirst for blood;
Nor thunder-clouds, when winds the signal blow,
With louder shock astound the world below;
When the red flash, insufferably bright,
Heaven, earth, and sea displays in dismal light;
Could match the furious speed and fell intent
With which the wingèd son of Venus bent
His fatal yew against the dauntless fair
Who seem'd with heart of proof to meet the war;
Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of death
When, wrapp'd in flames, the giant moves beneath;
Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud reply
Of mad Charybdis, when her waters fly
And seem to lave the moon, could match the rage
Of those fierce rivals burning to engage.
Aloof the many drew with sudden fright,
And clamber'd up the hills to see the fight;
And when the tempest of the battle grew,
Each face display'd a wan and earthy hue.
The assailant now prepared his shaft to wing,
And fixed his fatal arrow on the string:
The fatal string already reach'd his ear;
Nor from the leopard flies the trembling deer
With half the haste that his ferocious wrath
Bore him impetuous on to deeds of death;
And in his stern regard the scorching fire
Was seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;
To me a fatal flame! but hope to see
My lovely tyrant forced to love like me,
And, bound in equal chain, assuaged my woe,
As, with an eager eye, I watch'd the coming blow
But virtue, as it ne'er forsakes the soul
That yields obedience to her blest control,
Proves how of her unjustly we complain,
When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vain
In vain the self-abandon'd shift the blame
Upon their stars, or fate's perverted name.
Ne'er did a gladiator shun the stroke
With nimbler turn, or more attentive look;
Never did pilot's hand the vessel steer
With more dexterity the shoals to clear
Than with evasion quick and matchless art,
By grace and virtue arm'd in head and heart,
She wafted quick the cruel shaft aside,
Woe to the lingering soul that dares the stroke abide!
I watch'd, and long with firm expectance stood
To see a mortal by a god subdued,
The usual fate of man! in hope to find
The cords of Love the beauteous captive bind
With me, a willing slave, to Cupid's car,
The fortunes of the common race to share.
As one, whose secrets in his looks we spy,
His inmost thoughts discovers in his eye
Or in his aspect, graved by nature's hand,
My gestures, ere I spoke, enforced my fond demand.
"Oh, link us to your wheels!" aloud I cried,
"If your victorious arms the fray decide:
Oh, bind us closely with your strongest chain!
I ne'er will seek for liberty again!"—
But oh! what fury seem'd his eyes to fill!
No bard that ever quaff'd Castalia's rill
Could match his frenzy, when his shafts of fire
With magic plumed, and barb'd with hot desire,
Short of their sacred aim, innoxious fell,
Extinguish'd by the pure ethereal spell.
Camilla; or the Amazons in arms
Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:
With others more, whose names I fully knew,
(My guide instructed me,) that overthrew
The power of Love: 'mongst whom, of all the rest,
Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.
Anna Hume.
THE SAME
When gods and men I saw in Cupid's chain
Promiscuous led, a long uncounted train,
By sad example taught, I learn'd at last
Wisdom's best rule—to profit from the past
Some solace in the numbers too I found,
Of those that mourn'd, like me, the common wound
That Phœbus felt, a mortal beauty's slave,
That urged Leander through the wintry wave;
That jealous Juno with Eliza shared,
Whose more than pious hands the flame prepared;
That mix'd her ashes with her murder'd spouse.
A dire completion of her nuptial vows.
(For not the Trojan's love, as poets sing,
In her wan bosom fix'd the secret string.)
And why should I of common ills complain,
Shot by a random shaft, a thoughtless swain?
Unarm'd and unprepared to meet the foe,
My naked bosom seem'd to court the blow.
One cause, at least, to soothe my grief ensued;
When I beheld the ruthless power subdued;
And all unable now to twang the string,
Or mount the breeze on many-colour'd wing.
But never tawny monarch of the wood
His raging rival meets, athirst for blood;
Nor thunder-clouds, when winds the signal blow,
With louder shock astound the world below;
When the red flash, insufferably bright,
Heaven, earth, and sea displays in dismal light;
Could match the furious speed and fell intent
With which the wingèd son of Venus bent
His fatal yew against the dauntless fair
Who seem'd with heart of proof to meet the war;
Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of death
When, wrapp'd in flames, the giant moves beneath;
Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud reply
Of mad Charybdis, when her waters fly
And seem to lave the moon, could match the rage
Of those fierce rivals burning to engage.
Aloof the many drew with sudden fright,
And clamber'd up the hills to see the fight;
And when the tempest of the battle grew,
Each face display'd a wan and earthy hue.
The assailant now prepared his shaft to wing,
And fixed his fatal arrow on the string:
The fatal string already reach'd his ear;
Nor from the leopard flies the trembling deer
With half the haste that his ferocious wrath
Bore him impetuous on to deeds of death;
And in his stern regard the scorching fire
Was seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;
To me a fatal flame! but hope to see
My lovely tyrant forced to love like me,
And, bound in equal chain, assuaged my woe,
As, with an eager eye, I watch'd the coming blow
But virtue, as it ne'er forsakes the soul
That yields obedience to her blest control,
Proves how of her unjustly we complain,
When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vain
In vain the self-abandon'd shift the blame
Upon their stars, or fate's perverted name.
Ne'er did a gladiator shun the stroke
With nimbler turn, or more attentive look;
Never did pilot's hand the vessel steer
With more dexterity the shoals to clear
Than with evasion quick and matchless art,
By grace and virtue arm'd in head and heart,
She wafted quick the cruel shaft aside,
Woe to the lingering soul that dares the stroke abide!
I watch'd, and long with firm expectance stood
To see a mortal by a god subdued,
The usual fate of man! in hope to find
The cords of Love the beauteous captive bind
With me, a willing slave, to Cupid's car,
The fortunes of the common race to share.
As one, whose secrets in his looks we spy,
His inmost thoughts discovers in his eye
Or in his aspect, graved by nature's hand,
My gestures, ere I spoke, enforced my fond demand.
"Oh, link us to your wheels!" aloud I cried,
"If your victorious arms the fray decide:
Oh, bind us closely with your strongest chain!
I ne'er will seek for liberty again!"—
But oh! what fury seem'd his eyes to fill!
No bard that ever quaff'd Castalia's rill
Could match his frenzy, when his shafts of fire
With magic plumed, and barb'd with hot desire,
Short of their sacred aim, innoxious fell,
Extinguish'd by the pure ethereal spell.
Camilla; or the Amazons in arms
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