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The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch
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THE TRIUMPH OF CHASTITY
Quando ad un giogo ed in Un tempo quiviWhen to one yoke at once I saw the heightOf gods and men subdued by Cupid's might,I took example from their cruel fate,And by their sufferings eased my own hard state;Since Phœbus and Leander felt like pain,The one a god, the other but a man;One snare caught Juno and the Carthage dame(Her husband's death prepared her funeral flame—'Twas not a cause that Virgil maketh one);I need not grieve, that unprepared, alone,Unarm'd, and young, I did receive a wound,Or that my enemy no hurt hath foundBy Love; or that she clothed him in my sight,And took his wings, and marr'd his winding flight;No angry lions send more hideous noiseFrom their beat breasts, nor clashing thunder's voiceRends heaven, frights earth, and roareth through the airWith greater force than Love had raised, to dareEncounter her of whom I write; and sheAs quick and ready to assail as he:Enceladus when Etna most he shakes,Nor angry Scylla, nor Charybdis makesSo great and frightful noise, as did the shockOf this (first doubtful) battle: none could mockSuch earnest war; all drew them to the heightTo see what 'mazed their hearts and dimm'd their sight.Victorious Love a threatening dart did showHis right hand held; the other bore a bow,The string of which he drew just by his ear;No leopard could chase a frighted deer(Free, or broke loose) with quicker speed than heMade haste to wound; fire sparkled from his eye.I burn'd, and had a combat in my breast,Glad t' have her company, yet 'twas not best(Methought) to see her lost, but 'tis in vainT' abandon goodness, and of fate complain;Virtue her servants never will forsake,As now 'twas seen, she could resistance make:No fencer ever better warded blow,Nor pilot did to shore more wisely rowTo shun a shelf, than with undaunted powerShe waved the stroke of this sharp conqueror.Mine eyes and heart were watchful to attend,In hope the victory would that way bendIt ever did; and that I might no moreBe barr'd from her; as one whose thoughts beforeHis tongue hath utter'd them you well may seeWrit in his looks; "Oh! if you victor beGreat sir," said I, "let her and me be boundBoth with one yoke; I may be worthy found,And will not set her free, doubt not my faith:"When I beheld her with disdain and wrathSo fill'd, that to relate it would demandA better muse than mine: her virtuous handHad quickly quench'd those gilded fiery dartsWhich, dipp'd in beauty's pleasure, poison hearts.Neither Camilla, nor the warlike hostThat cut their breasts, could so much valour boastNor Cæsar in Pharsalia fought so well,As she 'gainst him who pierceth coats of mail;All her brave virtues arm'd, attended there,(A glorious troop!) and marched pair by pair:Honour and blushes first in rank; the twoReligious virtues make the second row;(By those the other women doth excel);Prudence and Modesty, the twins that dwellTogether, both were lodgèd in her breast:Glory and Perseverance, ever blest:Fair Entertainment, Providence without,Sweet Courtesy, and Pureness round about;Respect of credit, fear of infamy;Grave thoughts in youth; and, what not oft agree,True Chastity and rarest Beauty; theseAll came 'gainst Love, and this the heavens did please,And every generous soul in that full height.He had no power left to bear the weight;A thousand famous prizes hardly gain'dShe took; and thousand glorious palms obtained.Shook from his hands; the fall was not more strangeOf Hannibal, when Fortune pleased to changeHer mind, and on the Roman youth bestowThe favours he enjoy'd; nor was he soAmazed who frighted the Israelitish host—Struck by the Hebrew boy, that quit his boast;Nor Cyrus more astonish'd at the fallThe Jewish widow gave his general:As one that sickens suddenly, and fearsHis life, or as a man ta'en unawaresIn some base act, and doth the finder hate;Just so was he, or in a worse estate:Fear, grief, and shame, and anger, in his faceWere seen: no troubled seas more rage: the placeWhere huge Typhœus groans, nor Etna, whenHer giant sighs, were moved as he was then.I pass by many noble things I see(To write