_Voi, ch'
ascoltate
in rime sparse il suono.
Petrarch
On
the 8th of August, the same year, a servant of mine returning from Milan
brought me a rumour (which on the 18th of the same fatal month was
confirmed by a servant of _Dominus Theatinus_) of the death of my
Socrates, my companion, my best of brothers, at Babylon (Avignon, I
mean) in the month of May. I have lost my comrade and the solace of my
life! Receive, Christ Jesus, these two, and the five that remain, into
thy eternal habitations! ]
[Footnote L: Petrarch's words are: "civi servare suo;" but he takes the
liberty of considering Charles as--adoptively--Italian, though that
Prince was born at Prague. ]
[Footnote M: Most historians relate that the English, at Poitiers,
amounted to no more than eight or ten thousand men; but, whether they
consisted of eight thousand or thirty thousand, the result was
sufficiently glorious for them, and for their brave leader, the Black
Prince. ]
[Footnote N: This is the story of the patient Grisel, which is familiar
in almost every language. ]
[Footnote O: Cercato ho sempre solitaria vita. --Sonnet 221, De Sade,
vol. ii. p. 8. ]
[Illustration: LAURA. ]
PETRARCH'S SONNETS,
ETC.
TO LAURA IN LIFE.
SONNET I.
_Voi, ch' ascoltate in rime sparse il suono. _
HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS PASSION
Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear
Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed
When early youth my mazy wanderings led,
Fondly diverse from what I now appear,
Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear,
From those by whom my various style is read,
I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled,
Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear.
But now I clearly see that of mankind
Long time I was the tale: whence bitter thought
And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem;
While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find,
And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought,
That the world's joy is but a flitting dream.
CHARLEMONT.
O ye, who list in scatter'd verse the sound
Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed,
When I, by youthful error first misled,
Unlike my present self in heart was found;
Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound
Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred;
If e'er true love its influence o'er ye shed,
Oh! let your pity be with pardon crown'd.
But now full well I see how to the crowd
For length of time I proved a public jest:
E'en by myself my folly is allow'd:
And of my vanity the fruit is shame,
Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest,
That worldly pleasure is a passing dream.
NOTT.
Ye, who may listen to each idle strain
Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was fed
In life's first morn, by youthful error led,
(Far other then from what I now remain! )
That thus in varying numbers I complain,
Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred,
If any in love's lore be practised,
His pardon,--e'en his pity I may obtain:
But now aware that to mankind my name
Too long has been a bye-word and a scorn,
I blush before my own severer thought;
Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame,
And deep repentance, of the knowledge born
That all we value in this world is naught.
DACRE.
SONNET II.
_Per far una leggiadra sua vendetta. _
HOW HE BECAME THE VICTIM OF LOVE.
For many a crime at once to make me smart,
And a delicious vengeance to obtain,
Love secretly took up his bow again,
As one who acts the cunning coward's part;
My courage had retired within my heart,
There to defend the pass bright eyes might gain;
When his dread archery was pour'd amain
Where blunted erst had fallen every dart.
Scared at the sudden brisk attack, I found
Nor time, nor vigour to repel the foe
With weapons suited to the direful need;
No kind protection of rough rising ground,
Where from defeat I might securely speed,
Which fain I would e'en now, but ah, no method know!
the 8th of August, the same year, a servant of mine returning from Milan
brought me a rumour (which on the 18th of the same fatal month was
confirmed by a servant of _Dominus Theatinus_) of the death of my
Socrates, my companion, my best of brothers, at Babylon (Avignon, I
mean) in the month of May. I have lost my comrade and the solace of my
life! Receive, Christ Jesus, these two, and the five that remain, into
thy eternal habitations! ]
[Footnote L: Petrarch's words are: "civi servare suo;" but he takes the
liberty of considering Charles as--adoptively--Italian, though that
Prince was born at Prague. ]
[Footnote M: Most historians relate that the English, at Poitiers,
amounted to no more than eight or ten thousand men; but, whether they
consisted of eight thousand or thirty thousand, the result was
sufficiently glorious for them, and for their brave leader, the Black
Prince. ]
[Footnote N: This is the story of the patient Grisel, which is familiar
in almost every language. ]
[Footnote O: Cercato ho sempre solitaria vita. --Sonnet 221, De Sade,
vol. ii. p. 8. ]
[Illustration: LAURA. ]
PETRARCH'S SONNETS,
ETC.
TO LAURA IN LIFE.
SONNET I.
_Voi, ch' ascoltate in rime sparse il suono. _
HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS PASSION
Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear
Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed
When early youth my mazy wanderings led,
Fondly diverse from what I now appear,
Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear,
From those by whom my various style is read,
I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled,
Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear.
But now I clearly see that of mankind
Long time I was the tale: whence bitter thought
And self-reproach with frequent blushes teem;
While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find,
And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought,
That the world's joy is but a flitting dream.
CHARLEMONT.
O ye, who list in scatter'd verse the sound
Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed,
When I, by youthful error first misled,
Unlike my present self in heart was found;
Who list the plaints, the reasonings that abound
Throughout my song, by hopes, and vain griefs bred;
If e'er true love its influence o'er ye shed,
Oh! let your pity be with pardon crown'd.
But now full well I see how to the crowd
For length of time I proved a public jest:
E'en by myself my folly is allow'd:
And of my vanity the fruit is shame,
Repentance, and a knowledge strong imprest,
That worldly pleasure is a passing dream.
NOTT.
Ye, who may listen to each idle strain
Bearing those sighs, on which my heart was fed
In life's first morn, by youthful error led,
(Far other then from what I now remain! )
That thus in varying numbers I complain,
Numbers of sorrow vain and vain hope bred,
If any in love's lore be practised,
His pardon,--e'en his pity I may obtain:
But now aware that to mankind my name
Too long has been a bye-word and a scorn,
I blush before my own severer thought;
Of my past wanderings the sole fruit is shame,
And deep repentance, of the knowledge born
That all we value in this world is naught.
DACRE.
SONNET II.
_Per far una leggiadra sua vendetta. _
HOW HE BECAME THE VICTIM OF LOVE.
For many a crime at once to make me smart,
And a delicious vengeance to obtain,
Love secretly took up his bow again,
As one who acts the cunning coward's part;
My courage had retired within my heart,
There to defend the pass bright eyes might gain;
When his dread archery was pour'd amain
Where blunted erst had fallen every dart.
Scared at the sudden brisk attack, I found
Nor time, nor vigour to repel the foe
With weapons suited to the direful need;
No kind protection of rough rising ground,
Where from defeat I might securely speed,
Which fain I would e'en now, but ah, no method know!
