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The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Edited with Preface and Notes by William M. Rossetti: Revised and Enlarged Edition

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PART II POETS CHIEFLY BEFORE DANTE
  
  
  
  
  
  
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415

II. PART II POETS CHIEFLY BEFORE DANTE


421

CIULLO D'ALCAMO

Dialogue

Lover and Lady

He
Thou sweetly-smelling fresh red rose
That near thy summer art,
Of whom each damsel and each dame
Would fain be counterpart;
Oh! from this fire to draw me forth
Be it in thy good heart:
For night or day there is no rest with me,
Thinking of none, my lady, but of thee.

She
If thou hast set thy thoughts on me,
Thou hast done a foolish thing.
Yea, all the pine-wood of this world
Together might'st thou bring,
And make thee ships, and plough the sea
Therewith for corn-sowing,
Ere any way to win me could be found:
For I am going to shear my locks all round.


422

He
Lady, before thou shear thy locks
I hope I may be dead:
For I should lose such joy thereby
And gain such grief instead.
Merely to pass and look at thee,
Rose of the garden-bed,
Has comforted me much, once and again.
Oh! if thou wouldst but love, what were it then!

She
Nay, though my heart were prone to love,
I would not grant it leave.
Hark! should my father or his kin
But find thee here this eve,
Thy loving body and lost breath
Our moat may well receive.
Whatever path to come here thou dost know,
By the same path I counsel thee to go.

He
And if thy kinsfolk find me here,
Shall I be drowned then? Marry,
I'll set, for price against my head,
Two thousand agostari.
I think thy father would not do't
For all his lands in Bari.
Long life to the Emperor! Be God's the praise!
Thou hear'st, my beauty, what thy servant says.

She
And am I then to have no peace
Morning or evening?
I have strong coffers of my own
And much good gold therein;
So that if thou couldst offer me
The wealth of Saladin,
And add to that the Soldan's money-hoard,
Thy suit would not be anything toward.

He
I have known many women, love,
Whose thoughts were high and proud,
And yet have been made gentle by
Man's speech not over-loud.
If we but press ye long enough,
At length ye will be bow'd;
For still a woman's weaker than a man.
When the end comes, recall how this began.


423

She
God grant that I may die before
Any such end do come,—
Before the sight of a chaste maid
Seem to me troublesome!
I marked thee here all yestereve
Lurking about my home,
And now I say, Leave climbing, lest thou fall,
For these thy words delight me not at all.

He
How many are the cunning chains
Thou hast wound round my heart!
Only to think upon thy voice
Sometimes I groan apart.
For I did never love a maid
Of this world, as thou art,
So much as I love thee, thou crimson rose.
Thou wilt be mine at last: this my soul knows.

She
If I could think it would be so,
Small pride it were of mine
That all my beauty should be meant
But to make thee to shine.
Sooner than stoop to that, I'd shear
These golden tresses fine,
And make one of some holy sisterhood;
Escaping so thy love, which is not good.

He
If thou unto the cloister fly,
Thou cruel lady and cold,
Unto the cloister I will come
And by the cloister hold;
For such a conquest liketh me
Much better than much gold;
At matins and at vespers, I shall be
Still where thou art. Have I not conquered thee?

She
Out and alack! wherefore am I
Tormented in suchwise?
Lord Jesus Christ the Saviour,
In whom my best hope lies,
O give me strength that I may hush
This vain man's blasphemies!
Let him seek through the earth; 'tis long and broad:
He will find fairer damsels, O my God!


424

He
I have sought through Calabria,
Lombardy, and Tuscany,
Rome, Pisa, Lucca, Genoa,
All between sea and sea:
Yea, even to Babylon I went
And distant Barbary:
But not a woman found I anywhere
Equal to thee, who art indeed most fair.

She
If thou have all this love for me,
Thou canst no better do
Than ask me of my father dear
And my dear mother too:
They willing, to the abbey-church
We will together go,
And, before Advent, thou and I will wed;
After the which, I'll do as thou hast said.

He
These thy conditions, lady mine,
Are altogether nought:
Despite of them, I'll make a net
Wherein thou shalt be caught.
What, wilt thou put on wings to fly?
Nay, but of wax they're wrought,—
They'll let thee fall to earth, not rise with thee.
So, if thou canst, then keep thyself from me.

She
Think not to fright me with thy nets
And suchlike childish gear;
I am safe pent within the walls
Of this strong castle here;
A boy before he is a man
Could give me as much fear.
If suddenly thou get not hence again,
It is my prayer thou mayst be found and slain.

He
Wouldst thou in very truth that I
Were slain, and for thy sake?
Then let them hew me to such mince
As a man's limbs may make!
But meanwhile I shall not stir hence
Till of that fruit I take
Which thou hast in thy garden, ripe enough:
All day and night I thirst to think thereof,


425

She
None have partaken of that fruit,
Not Counts nor Cavaliers:
Though many have reached up for it,
Barons and great Seigneurs,
They all went hence in wrath because
They could not make it theirs.
Then how canst thou think to succeed alone
Who hast not a thousand ounces of thine own?

He
How many nosegays I have sent
Unto thy house, sweet soul!
At least till I am put to proof,
This scorn of thine control.
For if the wind, so fair for thee,
Turn ever and wax foul,
Be sure that thou shalt say when all is done,
“Now is my heart heavy for him that's gone.”

She
If by my grief thou couldst be grieved,
God send me a grief soon!
I tell thee that though all my friends
Prayed me as for a boon,
Saying, “Even for the love of us,
Love thou this worthless loon,”
Thou shouldst not have the thing that thou dost hope.
No, verily; nor for the realm o'the Pope.

He
Now could I wish that I in truth
Were dead here in thy house:
My soul would get its vengeance then;
Once known, the thing would rouse
A rabble, and they'd point and say,—
“Lo! she that breaks her vows,
And, in her dainty chamber, stabs!” Love, see:
One strikes just thus: it is soon done, pardie!

She
If now thou do not hasten hence,
(My curse companioning),
That my stout friends will find thee here
Is a most certain thing:
After the which, my gallant sir,
Thy points of reasoning
May chance, I think, to stand thee in small stead,
Thou hast no friend, sweet friend, to bring thee aid.


426

He
Thou sayest truly, saying that
I have not any friend:
A landless stranger, lady mine,
None but his sword defend.
One year ago, my love began,
And now, is this the end?
Oh! the rich dress thou worest on that day
Since when thou art walking at my side alway!

She
So 'twas my dress enamoured thee!
What marvel? I did wear
A cloth of samite silver-flowered,
And gems within my hair.
But one more word; if on Christ's Book
To wed me thou didst swear,
There's nothing now could win me to be thine:
I had rather make my bed in the sea-brine.

He
And if thou make thy bed therein,
Most courteous lady and bland,
I'll follow all among the waves,
Paddling with foot and hand;
Then, when the sea hath done with thee,
I'll seek thee on the sand.
For I will not be conquered in this strife:
I'll wait, but win; or losing, lose my life.

She
For Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Three times I cross myself.
Thou art no godless heretic,
Nor Jew, whose God's his pelf:
Even as I know it then, meseems,
Thou needs must know thyself
That woman, when the breath in her doth cease,
Loseth all savour and all loveliness.

He
Woe's me! Perforce it must be said
No craft could then avail:
So that if thou be thus resolved,
I know my suit must fail.
Then have some pity, of thy grace!
Thou mayst, love, very well;
For though thou love not me, my love is such
That 'tis enough for both—yea overmuch.


427

She
Is it even so? Learn then that I
Do love thee from my heart.
To-morrow, early in the day,
Come here, but now depart.
By thine obedience in this thing
I shall know what thou art,
And if thy love be real or nothing worth;
Do but go now, and I am thine henceforth.

He
Nay, for such promise, my own life,
I will not stir a foot.
I've said, if thou wouldst tear away
My love even from its root,
I have a dagger at my side
Which thou mayst take to do't:
But as for going hence, it will not be.
O hate me not! my heart is burning me.

She
Think'st thou I know not that thy heart
Is hot and burns to death?
Of all that thou or I can say,
But one word succoureth.
Till thou upon the Holy Book
Give me thy bounden faith,
God is my witness that I will not yield:
For with thy sword 'twere better to be kill'd.

He
Then on Christ's Book, borne with me still
To read from and to pray,
(I took it, fairest, in a church,
The priest being gone away,)
I swear that my whole self shall be
Thine always from this day.
And now at once give joy for all my grief,
Lest my soul fly, that's thinner than a leaf.