them were too hard a task for me),To her and those that did attend I go:Her armour was a robe more white than snow;And in her hand a shield like his she bareWho slew Medusa; a fair pillar thereOf jasp was next, and with a chain (first wetIn Lethe flood) of jewels fitly set,Diamonds, mix'd with topazes (of old'Twas worn by ladies, now 'tis not) first holdShe caught, then bound him fast; then such revengeShe took as might suffice. My thoughts did changeAnd I, who wish'd him victory before,Was satisfied he now could hurt no more.I cannot in my rhymes the names containOf blessèd maids that did make up her train;Calliope nor Clio could suffice,Nor all the other seven, for th' enterprise;Yet some I will insert may justly claimPrecedency of others. Lucrece cameOn her right hand; Penelope was by,Those broke his bow, and made his arrows lieSplit on the ground, and pull'd his plumes awayFrom off his wings: after, Virginia,Near her vex'd father, arm'd with wrath and hate.Fury, and iron, and love, he freed the stateAnd her from slavery, with a manly blow;Next were those barbarous women, who could showThey judged it better die than suffer wrongTo their rude chastity; the wise and strong—The chaste Hebræan Judith follow'd these;The Greek that saved her honour in the seas;With these and other famous souls I seeHer triumph over him who used to beMaster of all the world: among the restThe vestal nun I spied, who was so bless'dAs by a wonder to preserve her fame;Next came Hersilia, the Roman dame(Or Sabine rather), with her valorous train,Who prove all slanders on that sex are vain.Then, 'mongst the foreign ladies, she whose faithT' her husband (not Æneas) caused her death;The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,Her safety to her chastity gave place;Dido, I mean, whom no vain passion led(As fame belies her); last, the virtuous maidRetired to Arno, who no rest could find,Her friends' constraining power forced her mind.The Triumph thither went where salt waves wetThe Baian shore eastward; her foot she setThere on firm land, and did Avernus leaveOn the one hand, on th' other Sybil's cave;So to Linternus march'd, the village whereThe noble Africane lies buried; thereThe great news of her triumph did appearAs glorious to the eye as to the earThe fame had been; and the most chaste did showMost beautiful; it grieved Love much to goAnother's prisoner, exposed to scorn,Who to command whole empires seemèd born.Thus to the chiefest city all were led,Entering the temple which Sulpicia madeSacred; it drives all madness from the mind;And chastity's pure temple next we find,Which in brave souls doth modest thoughts beget,Not by plebeians enter'd, but the greatPatrician dames; there were the spoils display'dOf the fair victress; there her palms she laid,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 overthrewThe 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 chainPromiscuous led, a long uncounted train,By sad example taught, I learn'd at lastWisdom's best rule—to profit from the pastSome solace in the numbers too I found,Of those that mourn'd, like me, the common woundThat 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 woodHis 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 intentWith which the wingèd son of Venus bentHis fatal yew against the dauntless fairWho seem'd with heart of proof to meet the war;Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of deathWhen, wrapp'd in flames, the giant moves beneath;Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud replyOf mad Charybdis, when her waters flyAnd seem to lave the moon, could match the rageOf 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 deerWith half the haste that his ferocious wrathBore him impetuous on to deeds of death;And in his stern regard the scorching fireWas seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;To me a fatal flame! but hope to seeMy 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 blowBut virtue, as it ne'er forsakes the soulThat yields obedience to her blest control,Proves how of her unjustly we complain,When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vainIn vain the self-abandon'd shift the blameUpon their stars, or fate's perverted name.Ne'er did a