University of Virginia Library

ONESTO DI BONCIMA, BOLOGNESE

I
Sonnet

Of the Last Judgment

Upon that cruel season when our Lord
Shall come to judge the world eternally;
When to no man shall anything afford
Peace in the heart, how pure soe'er it be;
When heaven shall break asunder at His word,
With a great trembling of the earth and sea;
When even the just shall fear the dreadful sword,—
The wicked crying, “Where shall I cover me?”—
When no one angel in His presence stands
That shall not be affrighted of that wrath,
Except the Virgin Lady, she our guide;—
How shall I then escape, whom sin commands?
Out and alas on me! There is no path,
If in her prayers I be not justified.

II
Sonnet

He wishes that he could meet his Lady alone

Whether all grace have failed I scarce may scan,
Be it of mere mischance, or art's ill sway,
That this-wise, Monday, Tuesday, every day,
Afflicts me, through her means, with bale and ban.
Now are my days but as a painful span;
Nor once “Take heed of dying” did she say.
I thank thee for my life thus cast away,
Thou who hast wearied out a living man.
Yet, oh! my Lord, if I were blest no more
Than thus much,—clothed with thy humility,
To find her for a single hour alone,—
Such perfectness of joy would triumph o'er
This grief wherein I waste, that I should be
As a new image of Love to look upon.