She
Now that this oath is sworn, sweet lord,
There is no need to speak;
My heart, that was so strong before,
Now feels itself grow weak.
If any of my words were harsh,
Thy pardon: I am meek
Now, and will give thee entrance presently.
It is best so, sith so it was to be.


428

FOLCACHIERO DE' FOLCACHIERI, KNIGHT OF SIENA

Canzone

He speaks of his condition through Love

All the whole world is living without war,
And yet I cannot find out any peace.
O God! that this should be!
O God! what does the earth sustain me for?
My life seems made for other lives' ill-ease:
All men look strange to me;
Nor are the wood-flowers now
As once, when up above
The happy birds in love
Made such sweet verses, going from bough to bough.
And if I come where other gentlemen
Bear arms, or say of love some joyful thing—
Then is my grief most sore,
And all my soul turns round upon me then:
Folk also gaze upon me, whispering,
Because I am not what I was before.
I know not what I am.
I know how wearisome
My life is now become,
And that the days I pass seem all the same.
I think that I shall die; yea, death begins;
Though 'tis no set-down sickness that I have,
Nor are my pains set down.
But to wear raiment seems a burden since
This came, nor ever any food I crave;
Not any cure is known
To me, nor unto whom
I might commend my case:
This evil therefore stays
Still where it is, and hope can find no room.
I know that it must certainly be Love:
No other Lord, being thus set over me,
Had judged me to this curse;
With such high hand he rules, sitting above,
That of myself he takes two parts in fee,
Only the third being hers.
Yet if through service I
Be justified with God,
He shall remove this load,
Because my heart with inmost love doth sigh.
Gentle my lady, after I am gone,
There will not come another, it may be,
To show thee love like mine:
For nothing can I do, neither have done,
Except what proves that I belong to thee
And am a thing of thine.
Be it not said that I
Despaired and perished, then;
But pour thy grace, like rain,
On him who is burned up, yea, visibly.

429

LODOVICO DELLA VERNACCIA

Sonnet

He exhorts the State to vigilance

Think a brief while on the most marvellous arts
Of our high-purposed labour, citizens;
And having thought, draw clear conclusion thence;
And say, do not ours seem but childish parts?
Also on these intestine sores and smarts
Ponder advisedly; and the deep sense
Thereof shall bow your heads in penitence,
And like a thorn shall grow into your hearts.
If, of our foreign foes, some prince or lord
Is now, perchance, some whit less troublesome,
Shall the sword therefore drop into the sheath?
Nay, grasp it as the friend that warranteth:
For unto this vile rout, our foes at home,
Nothing is high or awful save the sword.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

Cantica

Our Lord Christ: of Order

Set Love in order, thou that lovest Me.
Never was virtue out of order found;
And though I fill thy heart desirously,
By thine own virtue I must keep My ground:
When to My love thou dost bring charity,
Even she must come with order girt and gown'd.
Look how the trees are bound
To order, bearing fruit;
And by one thing compute,
In all things earthly, order's grace or gain.
All earthly things I had the making of
Were numbered and were measured then by Me;
And each was ordered to its end by Love,
Each kept, through order, clean for ministry.
Charity most of all, when known enough,
Is of her very nature orderly,
Lo, now! what heat in thee,
Soul, can have bred this rout?
Thou putt'st all order out.
Even this love's heat must be its curb and rein.
 

This speech occurs in a long poem on Divine Love, half ecstatic, half scholastic, and hardly appreciable now. The passage stands well by itself, and is the only one spoken by our Lord.


430

FREDERICK II. EMPEROR

Canzone

Of his Lady in bondage

For grief I am about to sing,
Even as another would for joy;
Mine eyes which the hot tears destroy
Are scarce enough for sorrowing:
To speak of such a grievous thing
Also my tongue I must employ,
Saying: Woe's me, who am full of woes!
Not while I live shall my sighs cease
For her in whom my heart found peace:
I am become like unto those
That cannot sleep for weariness,
Now I have lost my crimson rose.
And yet I will not call her lost;
She is not gone out of the earth;
She is but girded with a girth
Of hate, that clips her in like frost.
Thus says she every hour almost:—
“When I was born, 'twas an ill birth!
O that I never had been born,
If I am still to fall asleep
Weeping, and when I wake to weep;
If he whom I most loathe and scorn
Is still to have me his, and keep
Smiling about me night and morn!
“O that I never had been born
A woman! a poor, helpless fool,
Who can but stoop beneath the rule
Of him she needs must loathe and scorn!
If ever I feel less forlorn,
I stand all day in fear and dule,
Lest he discern it, and with rough
Speech mock at me, or with his smile
So hard you scarce could call it guile:
No man is there to say, ‘Enough.’
O, but if God waits a long while,
Death cannot always stand aloof!
“Thou, God the Lord, dost know all this:
Give me a little comfort then,
Him who is worst among bad men
Smite thou for me. Those limbs of his
Once hidden where the sharp worm is,
Perhaps I might see hope again.
Yet for a certain period
Would I seem like as one that saith
Strange things for grief, and murmureth
With smitten palms and hair abroad:
Still whispering under my held breath,
‘Shall I not praise Thy name, O God?’

431

“Thou, God the Lord, dost know all this:
It is a very weary thing
Thus to be always trembling:
And till the breath of his life cease,
The hate in him will but increase,
And with his hate my suffering.
Each morn I hear his voice bid them
That watch me, to be faithful spies
Lest I go forth and see the skies;
Each night, to each, he saith the same:—
And in my soul and in mine eyes
There is a burning heat like flame.”
Thus grieves she now: but she shall wear
This love of mine, whereof I spoke,
About her body for a cloak,
And for a garland in her hair,
Even yet: because I mean to prove,
Not to speak only, this my love.

ENZO, KING OF SARDINIA

Sonnet

On the Fitness of Seasons

There is a time to mount; to humble thee
A time; a time to talk, and hold thy peace;
A time to labour, and a time to cease;
A time to take thy measures patiently;
A time to watch what Time's next step may be;
A time to make light count of menaces,
And to think over them a time there is;
There is a time when to seem not to see.
Wherefore I hold him well-advised and sage
Who evermore keeps prudence facing him,
And lets his life slide with occasion;
And so comports himself, through youth to age,
That never any man at any time
Can say, Not thus, but thus thou shouldst have done.

432

GUIDO GUINICELLI

I
Sonnet

Concerning Lucy

When Lucy draws her mantle round her face,
So sweeter than all else she is to see,
That hence unto the hills there lives not he
Whose whole soul would not love her for her grace.
Then seems she like a daughter of some race
That holds high rule in France or Germany:
And a snake's head stricken off suddenly
Throbs never as then throbs my heart to embrace
Her body in these arms, even were she loth;—
To kiss her lips, to kiss her cheeks, to kiss
The lids of her two eyes which are two flames.
Yet what my heart so longs for, my heart blames:
For surely sorrow might be bred from this
Where some man's patient love abides its growth.

II
Canzone

Of the Gentle Heart

Within the gentle heart Love shelters him
As birds within the green shade of the grove.
Before the gentle heart, in nature's scheme,
Love was not, nor the gentle heart ere Love.
For with the sun, at once,
So sprang the light immediately; nor was
Its birth before the sun's.
And Love hath his effect in gentleness
Of very self; even as
Within the middle fire the heat's excess.
The fire of Love comes to the gentle heart
Like as its virtue to a precious stone;
To which no star its influence can impart
Till it is made a pure thing by the sun:
For when the sun hath smit
From out its essence that which there was vile,
The star endoweth it.
And so the heart created by God's breath
Pure, true, and clean from guile,
A woman, like a star, enamoureth.
In gentle heart Love for like reason is
For which the lamp's high flame is fanned and bow'd:
Clear, piercing bright, it shines for its own bliss;
Nor would it burn there else, it is so proud.
For evil natures meet
With Love as it were water met with fire,
As cold abhorring heat.
Through gentle heart Love doth a track divine,—
Like knowing like; the same
As diamond runs through iron in the mine.