gladiator shun the strokeWith nimbler turn, or more attentive look;Never did pilot's hand the vessel steerWith more dexterity the shoals to clearThan 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 stoodTo see a mortal by a god subdued,The usual fate of man! in hope to findThe cords of Love the beauteous captive bindWith 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 eyeOr 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 rillCould match his frenzy, when his shafts of fireWith 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 armsFrom ancient Thermodon, to fierce alarmsInured; or Julius in Pharsalia's field,When his dread onset forced the foe to yield—Came not so boldly on as she, to faceThe mighty victor of the human race,Who scorns the temper'd mail and buckler's ward.With her the Virtues came—an heavenly guard,A sky-descended legion, clad in lightOf glorious panoply, contemning mortal might;All weaponless they came; but hand in handDefied the fury of the adverse band:Honour and maiden Shame were in the ban,Elysian twins, beloved by God and man.Her delegates in arms with them combined;Prudence appear'd, the daughter of the mind;Pure Temperance next, and Steadiness of soul,That ever keeps in view the eternal goal;And Gentleness and soft Address were seen,And Courtesy, with mild inviting mien;And Purity, and cautious Dread of blame,With ardent love of clear unspotted fame;And sage Discretion, seldom seen below,Where the full veins with youthful ardour glow;Benevolence and Harmony of soulWere there, but rarely found from pole to pole;And there consummate Beauty shone, combinedWith all the pureness of an angel-mind.Such was the host that to the conflict came,Their bosoms kindling with empyreal flameAnd sense of heavenly help.—The beams that brokeFrom each celestial file with horror struckThe bowyer god, who felt the blinding rays,And like a mortal stood in fix'd amaze;While on his spoils the fair assailants flew,And plunder'd at their ease the captive crew;And some with palmy boughs the way bestrew'd,To show their conquest o'er the baffled god.Sudden as Hannibal on Zama's fieldWas forced to Scipio's conquering arms to yield;Sudden as David's hand the giant sped,When Accaron beheld his fall and fled;Sudden as her revenge who gave the word,When her stern guards dispatch'd the Persian lord;Or like a man that feels a strong diseaseHis shivering members in a moment seize—Such direful throes convulsed the despot's frame.His hands, that veil'd his eyes, confess'd his shame,And mental pangs, more agonising far,In his sick bosom bred a civil war;And hate and anguish, with insatiate ire,Flash'd in his eyes with momentary fire.—Not raging Ocean, when its billows boil;Nor Typhon, when he lifts the trembling soilOf Arima, his tortured limbs to ease;Nor Etna, thundering o'er the subject seas—Surpass'd the fury of the baffled Power,Who stamp'd with rage, and bann'd the luckless hourScenes yet unsung demand my loftiest lays—But oh! the theme transcends a mortal's praise.A sweet but humbler subject may sufficeTo muster in my song her fair allies;But first, her arms and vesture claim my songBefore I chant the fair attendant throng:—A robe she wore that seem'd of woven light;The buckler of Minerva fill'd her right,Medusa's bane; a column there was drawnOf jasper bright; and o'er the snowy lawnAnd round her beauteous neck a chain was slung,Which glittering on her snowy bosom hung.Diamond and topaz there, with mingled ray,Return'd in varied hues the beam of day;A treasure of inestimable cost,Too long, alas! in Lethe's bosom lost:To modern matrons scarcely known by fame,Few, were it to be found, the prize would claim.With this the vanquish'd god she firmly bound,While I with joy her kind assistance own'd;But oh! the feeble Muse attempts in vainTo celebrate in song her numerous train;Not all the choir of Aganippe's springThe pageant of the sisterhood could sing:But some shall live, distinguished in my lay,The most illustrious of the long array.—The dexter wing the fair Lucretia led,With her, who, faithful to her nuptial bed,Her suitors scorn'd: and these with dauntless handThe quiver seized, and scatter'd on the strandThe pointless arrows, and the broken bowOf Cupid, their despoil'd and recreant foe.