Written by
John Milton |
Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M' occostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d'amor, e conie t'osi ?
Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana
E de pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi;
Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t' aspettan, & altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
Spuntati ad hor, ad hor a la tua chioma
L'immortal guiderdon d 'eterne frondi
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi
Dice mia Donna, e'l suo dir, e il mio cuore
Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore.
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET CLXIII. L' aura serena che fra verdi fronde. THE GENTLE BREEZE (L' AURA) RECALLS TO HIM THE TIME WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER. The gentle gale, that plays my face around,Murmuring sweet mischief through the verdant grove,To fond remembrance brings the time, when LoveFirst gave his deep, although delightful wound;Gave me to view that beauteous face, ne'er foundVeil'd, as disdain or jealousy might move;To view her locks that shone bright gold above,Then loose, but now with pearls and jewels bound:Those locks she sweetly scatter'd to the wind,And then coil'd up again so gracefully,That but to think on it still thrills the sense.These Time has in more sober braids confined;And bound my heart with such a powerful tie,That death alone can disengage it thence. Nott. The balmy airs that from yon leafy sprayMy fever'd brow with playful murmurs greet,Recall to my fond heart the fatal dayWhen Love his first wound dealt, so deep yet sweet,And gave me the fair face—in scorn awaySince turn'd, or hid by jealousy—to meet;The locks, which pearls and gems now oft array,Whose shining tints with finest gold compete,So sweetly on the wind were then display'd,Or gather'd in with such a graceful art,Their very thought with passion thrills my mind.Time since has twined them in more sober braid,And with a snare so powerful bound my heart,Death from its fetters only can unbind. Macgregor.
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET XI. Se lamentar augelli, o Verdi fronde. SHE IS EVER PRESENT TO HIM. If the lorn bird complain, or rustling sweepSoft summer airs o'er foliage waving slow,Or the hoarse brook come murmuring down the steep,Where on the enamell'd bank I sit belowWith thoughts of love that bid my numbers flow;'Tis then I see her, though in earth she sleep!Her, form'd in heaven! I see, and hear, and know!Responsive sighing, weeping as I weep:"Alas," she pitying says, "ere yet the hour,Why hurry life away with swifter flight?Why from thy eyes this flood of sorrow pour?No longer mourn my fate! through death my daysBecome eternal! to eternal lightThese eyes, which seem'd in darkness closed, I raise!" Dacre. [Pg 244] Where the green leaves exclude the summer beam,And softly bend as balmy breezes blow,And where with liquid lapse the lucid streamAcross the fretted rock is heard to flow,Pensive I lay: when she whom earth concealsAs if still living to my eye appears;And pitying Heaven her angel form revealsTo say, "Unhappy Petrarch, dry your tears.Ah! why, sad lover, thus before your timeIn grief and sadness should your life decay,And, like a blighted flower, your manly primeIn vain and hopeless sorrow fade away?Ah! yield not thus to culpable despair;But raise thine eyes to heaven and think I wait thee there!" Charlotte Smith. Moved by the summer wind when all is still,The light leaves quiver on the yielding spray;Sighs from its flowery bank the lucid rill,While the birds answer in their sweetest lay.Vain to this sickening heart these scenes appear:No form but hers can meet my tearful eyes;In every passing gale her voice I hear;It seems to tell me, "I have heard thy sighs.But why," she cries, "in manhood's towering prime,In grief's dark mist thy days, inglorious, hide?Ah! dost thou murmur, that my span of timeHas join'd eternity's unchanging tide?Yes, though I seem'd to shut mine eyes in night,They only closed to wake in everlasting light!" Anne Bannerman.
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