433

The sun strikes full upon the mud all day:
It remains vile, nor the sun's worth is less.
“By race I am gentle,” the proud man doth say:
He is the mud, the sun is gentleness.
Let no man predicate
That aught the name of gentleness should have,
Even in a King's estate,
Except the heart there be a gentle man's.
The star-beam lights the wave,—
Heaven holds the star and the star's radiance.
God, in the understanding of high Heaven,
Burns more than in our sight the living sun:
There to behold His face unveiled is given;
And Heaven, whose will is homage paid to One
Fulfils the things which live
In God, from the beginning excellent.
So should my lady give
That truth which in her eyes is glorified,
On which her heart is bent,
To me whose service waiteth at her side.
My lady, God shall ask, “What daredst thou?”
(When my soul stands with all her acts review'd;)
“Thou passedst Heaven, into My sight, as now,
To make Me of vain love similitude.
To Me doth praise belong,
And to the Queen of all the realm of grace
Who slayeth fraud and wrong.”
Then may I plead: “As though from Thee he came,
Love wore an angel's face:
Lord, if I loved her, count it not my shame.”

III
Sonnet

He will praise his Lady

Yea, let me praise my lady whom I love:
Likening her unto the lily and rose:
Brighter than morning star her visage glows;
She is beneath even as her Saint above;
She is as the air in summer which God wove
Of purple and of vermilion glorious;
As gold and jewels richer than man knows.
Love's self, being love for her, must holier prove.
Ever as she walks she hath a sober grace,
Making bold men abashed and good men glad;
If she delight thee not, thy heart must err.
No man dare look on her, his thoughts being base:
Nay, let me say even more than I have said;—
No man could think base thoughts who looked on her.

434

IV
Canzone

He perceives his Rashness in Love, but has no choice

I hold him, verily, of mean emprise,
Whose rashness tempts a strength too great to bear;
As I have done, alas! who turned mine eyes
Upon those perilous eyes of the most fair.
Unto her eyes I bow'd;
No need her other beauties in that hour
Should aid them, cold and proud:
As when the vassals of a mighty lord,
What time he needs his power,
Are all girt round him to make strong his sword.
With such exceeding force the stroke was dealt
That by mine eyes its path might not be stay'd;
But deep into the heart it pierced, which felt
The pang of the sharp wound, and waxed afraid;
Then rested in strange wise,
As when some creature utterly outworn
Sinks into bed and lies.
And she the while doth in no manner care,
But goes her way in scorn,
Beholding herself alway proud and fair.
And she may be as proud as she shall please,
For she is still the fairest woman found:
A sun she seems among the rest; and these
Have all their beauties in her splendour drown'd.
In her is every grace,—
Simplicity of wisdom, noble speech,
Accomplished loveliness;
All earthly beauty is her diadem,
This truth my song would teach,—
My lady is of ladies chosen gem.
Love to my lady's service yieldeth me,—
Will I, or will I not, the thing is so,—
Nor other reason can I say or see,
Except that where it lists the wind doth blow.
He rules and gives no sign;
Nor once from her did show of love upbuoy
This passion which is mine.
It is because her virtue's strength and stir
So fill her full of joy
That I am glad to die for love of her.

435

V
Sonnet

Of Moderation and Tolerance

He that has grown to wisdom hurries not,
But thinks and weighs what Reason bids him do;
And after thinking he retains his thought
Until as he conceived the fact ensue.
Let no man to o'erweening pride be wrought,
But count his state as Fortune's gift and due.
He is a fool who deems that none has sought
The truth, save he alone, or knows it true.
Many strange birds are on the air abroad,
Nor all are of one flight or of one force,
But each after his kind dissimilar:
To each was portioned of the breath of God,
Who gave them divers instincts from one source.
Then judge not thou thy fellows what they are.

VI
Sonnet

Of Human Presumption

Among my thoughts I count it wonderful,
How foolishness in man should be so rife
That masterly he takes the world to wife
As though no end were set unto his rule:
In labour alway that his ease be full,
As though there never were another life;
Till Death throws all his order into strife,
And round his head his purposes doth pull.
And evermore one sees the other die,
And sees how all conditions turn to change,
Yet in no wise may the blind wretch be heal'd.
I therefore say, that sin can even estrange
Man's very sight, and his heart satisfy
To live as lives a sheep upon the field.

436

GUERZO DI MONTECANTI

Sonnet

He is out of heart with his Time

If any man would know the very cause
Which makes me to forget my speech in rhyme,
All the sweet songs I sang in other time,—
I'll tell it in a sonnet's simple clause.
I hourly have beheld how good withdraws
To nothing, and how evil mounts the while:
Until my heart is gnawed as with a file,
Nor aught of this world's worth is what it was.
At last there is no other remedy
But to behold the universal end;
And so upon this hope my thoughts are urged:
To whom, since truth is sunk and dead at sea,
There has no other part or prayer remain'd,
Except of seeing the world's self submerged.

INGHILFREDI, SICILIANO

Canzone

He rebukes the Evil of that Time

Hard is it for a man to please all men:
I therefore speak in doubt,
And as one may that looketh to be chid.
But who can hold his peace in these days?—when
Guilt cunningly slips out,
And Innocence atones for what he did;
When worth is crushed, even if it be not hid;
When on crushed worth, guile sets his foot to rise;
And when the things wise men have counted wise
Make fools to smile and stare and lift the lid.
Let none who have not wisdom govern you:
For he that was a fool
At first shall scarce grow wise under the sun.
And as it is, my whole heart bleeds anew
To think how hard a school
Young hope grows old at, as these seasons run.
Behold, sirs, we have reached this thing for one:—
The lord before his servant bends the knee,
And service puts on lordship suddenly.
Ye speak o'the end? Ye have not yet begun.

437

I would not have ye without counsel ta'en
Follow my words; nor meant,
If one should talk and act not, to praise him
But who, being much opposed, speaks not again,
Confesseth himself shent
And put to silence,—by some loud-mouthed mime,
Perchance, for whom I speak not in this rhyme.
Strive what ye can; and if ye cannot all,
Yet should not your hearts fall:
The fruit commends the flower in God's good time.
(For without fruit, the flower delights not God):
Wherefore let him whom Hope
Puts off, remember time is not gone by.
Let him say calmly: “Thus far on this road
A foolish trust buoyed up
My soul, and made it like the summer fly
Burned in the flame it seeks: even so was I:
But now I'll aid myself: for still this trust,
I find, falleth to dust:
The fish gapes for the bait-hook, and doth die.”
And yet myself, who bid ye do this thing,—
Am I not also spurn'd
By the proud feet of Hope continually;
Till that which gave me such good comforting
Is altogether turn'd
Unto a fire whose heat consumeth me?
I am so girt with grief that my thoughts be
Tired of themselves, and from my soul I loathe
Silence and converse both;
And my own face is what I hate to see.
Because no act is meet now nor unmeet.
He that does evil, men applaud his name,
And the well-doer must put up with shame:
Yea, and the worst man sits in the best seat.

RINALDO D'AQUINO

I
Canzone

He is resolved to be joyful in Love

A thing is in my mind,—
To have my joy again,
Which I had almost put away from me.
It were in foolish kind
For ever to refrain
From song, and renounce gladness utterly.
Seeing that I am given into the rule
Of Love, whom only pleasure makes alive,
Whom pleasure nourishes and brings to growth:
The wherefore sullen sloth
Will he not suffer in those serving him;
But pleasant they must seem,
That good folk love them and their service thrive;
Nor even their pain must make them sorrowful.

438

So bear he him that thence
The praise of men be gain'd,—
He that would put his hope in noble Love;
For by great excellence
Alone can be attain'd
That amorous joy which wisdom may approve.
The way of Love is this, righteous and just;
Then whoso would be held of good account,
To seek the way of Love must him befit,—
Pleasure, to wit.
Through pleasure, man attains his worthiness:
For he must please
All men, so bearing him that Love may mount
In their esteem; Love's self being in his trust.
Trustful in servitude
I have been and will be,
And loyal unto Love my whole life through.
A hundred-fold of good
Hath he not guerdoned me
For what I have endured of grief and woe?
Since he hath given me unto one of whom
Thus much he said—thou mightest seek for aye
Another of such worth so beauteous.
Joy therefore may keep house
In this my heart, that it hath loved so well.
Meseems I scarce could dwell
Ever in weary life or in dismay
If to true service still my heart gave room.
Serving at her pleasaùnce
Whose service pleasureth,
I am enriched with all the wealth of Love.
Song hath no utterance
For my life's joyful breath
Since in this lady's grace my homage throve.
Yea, for I think it would be difficult
One should conceive my former abject case:—
Therefore have knowledge of me from this rhyme.
My penance-time
Is all accomplished now, and all forgot,
So that no jot
Do I remember of mine evil days.
It is my lady's will that I exult.
Exulting let me take
My joyful comfort, then,
Seeing myself in so much blessedness.
Mine ease even as mine ache
Accepting, let me gain
No pride towards Love; but with all humbleness,
Even still, my pleasurable service pay.
For a good servant ne'er was left to pine:
Great shall his guerdon be who greatly bears.
But, because he that fears
To speak too much, by his own silence shent,
Hath sometimes made lament,—
I am thus boastful, lady; being thine
For homage and obedience night and day.