—Lovely Virginia with her sire was nigh:Paternal love and anger in his eyeBeam'd terrible, while in his hand he show'dAloft the dagger, tinged with virgin blood,Which freedom on the maid and Rome at once bestow'd.—Then the Teutonic dames, a dauntless race,Who rush'd on death to shun a foe's embrace;—And Judith chaste and fair, but void of dread,Who the hot blood of Holofernes shed;—And that fair Greek who chose a watery graveHer threaten'd purity unstain'd to save.—All these and others to the combat flew,And all combined to wreak the vengeance dueOn him, whose haughty hand in days of yoreFrom clime to clime his conquering standard bore.Another troop the vestal virgin led,Who bore along from Tyber's oozy bedHis liquid treasure in a sieve, to showThe falsehood of her base calumnious foeBy wondrous proof.—And there the Sabine queenWith all the matrons of her race was seen,Renown'd in records old;—and next in fameWas she, who dauntless met the funeral flame,Not wrong'd in Love, but to preserve her vowsImmaculate to her Sidonian spouse.Let others of Æneas' falsehood tell,How by an unrequited flame she fell;A nobler, though a self-inflicted doom,Caused by connubial Love, dismiss'd her to the tomb.—Picarda next I saw, who vainly triedTo pass her days on Arno's flowery sideIn single purity, till force compell'dThe virgin to the marriage bond to yield.The triumph seem'd at last to reach the shoreWhere lofty Baise hears the Tuscan roar.'Twas on a vernal morn it touch'd the land,And 'twixt Mount Barbaro that crowns the strandAnd old Avernus (once an hallow'd ground);For the Cumæan sibyl's cell renown'd.Linterno's sandy bounds it reach'd at last,Great Scipio's favour'd haunt in ages past;Famed Africanus, whose victorious bladeThe slaughterous deeds of Hannibal repaid,And to his country's heart a bloody passage made.Here in a calm retreat his life he spent,With rural peace and solitude content.And here the flying rumour sped before,And magnified the deed from shore to shore.The pageant, when it reach'd the destined spot,Seem'd to exceed their utmost reach of thought.There, all distinguish'd by their deeds of arms,Excell'd the rest in more than mortal charms.Nor he, whom oft the steeds of conquest drew,Disdained another's triumphs to pursue.At the metropolis arrived at last,To fair Sulpicia's temples soon we pass'd,Sacred to Chastity, to ward the pestWith which her sensual foes inflame the breast;The patroness of noble dames alone—Then was the fair plebeian Pole unknown,The victress here display'd her martial spoils,And here the laurel hung that crown'd her toils:A guard she stationed on the temple's bound—The Tuscan, mark'd with many a glorious woundSuspicion in the jealous breast to cure:With him a chosen squadron kept the door.I heard their names, and I remember wellThe youthful Greek that by his stepdame fell,And him who, kept by Heaven's command in awe,Refused to violate the nuptial law.Boyd.THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH
PART IQuesta leggiadra e gloriosa DonnaThe glorious Maid, whose soul to heaven is goneAnd left the rest cold earth, she who was grownA pillar of true valour, and had gain'dMuch honour by her victory, and chain'dThat god which doth the world with terror bind,Using no armour but her own chaste mind;A fair aspect, coy thoughts, and words well weigh'd,Sweet modesty to these gave friendly aid.It was a miracle on earth to seeThe bow and arrows of the deity,And all his armour broke, who erst had slainSuch numbers, and so many captive ta'en;The fair dame from the noble sight withdrewWith her choice company,—they were but few.And made a little troop, true virtue's rare,—Yet each of them did by herself appearA theme for poems, and might well inciteThe best historian: they bore a whiteUnspotted ermine, in a field of green,About whose neck a topaz chain was seenSet in pure gold; their heavenly words and gait,Express'd them blest were born for such a fate.Bright stars they seem'd, she did a sun appear,Who darken'd not the rest, but made more clearTheir splendour; honour in brave minds is found:This troop, with violets and roses crown'd,Cheerfully march'd, when lo, I might espyAnother ensign dreadful to mine eye—A lady clothed in black, whose stern looks wereWith horror fill'd, and did like hell appear,Advanced, and said, "You who are proud to beSo fair and young, yet have no eyes to seeHow near you are your end; behold, I amShe, whom they, fierce, and blind, and cruel name,Who meet untimely deaths; 'twas I did makeGreece subject, and the Roman Empire shake;My piercing sword sack'd Troy, how many rudeAnd barbarous people are by me subdued?Many ambitious, vain, and amorous thoughtMy unwish'd presence hath to nothing brought;Now am I come to you, while yet your stateIs happy, ere you feel a harder fate.""On these you have no power," she then replied,(Who had more worth than all the world beside,)"And little over me; but there is oneWho will be deeply grieved when I am gone,His happiness doth on my life depend,I shall find freedom in a peaceful end."As one who glancing with a sudden eyeSome unexpected object doth espy;Then looks again, and doth his own haste blameSo in a doubting pause, this cruel dameA little stay'd, and said, "The rest I callTo mind, and know I have o'ercome them all:"Then with less fierce aspect, she said, "Thou guideOf this fair crew, hast not my strength assay'd,Let her advise, who may command, preventDecrepit age, 'tis but a punishment;From me this honour thou alone shalt have,Without or fear or pain, to find thy grave.""As He shall please, who dwelleth in the heavenAnd rules on earth, such portion must be givenTo me, as others from thy hand receive,"She answered then; afar we might perceiveMillions of dead heap'd on th' adjacent plain;No verse nor prose may comprehend the slainDid on Death's triumph wait, from India,From Spain, and from Morocco, from Cathay,And all the skirts of th' earth they gather'd were;Who had most happy lived, attended there:Popes, Emperors, nor Kings, no ensigns woreOf their past height, but naked show'd and poor.Where be their riches, where their precious gems,Their mitres, sceptres, robes, and diadems?O miserable men, whose hopes ariseFrom worldly joys, yet be there few so wiseAs in those trifling follies not to trust;And if they be deceived, in end 'tis just:Ah! more than blind, what gain you by your toil?You must return once to your mother's soil,And after-times your names shall hardly know,Nor any profit from your labour grow;All those strange countries by your warlike strokeSubmitted to a tributary yoke;The fuel erst of your ambitious fire,What help they now? The vast and bad desireOf wealth and power at a bloody rateIs wicked,—better bread and water eatWith peace; a wooden dish doth seldom holdA poison'd draught; glass is more safe than gold;But for this theme a larger time will ask,I must betake me to my former task.The fatal hour of her short life drew near,That doubtful passage which the world doth fear;Another company, who had not beenFreed from their earthy burden there were seen,To try if prayers could appease the wrath,Or stay th' inexorable hand, of Death.That beauteous crowd convened to see the endWhich all must taste; each neighbour, every friendStood by, when grim Death with her hand took hold,And pull'd away one only hair of gold,Thus from the world this fairest flower is ta'enTo make her shine more bright, not out of spleenHow many moaning plaints, what store of criesWere utter'd there, when Fate shut those fair eyesFor which so oft I sung; whose beauty burn'dMy tortured heart so long; while others mourn'd,She pleased, and quiet did the fruit enjoyOf her blest life: "Farewell," without annoy,"True saint on earth," said they; so might she beEsteem'd, but nothing bates Death's cruelty.What shall become of others, since so pureA body did such heats and colds endure,And changed so often in so little space?Ah, worldly hopes, how blind you be, how base!If since I bathe the ground with flowing tearsFor that mild soul, who sees it, witness bears;And thou who read'st mayst judge she fetter'd meThe sixth of April, and did set me freeOn the same day and month. Oh! how the wayOf fortune is unsure; none hates the dayOf slavery, or of death, so much as IAbhor the time which wrought my liberty,And my too lasting life; it had been justMy greater age had first been turn'd to dust,And paid to time, and to the world, the debtI owed, then earth had kept her glorious state:Now