439

II
Canzone

A Lady, in Spring, repents of her Coldness

Now, when it flowereth,
And when the banks and fields
Are greener every day,
And sweet is each bird's breath,
In the tree where he builds
Singing after his way,—
Spring comes to us with hasty step and brief,
Everywhere in leaf,
And everywhere makes people laugh and play.
Love is brought unto me
In the scent of the flower
And in the bird's blithe noise.
When day begins to be,
I hear in every bower
New verses finding voice:
From every branch around me and above,
A minstrels' court of love,
The birds contend in song about love's joys.
What time I hear the lark
And nightingale keep Spring,
My heart will pant and yearn
For love. (Ye all may mark
The unkindly comforting
Of fire that will not burn.)
And, being in the shadow of the fresh wood,
How excellently good
A thing love is, I cannot choose but learn.
Let me ask grace; for I,
Being loved, loved not again.
Now springtime makes me love,
And bids me satisfy
The lover whose fierce pain
I thought too lightly of:
For that the pain is fierce I do feel now.
And yet this pride is slow
To free my heart, which pity would fain move.
Wherefore I pray thee, Love,
That thy breath turn me o'er,
Even as the wind a leaf;
And I will set thee above
This heart of mine, that's sore
Perplexed, to be its chief.
Let also the dear youth, whose passion must
Henceforward have good trust,
Be happy without words; for words bring grief.

440

JACOPO DA LENTINO

I
Sonnet

Of his Lady in Heaven

I have it in my heart to serve God so
That into Paradise I shall repair,—
The holy place through the which everywhere
I have heard say that joy and solace flow.
Without my lady I were loth to go,—
She who has the bright face and the bright hair;
Because if she were absent, I being there,
My pleasure would be less than nought, I know.
Look you, I say not this to such intent
As that I there would deal in any sin:
I only would behold her gracious mien,
And beautiful soft eyes, and lovely face,
That so it should be my complete content
To see my lady joyful in her place.

II
Canzonetta

Of his Lady, and her Portrait

Marvellously elate,
Love makes my spirit warm
With noble sympathies:
As one whose mind is set
Upon some glorious form,
To paint it as it is;—
I verily who bear
Thy face at heart, most fair,
Am like to him in this.
Not outwardly declared,
Within me dwells enclosed
Thine image as thou art.
Ah! strangely hath it fared!
I know not if thou know'st
The love within my heart.
Exceedingly afraid,
My hope I have not said,
But gazed on thee apart.
Because desire was strong,
I made a portraiture
In thine own likeness, love:
When absence has grown long,
I gaze, till I am sure
That I behold thee move;
As one who purposeth
To save himself by faith,
Yet sees not, nor can prove.

441

Then comes the burning pain:
As with the man that hath
A fire within his breast,—
When most he struggles, then
Most boils the flame in wrath,
And will not let him rest,
So still I burned and shook,
To pass, and not to look
In thy face, loveliest.
For where thou art I pass,
And do not lift mine eyes,
Lady, to look on thee:
But, as I go, alas!
With bitterness of sighs
I mourn exceedingly.
Alas! the constant woe!
Myself I do not know,
So sore it troubles me.
And I have sung thy praise,
Lady, and many times
Have told thy beauties o'er.
Hast heard in anyways,
Perchance, that these my rhymes
Are song-craft and no more?
Nay, rather deem, when thou
Shalt see me pass and bow,
These words I sicken for.
Delicate song of mine,
Go sing thou a new strain:
Seek, with the first sunshine,
Our lady, mine and thine,—
The rose of Love's domain,
Than red gold comelier.
“Lady, in Love's name hark
To Jacopo the clerk,
Born in Lentino here.”

III
Sonnet

No Jewel is worth his Lady

Sapphire, nor diamond, nor emerald,
Nor other precious stones past reckoning,
Topaz, nor pearl, nor ruby like a king,
Nor that most virtuous jewel, jasper call'd,
Nor amethyst, nor onyx, nor basalt,
Each counted for a very marvellous thing,
Is half so excellently gladdening
As is my lady's head uncoronall'd.
All beauty by her beauty is made dim;
Like to the stars she is for loftiness;
And with her voice she taketh away grief.
She is fairer than a bud, or than a leaf.
Christ have her well in keeping, of His grace,
And make her holy and beloved, like Him!

442

IV
Canzonetta

He will neither boast nor lament to his Lady

Love will not have me cry
For grace, as others do;
Nor as they vaunt, that I
Should vaunt my love to you.
For service, such as all
Can pay, is counted small;
Nor is it much to praise
The thing which all must know;—
Such pittance to bestow
On you my love gainsays.
Love lets me not turn shape
As chance or use may strike;
As one may see an ape
Counterfeit all alike.
Then, lady, unto you
Be it not mine to sue
For grace or pitying.
Many the lovers be
That of such suit are free,—
It is a common thing.
A gem, the more 'tis rare,
The more its cost will mount:
And, be it not so fair,
It is of more account.
So, coming from the East,
The sapphire is increased
In worth, though scarce so bright;
I therefore seek thy face
Not to solicit grace,
Being cheapened and made slight.
So is the colosmine
Now cheapened, which in fame
Was once so brave and fine,
But now is a mean gem.
So be such prayers for grace
Not heard in any place;
Would they indeed hold fast
Their worth, be they not said,
Nor by true lovers made
Before nine years be past.
Lady, sans sigh or groan,
My longing thou canst see;
Much better am I known
Than to myself, to thee.
And is there nothing else
That in my heart avails
For love but groan and sigh?
And wilt thou have it thus,
This love betwixen us?—
Much rather let me die.

443

V
Canzonetta

Of his Lady, and of his making her Likeness

My Lady mine, I send
These sighs in joy to thee;
Though, loving till the end,
There were no hope for me
That I should speak my love;
And I have loved indeed,
Though, having fearful heed,
It was not spoken of.
Thou art so high and great
That whom I love I fear;
Which thing to circumstate
I have no messenger:
Wherefore to Love I pray,
On whom each lover cries,
That these my tears and sighs
Find unto thee a way.
Well have I wished, when I
At heart with sighs have ach'd,
That there were in each sigh
Spirit and intellect,
The which, where thou dost sit,
Should kneel and sue for aid,
Since I am thus afraid
And have no strength for it.
Thou, lady, killest me,
Yet keepest me in pain,
For thou must surely see
How, fearing, I am fain.
Ah! why not send me still
Some solace, small and slight,
So that I should not quite
Despair of thy good will?
Thy grace, all else above,
Even now while I implore,
Enamoureth my love
To love thee still the more.
Yet scarce should I know well—
A greater love to gain,
Even if a greater pain,
Lady, were possible.
Joy did that day relax
My grief's continual stress,
When I essayed in wax
Thy beauty's life-likeness.
Ah! much more beautiful
Than golden-haired Yseult,—
Who mak'st all men exult,
Who bring'st all women dule.

444

And certes without blame
Thy love might fall to me,
Though it should chance my name
Were never heard of thee.
Yea, for thy love, in fine,
Lentino gave me birth,
Who am not nothing worth
If worthy to be thine.
 

Madonna mia.

VI
Sonnet

Of his Lady's face

Her face has made my life most proud and glad;
Her face has made my life quite wearisome;
It comforts me when other troubles come,
And amid other joys it strikes me sad.
Truly I think her face can drive me mad;
For now I am too loud, and anon dumb.
There is no second face in Christendom
Has a like power, nor shall have, nor has had.
What man in living face has seen such eyes,
Or such a lovely bending of the head,
Or mouth that opens to so sweet a smile?
In speech, my heart before her faints and dies,
And into Heaven seems to be spirited;
So that I count me blest a certain while.

VII
Canzone

At the end of his Hope

Remembering this—how Love
Mocks me, and bids me hoard
Mine ill reward that keeps me nigh to death,—
How it doth still behove
I suffer the keen sword,
Whence undeplor'd I may not draw my breath;
In memory of this thing
Sighing and sorrowing,
I am languid at the heart
For her to whom I bow,
Craving her pity now,
And who still turns apart.
I am dying, and through her—
This flower, from paradise
Sent in some wise, that I might have no rest.
Truly she did not err
To come before his eyes
Who fails and dies, by her sweet smile possess'd;
For, through her countenance
(Fair brows and lofty glance!)
I live in constant dule.
Of lovers' hearts the chief
For sorrow and much grief,
My heart is sorrowful.