at what rate I should the sorrow prizeI know not, nor have heart that can sufficeThe sad affliction to relate in verseOf these fair dames, that wept about her hearse;"Courtesy, Virtue, Beauty, all are lost;What shall become of us? None else can boastSuch high perfection; no more we shallHear her wise words, nor the angelicalSweet music of her voice." While thus they cried,The parting spirit doth itself divideWith every virtue from the noble breast,As some grave hermit seeks a lonely rest:The heavens were clear, and all the ambient airWithout a threatening cloud; no adversaire'Durst once appear, or her calm mind affright;Death singly did herself conclude the fight;After, when fear, and the extremest plaintWere ceased, th' attentive eyes of all were bentOn that fair face, and by despair becameSecure; she who was spent, not like a flameBy force extinguish'd, but as lights decay,And undiscerned waste themselves away:Thus went the soul in peace; so lamps are spent,As the oil fails which gave them nourishment;In sum, her countenance you still might knowThe same it was, not pale, but white as snow,Which on the tops of hills in gentle flakesFalls in a calm, or as a man that takesDesir'ed rest, as if her lovely sightWere closed with sweetest sleep, after the spriteWas gone. If this be that fools call to die,Death seem'd in her exceeding fair to be.Anna Hume.[LINES 103 TO END.]And now closed in the last hour's narrow spanOf that so glorious and so brief career,Ere the dark pass so terrible to man!And a fair troop of ladies gather'd there,Still of this earth, with grace and honour crown'd,To mark if ever Death remorseful were.This gentle company thus throng'd around,In her contemplating the awful endAll once must make, by law of nature bound;Each was a neighbour, each a sorrowing friend.Then Death stretch'd forth his hand, in that dread hour,From her bright head a golden hair to rend,Thus culling of this earth the fairest flower;Nor hate impell'd the deed, but pride, to dareAssert o'er highest excellence his power.What tearful lamentations fill the airThe while those beauteous eyes alone are dry,Whose sway my burning thoughts and lays declare!And while in grief dissolved all weep and sigh,She, in meek silence, joyous sits secure,Gathering already virtue's guerdon high."Depart in peace, O mortal goddess pure!"They said; and such she was: although it nought'Gainst mightier Death avail'd, so stern—so sure!Alas for others! if a few nights wroughtIn her each change of suffering dust below!Oh! Hope, how false! how blind all human thought!Whether in earth sank deep the dews of woeFor the bright spirit that had pass'd away,Think, ye who listen! they who witness'd know.'Twas the first hour, of April the sixth day,That bound me, and, alas! now sets me free:How Fortune doth her fickleness display!None ever grieved for loss of libertyOr doom of death as I for freedom grieve,And life prolong'd, who only ask to die.Due to the world it had been her to leave,And me, of earlier birth, to have laid low,Nor of its pride and boast the age bereave.How great the grief it is not mine to show,Scarce dare I think, still less by numbers try,Or by vain speech to ease my weight of woe.Virtue is dead, beauty and courtesy!The sorrowing dames her honour'd couch around"For what are we reserved?" in anguish cry;"Where now in woman will all grace be found?Who with her wise and gentle words be blest,And drink of her sweet song th' angelic sound?"The spirit parting from that beauteous breast,In its meek virtues wrapt, and best prepared,Had with serenity the heavens imprest:No power of darkness, with ill influence, daredWithin a space so holy to intrude,Till Death his terrible triumph had declared.Then hush'd was all lament, all fear subdued;Each on those beauteous features gazed intent,And from despair was arm'd with fortitude.As a pure flame that not by force is spent,But faint and fainter softly dies away,Pass'd gently forth in peace the soul content:And as a light of clear and steady ray,When fails the source from which its brightness flows,She to the last held on her-wonted way.Pale, was she? no, but white as shrouding snows,That, when the winds are lull'd, fall silently,She seem'd as one o'erwearied to repose.E'en as in