445

For Love has made me weep
With sighs that do him wrong,
Since, when most strong my joy, he gave this woe.
I am broken, as a ship
Perishing of the song,
Sweet, sweet and long, the songs the sirens know.
The mariner forgets,
Voyaging in those straits,
And dies assuredly.
Yea, from her pride perverse,
Who hath my heart as hers,
Even such my death must be.
I deemed her not so fell
And hard but she would greet,
From her high seat, at length, the love I bring;
For I have loved her well;—
Nor that her face so sweet
In so much heat would keep me languishing;
Seeing that she I serve
All honour doth deserve
For worth unparallel'd.
Yet what availeth moan
But for more grief alone?
O God! that it avail'd!
Thou, my new song, shalt pray
To her, who for no end
Each day doth tend her virtues that they grow,—
Since she to love saith nay;—
(More charms she had attain'd
Than sea hath sand, and wisdom even so);—
Pray thou to her that she
For my love pity me,
Since with my love I burn,—
That of the fruit of love,
While help may come thereof,
She give to me in turn.

MAZZEO DI RICCO, DA MESSINA

I
Canzone

He solicits his Lady's Pity

The lofty worth and lovely excellence,
Dear lady, that thou hast,
Hold me consuming in the fire of love:
That I am much afeared and wildered thence,
As who, being meanly plac'd,
Would win unto some height he dreameth of.
Yet, if it be decreed,
After the multiplying of vain thought,
By Fortune's favour he at last is brought
To his far hope, the mighty bliss indeed.

446

Thus, in considering thy loveliness,
Love maketh me afear'd,—
So high art thou, joyful, and full of good;—
And all the more, thy scorn being never less.
Yet is this comfort heard,—
That underneath the water fire doth brood,
Which thing would seem unfit
By law of nature. So may thy scorn prove
Changed at the last, through pity into love,
If favourable Fortune should permit.
Lady, though I do love past utterance,
Let it not seem amiss,
Neither rebuke thou the enamoured eyes.
Look thou thyself on thine own countenance,
From that charm unto this,
All thy perfections of sufficiencies.
So shalt thou rest assured
That thine exceeding beauty lures me on
Perforce, as by the passive magnet-stone
The needle, of its nature's self, is lured.
Certes, it was of Love's dispiteousness
That I must set my life
On thee, proud lady, who accept'st it not.
And how should I attain unto thy grace,
That falter, thus at strife
To speak to thee the thing which is my thought?
Thou, lovely as thou art,
I pray for God, when thou dost pass me by,
Look upon me: so shalt thou certify,
By my cheek's ailing, that which ails my heart.
So thoroughly my love doth tend toward
Thy love its lofty scope,
That I may never think to ease my pain;
Because the ice, when it is frozen hard,
May have no further hope
That it should ever become snow again.
But, since Love bids me bend
Unto thy seigniory,
Have pity thou on me,
That so upon thyself all grace descend.

447

II
Canzone

After Six Years' service he renounces his Lady

I Laboured these six years
For thee, thou bitter sweet;
Yea, more than it is meet
That speech should now rehearse
Or song should rhyme to thee;
But love gains never aught
From thee, by depth or length;
Unto thine eyes such strength
And calmness thou hast taught,
That I say wearily:—
“The child is most like me,
Who thinks in the clear stream
To catch the round flat moon
And draw it all a-dripping unto him,—
Who fancies he can take into his hand
The flame o'the lamp, but soon
Screams and is nigh to swoon
At the sharp heat his flesh may not withstand.”
Though it be late to learn
How sore I was possest,
Yet do I count me blest,
Because I still can spurn
This thrall which is so mean.
For when a man, once sick,
Has got his health anew,
The fever which boiled through
His veins, and made him weak,
Is as it had not been.
For all that I had seen,
Thy spirit, like thy face,
More excellently shone
Than precious crystals in an untrod place.
Go to: thy worth is but as glass, the cheat,
Which, to gaze thereupon,
Seems crystal, even as one,
But only is a cunning counterfeit.
Foiled hope has made me mad,
As one who, playing high,
Thought to grow rich thereby,
And loses what he had.
Yet I can now perceive
How true the saying is
That says: “If one turn back
Out of an evil track
Through loss which has been his,
He gains, and need not grieve.”
To me now, by your leave,
It chances as to him
Who of his purse is free
To one whose memory for such debts is dim.
Long time he speaks no word thereof, being loth:
But having asked, when he
Is answered slightingly,
Then shall he lose his patience and be wroth.

448

III
Sonnet

Of Self-seeing

If any his own foolishness might see
As he can see his fellow's foolishness,
His evil speakings could not but prove less,
For his own fault would vex him inwardly.
But, by old custom, each man deems that he
Has to himself all this world's worthiness;
And thou, perchance, in blind contentedness,
Scorn'st him, yet know'st not what I think of thee.
Wherefore I wish it were so ordered
That each of us might know the good that's his,
And also the ill,—his honour and his shame.
For oft a man has on his proper head
Such weight of sins, that, did he know but this,
He could not for his life give others blame.

PANNUCCIO DAL BAGNO, PISANO

Canzone

Of his Change through Love

My lady, thy delightful high command,
Thy wisdom's great intent,
The worth which ever rules thee in thy sway,
(Whose righteousness of strength hath ta'en in hand
Such full accomplishment
As height makes worthy of more height alway,)
Have granted to thy servant some poor due
Of thy perfection; who
From them has gained a proper will so fix'd,
With other thought unmix'd,
That nothing save thy service now impels
His life, and his heart longs for nothing else.
Beneath thy pleasure, lady mine, I am:
The circuit of my will,
The force of all my life, to serve thee so:
Never but only this I think or name,
Nor ever can I fill
My heart with other joy that man may know.
And hence a sovereign blessedness I draw,
Who soon most clearly saw
That not alone my perfect pleasure is
In this my life-service:
But Love has made my soul with thine to touch
Till my heart feels unworthy of so much.

449

For all that I could strive, it were not worth
That I should be uplift
Into thy love, as certainly I know:
Since one to thy deserving should stretch forth
His love for a free gift,
And be full fain to serve and sit below.
And forasmuch as this is verity,
It came to pass with thee
That seeing how my love was not loud-tongued
Yet for thy service long'd—
As only thy pure wisdom brought to pass,—
Thou knew'st my heart for only what it was.
Also because thou thus at once didst learn
This heart of mine and thine,
With all its love for thee, which was and is;
Thy lofty sense that could so well discern
Wrought even in me some sign
Of thee, and of itself some emphasis,
Which evermore might hold my purpose fast.
For lo! thy law is pass'd
That this my love should manifestly be
To serve and honour thee:
And so I do: and my delight is full,
Accepted for the servant of thy rule.
Without almost, I am all rapturous,
Since thus my will was set
To serve, thou flower of joy, thine excellence:
Nor ever seems it anything could rouse
A pain or a regret,
But on thee dwells mine every thought and sense;
Considering that from thee all virtues spread
As from a fountain-head,—
That in thy gift is wisdom's best avail
And honour without fail;
With whom each sovereign good dwells separate,
Fulfilling the perfection of thy state.
Lady, since I conceived
Thy pleasurable aspect in my heart,
My life has been apart
In shining brightness and the place of truth;
Which till that time, good sooth,
Groped among shadows in a darken'd place
Where many hours and days
It hardly ever had remembered good.
But now my servitude
Is thine, and I am full of joy and rest.
A man from a wild beast
Thou madest me, since for thy love I lived.

450

GIACOMINO PUGLIESI, KNIGHT OF PRATO

I
Canzonetta

Of his Lady in Absence

The sweetly-favoured face
She has, and her good cheer,
Have filled me full of grace
When I have walked with her.
They did upon that day:
And everything that pass'd
Comes back from first to last
Now that I am away.
There went from her meek mouth
A poor low sigh which made
My heart sink down for drouth.
She stooped, and sobbed, and said,
“Sir, I entreat of you
Make little tarrying:
It is not a good thing
To leave one's love and go.”
But when I turned about
Saying, “God keep you well!”
As she look'd up, I thought
Her lips that were quite pale
Strove much to speak, but she
Had not half strength enough:
My own dear graceful love
Would not let go of me.
I am not so far, sweet maid,
That now the old love's unfelt:
I believe Tristram had
No such love for Yseult:
And when I see your eyes
And feel your breath again,
I shall forget this pain
And my whole heart will rise.

II
Canzonetta

To his Lady, in Spring

To see the green returning
To stream-side, garden, and meadow,—
To hear the birds give warning,
(The laughter of sun and shadow
Awaking them full of revel,)
It puts me in strength to carol
A music measured and level,
This grief in joy to apparel;
For the deaths of lovers are evil.

451

Love is a foolish riot,
And to be loved is a burden;
Who loves and is loved in quiet
Has all the world for his guerdon.
Ladies on him take pity
Who for their sake hath trouble:
Yet, if any heart be a city
From love embarrèd double,
Thereof is a joyful ditty.
That heart shall be always joyful;—
But I in the heart, my lady,
Have jealous doubts unlawful,
And stubborn pride stands ready.
Yet love is not with a measure,
But still is willing to suffer
Service at his good pleasure:
The whole Love hath to offer
Tends to his perfect treasure.
Thine be this prelude-music
That was of thy commanding;
Thy gaze was not delusive,—
Of my heart thou hadst understanding.
Lady, by thine attemp'rance
Thou heldst my life from pining:
This tress thou gav'st, in semblance
Like gold of the third refining,
Which I do keep for remembrance.

III
Canzone

Of his dead Lady

Death, why hast thou made life so hard to bear,
Taking my lady hence? Hast thou no whit
Of shame? The youngest flower and the most fair
Thou hast plucked away, and the world wanteth it.
O leaden Death, hast thou no pitying?
Our warm love's very spring
Thou stopp'st, and endest what was holy and meet;
And of my gladdening
Mak'st a most woful thing,
And in my heart dost bid the bird not sing
That sang so sweet.
Once the great joy and solace that I had
Was more than is with other gentlemen:—
Now is my love gone hence, who made me glad.
With her that hope I lived in she hath ta'en
And left me nothing but these sighs and tears,—
Nothing of the old years
That come not back again,
Wherein I was so happy, being hers.
Now to mine eyes her face no more appears,
Nor doth her voice make music in mine ears,
As it did then.

452

O God, why hast thou made my grief so deep?
Why set me in the dark to grope and pine?
Why parted me from her companionship,
And crushed the hope which was a gift of thine?
To think, dear, that I never any more
Can see thee as before!
Who is it shuts thee in?
Who hides that smile for which my heart is sore,
And drowns those words that I am longing for,
Lady of mine?
Where is my lady, and the lovely face
She had, and the sweet motion when she walk'd?—
Her chaste, mild favour—her so delicate grace—
Her eyes, her mouth, and the dear way she talk'd?—
Her courteous bending—her most noble air—
The soft fall of her hair? . . . .
My lady—she who to my soul so rare
A gladness brought!
Now I do never see her anywhere,
And may not, looking in her eyes, gain there
The blessing which I sought.
So if I had the realm of Hungary,
With Greece, and all the Almayn even to France,
Or Saint Sophia's treasure-hoard, you see
All could not give me back her countenance.
For since the day when my dear lady died
From us, (with God being born and glorified,)
No more pleasaunce
Her image bringeth, seated at my side,
But only tears. Ay me! the strength and pride
Which it brought once.
Had I my will, beloved, I would say
To God, unto whose bidding all things bow,
That we were still together night and day:
Yet be it done as His behests allow.
I do remember that while she remain'd
With me, she often called me her sweet friend;
But does not now,
Because God drew her towards Him, in the end.
Lady, that peace which none but He can send
Be thine. Even so.

FRA GUITTONE D' AREZZO

Sonnet

To the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lady of Heaven, the mother glorified
Of glory, which is Jesus,—He whose death
Us from the gates of Hell delivereth
And our first parents' error sets aside:—
Behold this earthly Love, how his darts glide—
How sharpened—to what fate—throughout this earth!
Pitiful Mother, partner of our birth,
Win these from following where his flight doth guide.

453

And O, inspire in me that holy love
Which leads the soul back to its origin,
Till of all other love the link do fail.
This water only can this fire reprove,—
Only such cure suffice for suchlike sin;
As nail from out a plank is struck by nail.

BARTOLOMEO DI SANT' ANGELO

Sonnet

He jests concerning his Poverty

I am so passing rich in poverty
That I could furnish forth Paris and Rome,
Pisa and Padua and Byzantium,
Venice and Lucca, Florence and Forli;
For I possess in actual specie,
Of nihil and of nothing a great sum;
And unto this my hoard whole shiploads come,
What between nought and zero, annually.
In gold and precious jewels I have got
A hundred ciphers' worth, all roundly writ;
And therewithal am free to feast my friend.
Because I need not be afraid to spend,
Nor doubt the safety of my wealth a whit:—
No thief will ever steal thereof, God wot.

SALADINO DA PAVIA

Dialogue

Lover and Lady

She
Fair sir, this love of ours,
In joy begun so well,
I see at length to fail upon thy part:
Wherefore my heart sinks very heavily.
Fair sir, this love of ours
Began with amorous longing, well I ween:
Yea, of one mind, yea, of one heart and will
This love of ours hath been.
Now these are sad and still;
For on thy part at length it fails, I see.
And now thou art gone from me,
Quite lost to me thou art;
Wherefore my heart in this pain languisheth,
Which sinks it unto death thus heavily.

He
Lady, for will of mine
Our love had never changed in anywise,
Had not the choice been thine
With so much scorn my homage to despise.
I swore not to yield sign
Of holding 'gainst all hope my heart-service.
Nay, let thus much suffice:—
From thee whom I have serv'd,
All undeserved contempt is my reward,—
Rich prize prepar'd to guerdon fealty!


454

She
Fair sir, it oft is found
That ladies who would try their lovers so,
Have for a season frown'd,
Not from their heart but in mere outward show.
Then chide not on such ground,
Since ladies oft have tried their lovers so.
Alas, but I will go,
If now it be thy will.
Yet turn thee still, alas! for I do fear
Thou lov'st elsewhere, and therefore fly'st from me.

He
Lady, there needs no doubt
Of my good faith, nor any nice suspense
Lest love be elsewhere sought.
For thine did yield me no such recompense,—
Rest thou assured in thought,—
That now, within my life's circumference,
I should not quite dispense
My heart from woman's laws,
Which for no cause give pain and sore annoy,
And for one joy a world of misery.

BONAGGIUNTA URBICIANI, DA LUCCA

I
Canzone

Of the true End of Love; with a Prayer to his Lady

Never was joy or good that did not soothe
And beget glorying,
Neither a glorying without perfect love.
Wherefore, if one would compass of a truth
The flight of his soul's wing,
To bear a loving heart must him behove.
Since from the flower man still expects the fruit,
And, out of love, that he desireth;
Seeing that by good faith
Alone hath love its comfort and its joy;
For, suffering falsehood, love were at the root
Dead of all worth, which living must aspire;
Nor could it breed desire
If its reward were less than its annoy.
Even such the joy, the triumph, and pleasaunce,
Whose issue honour is,
And grace, and the most delicate teaching sent
To amorous knowledge, its inheritance;
Because Love's properties
Alter not by a true accomplishment;
But it were scarcely well if one should gain
Without much pain so great a blessedness;
He errs, when all things bless,
Whose heart had else been humbled to implore.
He gets not joy who gives no joy again;
Nor can win love whose love hath little scope;
Nor fully can know hope
Who leaves not of the thing most languished for.

455

Wherefore his choice must err immeasurably
Who seeks the image when
He might behold the thing substantial.
I at the noon have seen dark night to be,
Against earth's natural plan,
And what was good to worst abasement fall.
Then be thus much sufficient, lady mine;
If of thy mildness pity may be born,
Count thou my grief outworn,
And turn into sweet joy this bitter ill;
Lest I might change, if left too long to pine:
As one who, journeying, in mid path should stay,
And not pursue his way,
But should go back against his proper will.
Natheless I hope, yea trust, to make an end
Of the beginning made,
Even by this sign—that yet I triumph not.
And if in truth, against my will constrain'd,
To turn my steps essay'd,
No courage have I, neither strength, God wot.
Such is Love's rule, who thus subdueth me
By thy sweet face, lovely and delicate;
Through which I live elate,
But in such longing that I die for love.
Ah! and these words as nothing seem to be:
For love to such a constant fear has chid
My heart that I keep hid
Much more than I have dared to tell thee of.