balmy slumbers lapt to lie(The spirit parted from the form below),In her appear'd what th' unwise term to die;And Death sate beauteous on her beauteous brow.Dacre.PART IILa notte che seguì l' orribil casoThe night—that follow'd the disastrous blowWhich my spent sun removed in heaven to glow,And left me here a blind and desolate man—Now far advanced, to spread o'er earth beganThe sweet spring dew which harbingers the dawn,When slumber's veil and visions are withdrawn;When, crown'd with oriental gems, and brightAs newborn day, upon my tranced sightMy Lady lighted from her starry sphere:With kind speech and soft sigh, her hand so dear.So long desired in vain, to mine she press'd,While heavenly sweetness instant warm'd my breast:"Remember her, who, from the world apart,Kept all your course since known to that young heart."Pensive she spoke, with mild and modest airSeating me by her, on a soft bank, where,In greenest shade, the beech and laurel met."Remember? ah! how should I e'er forget?Yet tell me, idol mine," in tears I said,"Live you?—or dreamt I—is, is Laura dead?""Live I? I only live, but you indeedAre dead, and must be, till the last best hourShall free you from the flesh and vile world's power.But, our brief leisure lest desire exceed,Turn we, ere breaks the day already nigh,To themes of greater interest, pure and high."Then I: "When ended the brief dream and vainThat men call life, by you now safely pass'd,Is death indeed such punishment and pain?"Replied she: "While on earth your lot is cast,Slave to the world's opinions blind and hard,True happiness shall ne'er your search reward;Death to the good a dreary prison opes,But to the vile and base, who all their hopesAnd cares below have fix'd, is full of fear;And this my loss, now mourn'd with many a tear,Would seem a gain, and, knew you my delightBoundless and pure, your joyful praise excite."Thus spoke she, and on heaven her grateful eyeDevoutly fix'd, but while her rose-lips lieChain'd in cold silence, I renew'd my theme:"Lightning and storm, red battle, age, disease,Backs, prisons, poison, famine,—make not theseDeath, even to the bravest, bitter seem?"She answer'd: "I deny not that the strifeIs great and sore which waits on parting life,And then of death eternal the sharp dread!But if the soul with hope from heaven be fed,And haply in itself the heart have grief,What then is death? Its brief sigh brings relief:Already I approach'd my final goal,My strength was failing, on the wing my soul,When thus a low sad-whisper by my side,'O miserable! who, to vain life tied,Counts every hour and deems each hour a day,By land or ocean, to himself a prey,Where'er he wanders, who one form pursues,Indulges one desire, one dream renews,Thought, speech, sense, feeling, there for ever bound!'It ceased, and to the spot whence came the soundI turn'd my languid eyes, and her beheld,Your love who check'd, my pity who impell'd;I recognised her by that voice and air,So often which had chased my spirit's gloom,Now calm and wise, as courteous then and fail.But e'en to you when dearest, in the bloomOf joyous youth and beauty's rosy prime.Theme of much thought, and muse of many a rhyme,Believe me, life to me was far less sweetThan thus a merciful mild death to meet,The blessed hope, to mortals rarely given:And such joy smooth'd my path from earth to heaven,As from long exile to sweet home I turn'd,While but for you alone my soul with pity yearn'd.""But tell me, lady," said I, "by that trueAnd loyal faith, on earth well known to youNow better known before the Omniscient's face,If in your breast the thought e'er found a placeLove prompted, my long martyrdom to cheer,Though virtue follow'd still her fair emprize.For ah! oft written in those sweetest eyes,Dear anger, dear disdain, and pardon dear,Long o'er my wishes doubts and shadows cast."Scarce from my lips the venturous speech had pass'd,When o'er her fair face its old sun-smile beam'd,My sinking virtue which so oft redeem'd,And with a tender sigh she answer'd: "NeverCan or did aught from you my firm heart sever:But as, to our young fame, no other way,Direct and plain, of mutual safety lay,I temper'd with cold looks your raging flame:So fondest mothers wayward children tame.How often have I said, 'It