II
Canzonetta

How he dreams of his Lady

Lady, my wedded thought,
When to thy shape 'tis wrought,
Can think of nothing else
But only of thy grace,
And of those gentle ways
Wherein thy life excels.
For ever, sweet one, dwells
Thine image on my sight,
(Even as it were the gem
Whose name is as thy name)
And fills the sense with light.
Continual ponderings
That brood upon these things
Yield constant agony:
Yea, the same thoughts have crept
About me as I slept.
My spirit looks at me,
And asks, “Is sleep for thee?
Nay, mourner, do not sleep,
But fix thine eyes, for lo!
Love's fulness thou shalt know
By steadfast gaze and deep.”

456

Then, burning, I awake,
Sore tempted to partake
Of dreams that seek thy sight:
Until, being greatly stirr'd,
I turn to where I heard
That whisper in the night;
And there a breath of light
Shines like a silver star.
The same is mine own soul,
Which lures me to the goal
Of dreams that gaze afar.
But now my sleep is lost;
And through this uttermost
Sharp longing for thine eyes
At length it may be said
That I indeed am mad
With love's extremities.
Yet when in such sweet wise
Thou passest and dost smile,
My heart so fondly burns,
That unto sweetness turns
Its bitter pang the while.
Even so Love rends apart
My spirit and my heart,
Lady, in loving thee;
Till when I see thee now,
Life beats within my brow
And would be gone from me.
So hear I ceaselessly,
Love's whisper well fulfill'd—
Even I am he, even so,
Whose flame thy heart doth know:
And while I strive I yield.
 

The lady was probably called Diamante, Margherita, or some similar name. (Note to Flor. Ed. 1816).

III
Sonnet

Of Wisdom and Foresight

Such wisdom as a little child displays
Were not amiss in certain lords of fame:
For where he fell, thenceforth he shuns the place,
And having suffered blows, he feareth them.
Who knows not this may forfeit all he sways
At length, and find his friends go as they came.
O therefore on the past time turn thy face,
And, if thy will do err, forget the same.
Because repentance brings not back the past:
Better thy will should bend than thy life break:
Who owns not this, by him shall it appear.
And, because even from fools the wise may make
Wisdom, the first should count himself the last,
Since a dog scourged can bid the lion fear.

457

IV
Sonnet

Of Continence in Speech

Whoso abandons peace for war-seeking,
'Tis of all reason he should bear the smart.
Whoso hath evil speech, his medicine
Is silence, lest it seem a hateful art.
To vex the wasps' nest is not a wise thing;
Yet who rebukes his neighbour in good part,
A hundred years shall show his right therein.
Too prone to fear, one wrongs another's heart.
If ye but knew what may be known to me,
Ye would fall sorry sick, nor be thus bold
To cry among your fellows your ill thought.
Wherefore I would that every one of ye
Who thinketh ill, his ill thought should withhold:
If that ye would not hear it, speak it not.

MEO ABBRACCIAVACCA, DA PISTOIA

I
Canzone

He will be silent and watchful in his Love

Your joyful understanding, lady mine,
Those honours of fair life
Which all in you agree to pleasantness,
Long since to service did my heart assign;
That never it has strife,
Nor once remembers other means of grace;
But this desire alone gives light to it.
Behold, my pleasure, by your favour, drew
Me, lady, unto you,
All beauty's and all joy's reflection here:
From whom good women also have thought fit
To take their life's example every day;
Whom also to obey
My wish and will have wrought, with love and fear.
With love and fear to yield obedience, I
Might never half deserve:
Yet you must know, merely to look on me,
How my heart holds its love and lives thereby;
Though, well intent to serve,
It can accept Love's arrow silently.
'Twere late to wait, ere I would render plain
My heart, (thus much I tell you, as I should,)
Which, to be understood,
Craves therefore the fine quickness of your glance.
So shall you know my love of such high strain
As never yet was shown by its own will;
Whose proffer is so still,
That love in heart hates love in countenance.

458

In countenance oft the heart is evident
Full clad in mirth's attire,
Wherein at times it overweens to waste:
Which yet of selfish joy or foul intent
Doth hide the deep desire,
And is, of heavy surety, double-faced;
Upon things double therefore look ye twice.
O ye that love! not what is fair alone
Desire to make your own,
But a wise woman, fair in purity;
Nor think that any, without sacrifice
Of his own nature, suffers service still;
But out of high free-will;
In honour propped, though bowed in dignity.
In dignity as best I may, must I
The guerdon very grand,
The whole of it, secured in purpose, sing?
Lady, whom all my heart doth magnify,
You took me in your hand,
Ah! not ungraced with other guerdoning:
For you of your sweet reason gave me rest
From yearning, from desire, from potent pain;
Till, now, if Death should gain
Me to his kingdom, it would pleasure me,
Having obeyed the whole of your behest.
Since you have drawn, and I am yours by lot,
I pray you doubt me not
Lest my faith swerve, for this could never be.
Could never be; because the natural heart
Will absolutely build
Her dwelling-place within the gates of truth;
And, if it be no grief to bear her part,
Why, then by change were fill'd
The measure of her shame beyond all truth.
And therefore no delay shall once disturb
My bounden service, nor bring grief to it;
Nor unto you deceit.
True virtue her provision first affords,
Ere she yield grace, lest afterward some curb
Or check should come, and evil enter in:
For alway shame and sin
Stand covered, ready, full of faithful words.

II
Ballata

His Life is by Contraries

By the long sojourning
That I have made with grief,
I am quite changed, you see;—
If I weep, 'tis for glee;
I smile at a sad thing;
Despair is my relief.

459

Good hap makes me afraid;
Ruin seems rest and shade;
In May the year is old;
With friends I am ill at ease;
Among foes I find peace;
At noonday I feel cold.
The thing that strengthens others, frightens me.
If I am grieved, I sing;
I chafe at comforting;
Ill fortune makes me smile exultingly.
And yet, though all my days are thus,—despite
A shaken mind, and eyes
Which see by contraries,—
I know that without wings is an ill flight.

UBALDO DI MARCO

Sonnet

Of a Lady's Love for him

My body resting in a haunt of mine,
I ranged among alternate memories;
What while an unseen noble lady's eyes
Were fixed upon me, yet she gave no sign;
To stay and go she sweetly did incline,
Always afraid lest there were any spies;
Then reached to me,—and smelt it in sweet wise,
And reached to me—some sprig of bloom or bine.
Conscious of perfume, on my side I leant,
And rose upon my feet, and gazed around
To see the plant whose flower could so beguile.
Finding it not, I sought it by the scent;
And by the scent, in truth, the plant I found,
And rested in its shadow a great while.

SIMBUONO GIUDICE

Canzone

He finds that Love has beguiled him, but will trust in his Lady

Often the day had a most joyful morn
That bringeth grief at last
Unto the human heart which deemed all well:
Of a sweet seed the fruit was often born
That hath a bitter taste:
Of mine own knowledge, oft it thus befell.
I say it for myself, who, foolishly
Expectant of all joy,
Triumphing undertook
To love a lady proud and beautiful,
For one poor glance vouchsafed in mirth to me:
Wherefrom sprang all annoy:
For, since the day Love shook
My heart, she ever hath been cold and cruel.

460

Well thought I to possess my joy complete
When that sweet look of hers
I felt upon me, amorous and kind:
Now is my hope even underneath my feet.
And still the arrow stirs
Within my heart—(oh hurt no skill can bind!)—
Which through mine eyes found entrance cunningly!
In manner as through glass
Light pierces from the sun,
And breaks it not, but wins its way beyond,—
As into an unaltered mirror, free
And still, some shape may pass.
Yet has my heart begun
To break, methinks, for I on death grow fond.
But, even though death were longed for, the sharp wound
I have might yet be heal'd,
And I not altogether sink to death.
In mine own foolishness the curse I found,
Who foolish faith did yield
Unto mine eyes, in hope that sickeneth.
Yet might love still exult and not be sad—
(For some such utterance
Is at my secret heart)—
If from herself the cure it could obtain,—
Who hath indeed the power Achilles had,
To wit, that of his lance
The wound could by no art
Be closed till it were touched therewith again.
So must I needs appeal for pity now
From her on her own fault,
And in my prayer put meek humility:
For certes her much worth will not allow
That anything be call'd
Treacherousness in such an one as she,
In whom is judgment and true excellence.
Wherefore I cry for grace;
Not doubting that all good,
Joy, wisdom, pity, must from her be shed;
For scarcely should it deal in death's offence,
The so-belovèd face
So watched for; rather should
All death and ill be thereby subjected.
And since, in hope of mercy, I have bent
Unto her ordinance
Humbly my heart, my body, and my life,
Giving her perfect power acknowledgment,—
I think some kinder glance
She'll deign, and, in mere pity, pause from strife.
She surely shall enact the good lord's part:
When one whom force compels
Doth yield, he is pacified,
Forgiving him therein where he did err.
Ah! well I know she hath the noble heart
Which in the lion quells
Obduracy of pride;
Whose nobleness is for a crown on her.