me behovesTo act discreetly, for he burns, not loves!Who hopes and fears, ill plays discretion's part!He must not in my face detect my heart;''Twas this, which, as a rein the generous horse,Slack'd your hot haste, and shaped your proper course.Often, while Love my struggling heart consumed,Has anger tinged my cheek, my eyes illumed,For Love in me could reason ne'er subdue;But ever if I saw you sorrow-spent,Instant my fondest looks on you were bent,Myself from shame, from death redeeming you;Or, if the flame of passion blazed too high,My greeting changed, with short speech and cold eyeMy sorrow moved you or my terror shook.That these the arts I used, the way I took,Smiles varying scorn as sunshine follows rain,You know, and well have sung in many a deathless strainAgain and oft, as saw I sunk in griefThose tearful eyes, I said, 'Without relief,Surely and swift he marches to his grave,'And, at the thought, the fitting help I gave.'But if I saw you wild and passion spurr'd,Prompt with the curb, your boldness I deterr'd;Thus cold and kind, pale, blushing, gloomy, gay,Safe have I led you through the dangerous way,And, as my labour, great my joy at last."Trembling, I answer'd, and my tears flow'd fast,"Lady, could I the blessed thought believe,My faithful love would full reward receive.""O man of little faith!"—her fairest cheek,E'en as she spoke, a warm blush 'gan to streak—"Why should I say it, were it less than true?If you on earth were pleasant in my viewI need not ask; enough it pleased to seeThe best love of that true heart fix'd on me;Well too your genius pleased me, and the fameWhich, far and wide, it shower'd upon my name;Your Love had blame in its excess alone,And wanted prudence; while you sought to tell,By act and air, what long I knew and well,To the whole world your secret heart was shown;Thence was the coldness which your hopes distress'd,For such our sympathy in all the rest,As is alone where Love keeps honour's law.Since in your bosom first its birth I saw,One fire our heart has equally inflamed,Except that I conceal'd it, you proclaim'd;And louder as your cry for mercy swell'd,Terror and shame my silence more compell'd,That men my great desire should little think;But ah! concealment makes not sorrow less,Complaint embitters not the mind's distress,Feeling with fiction cannot swell and shrink,But surely then at least the veil was raised,You only present when your verse I praised,And whispering sang, 'Love dares not more to say.'Yours was my heart, though turn'd my eyes away;Grieve you, as cruel, that their grace was such,As kept the little, gave the good and much;Yet oft and openly as they withdrew,Far oftener furtively they dwelt on you,For pity thus, what prudence robb'd, return'd;And ever so their tranquil lights had burn'd,Save that I fear'd those dear and dangerous eyesMight then the secret of my soul surprise.But one thing more, that, ere our parley cease,Memory may shrine my words, as treasures sweet,And this our parting give your spirit peace.In all things else my fortune was complete,In this alone some cause had I to mournThat first I saw the light in humble earth,And still, in sooth, it grieves that I was bornFar from the flowery nest where you had birth;Yet fair to me the land where your love bless'd;Haply that heart, which I alone possess'd,Elsewhere had others loved, myself unseen,And I, now voiced by fame, had there inglorious been.""Ah, no!" I cried, "howe'er the spheres might roll,Wherever born, immutable and whole,In life, in death, my great love had been yours.""Enough," she smiled, "its fame for aye endures,And all my own! but pleasure has such power,Too little have we reck'd the growing hour;Behold! Aurora, from her golden bed,Brings back the day to mortals, and the sunAlready from the ocean lifts his head.Alas! he warns me that, my mission done,We here must part. If more remain to say,Sweet friend! in speech be brief, as must my stay."Then I: "This kindest converse makes to meAll sense of my long suffering light and sweet:But lady! for that now my life must beHateful and heavy, tell me, I entreat,When, late or early, we again shall meet?""If right I read the future, long must youWithout me walk the earth."She spoke, and pass'd from view.Macgregor.