461

MASOLINO DA TODI

Sonnet

Of Work and Wealth

A man should hold in very dear esteem
The first possession that his labours gain'd;
For, though great riches be at length attain'd,
From that first mite they were increased to him.
Who followeth after his own wilful whim
Shall see himself outwitted in the end;
Wherefore I still would have him apprehend
His fall, who toils not being once supreme.
Thou seldom shalt find folly, of the worst,
Holding companionship with poverty,
Because it is distracted of much care.
Howbeit, if one that hath been poor at first
Is brought at last to wealth and dignity,
Still the worst folly thou shalt find it there.

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.

462

TERINO DA CASTEL FIORENTINO

Sonnet

To Onesto di Boncima, in Answer to the foregoing

If, as thou say'st, thy love tormenteth thee,
That thou thereby wast in the fear of death,
Messer Onesto, couldst thou bear to be
Far from Love's self, and breathing other breath?
Nay, thou wouldst pass beyond the greater sea
(I do not speak of the Alps, an easy path),
For thy life's gladdening; if so to see
That light which for my life no comfort hath,
But rather makes my grief the bitterer:
For I have neither ford nor bridge—no course
To reach my lady, or send word to her.
And there is not a greater pain, I think,
Than to see waters at the limpid source,
And to be much athirst, and not to drink.

MAESTRO MIGLIORE, DA FIORENZA

Sonnet

He declares all Love to be Grief

Love taking leave, my heart then leaveth me,
And is enamour'd even while it would shun;
For I have looked so long upon the sun
That the sun's glory is now in all I see.
To its first will unwilling may not be
This heart (though by its will its death be won),
Having remembrance of the joy forerun:
Yea, all life else seems dying constantly.
Ay and alas! in love is no relief,
For any man who loveth in full heart,
That is not rather grief than gratefulness.
Whoso desires it, the beginning is grief;
Also the end is grief, most grievous smart;
And grief is in the middle, and is call'd grace.

463

DELLO DA SIGNA

Ballata

His Creed of Ideal Love

Prohibiting all hope
Of the fulfilment of the joy of love,
My lady chose me for her lover still.
So am I lifted up
To trust her heart which piteous pulses move,
Her face which is her joy made visible.
Nor have I any fear
Lest love and service should be met with scorn,
Nor doubt that thus I shall rejoice the more.
For ruth is born of prayer;
Also, of ruth delicious love is born;
And service wrought makes glad the servitor.
Behold, I, serving more than others, love
One lovely more than all:
And, singing and exulting, look for joy
There where my homage is for ever paid.
And, for I know she does not disapprove
If on her grace I call,
My soul's good trust I will not yet destroy,
Though Love's fulfilment stand prohibited.

FOLGORE DA SAN GEMINIANO

I
Sonnet

To the Guelf Faction

Because ye made your backs your shields, it came
To pass, ye Guelfs, that these your enemies
From hares grew lions: and because your eyes
Turned homeward, and your spurs e'en did the same,
Full many an one who still might win the game
In fevered tracts of exile pines and dies.
Ye blew your bubbles as the falcon flies,
And the wind broke them up and scattered them.
This counsel, therefore. Shape your high resolves
In good King Robert's humour, and afresh
Accept your shames, forgive, and go your way.
And so her peace is made with Pisa! Yea,
What cares she for the miserable flesh
That in the wilderness has fed the wolves?
 

See what is said in allusion to his government of Florence by Dante (Parad. C. viii.)


464

II Sonnet

To the Same

Were ye but constant, Guelfs, in war or peace,
As in divisions ye are constant still!
There is no wisdom in your stubborn will,
Wherein all good things wane, all harms increase.
But each upon his fellow looks, and sees
And looks again, and likes his favour ill;
And traitors rule ye; and on his own sill
Each stirs the fire of household enmities.
What, Guelfs! and is Monte Catini quite
Forgot,—where still the mothers and sad wives
Keep widowhood, and curse the Ghibellins?
O fathers, brothers, yea, all dearest kins!
Those men of ye that cherish kindred lives
Even once again must set their teeth and fight.
 

The battle of Monte Catini was fought and won by the Ghibelline leader, Uguccione della Faggiola, against the Florentines, August 29, 1315. This would seem to date Folgore's career further on than the period usually assigned to him (about 1260), and the question arises whether the above sonnet be really his.

III Sonnet

Of Virtue

The flower of Virtue is the heart's content;
And fame is Virtue's fruit that she doth bear;
And Virtue's vase is fair without and fair
Within; and Virtue's mirror brooks no taint;
And Virtue by her names is sage and saint;
And Virtue hath a steadfast front and clear;
And Love is Virtue's constant minister;
And Virtue's gift of gifts is pure descent.
And Virtue dwells with knowledge, and therein
Her cherished home of rest is real love;
And Virtue's strength is in a suffering will;
And Virtue's work is life exempt from sin,
With arms that aid; and in the sum hereof,
All Virtue is to render good for ill.

465

OF THE MONTHS

Twelve Sonnets

Addressed to a Fellowship of Sienese Nobles
 

This fellowship or club (Brigata), so highly approved and encouraged by our Folgore, is the same to which, and to some of its members by name, scornful allusion is made by Dante (Inferno, C. xxix. l. 130), where he speaks of the hare-brained character of the Sienese. Mr. Cayley, in his valuable notes on Dante, says of it: “A dozen extravagant youths of Siena had put together by equal contributions 216,000 florins to spend in pleasuring; they were reduced in about a twelvemonth to the extremes of poverty. It was their practice to give mutual entertainments twice a-month; at each of which, three tables having been sumptuously covered, they would feast at one, wash their hands on another, and throw the last out of window.”

There exists a second curious series of sonnets for the months, addressed also to this club, by Cene della Chitarra d'Arezzo. Here, however, all sorts of disasters and discomforts, in the same pursuits of which Folgore treats, are imagined for the prodigals; each sonnet, too, being composed with the same terminations in its rhymes as the corresponding one among his. They would seem to have been written after the ruin of the club, as a satirical prophecy of the year to succeed the golden one. But this second series, though sometimes laughable, not having the poetical merit of the first, I have not included it.

DEDICATION

Unto the blithe and lordly Fellowship,
(I know not where, but wheresoe'er, I know,
Lordly and blithe,) be greeting; and thereto,
Dogs, hawks, and a full purse wherein to dip;
Quails struck i'the flight; nags mettled to the whip;
Hart-hounds, hare-hounds, and blood-hounds even so;
And o'er that realm, a crown for Niccolò,
Whose praise in Siena springs from lip to lip.
Tingoccio, Atuin di Togno, and Ancaiàn,
Bartolo and Mugaro and Faënot,
Who well might pass for children of King Ban,
Courteous and valiant more than Lancelot,—
To each, God speed! how worthy every man
To hold high tournament in Camelot.

JANUARY

For January I give you vests of skins,
And mighty fires in hall, and torches lit;
Chambers and happy beds with all things fit;
Smooth silken sheets, rough furry counterpanes;
And sweetmeats baked; and one that deftly spins
Warm arras; and Douay cloth, and store of it;
And on this merry manner still to twit
The wind, when most his mastery the wind wins.
Or issuing forth at seasons in the day,
Ye'll fling soft handfuls of the fair white snow
Among the damsels standing round, in play:
And when you all are tired and all aglow,
Indoors again the court shall hold its sway,
And the free Fellowship continue so.

466

FEBRUARY

In February I give you gallant sport
Of harts and hinds and great wild boars; and all
Your company good foresters and tall,
With buskins strong, with jerkins close and short;
And in your leashes, hounds of brave report;
And from your purses, plenteous money-fall,
In very spleen of misers' starveling gall,
Who at your generous customs snarl and snort.
At dusk wend homeward, ye and all your folk,
All laden from the wilds, to your carouse,
With merriment and songs accompanied:
And so draw wine and let the kitchen smoke;
And so be till the first watch glorious;
Then sound sleep to you till the day be wide.

MARCH

In March I give you plenteous fisheries
Of lamprey and of salmon, eel and trout,
Dental and dolphin, sturgeon, all the rout
Of fish in all the streams that fill the seas.
With fishermen and fishing-boats at ease,
Sail-barques and arrow-barques, and galleons stout,
To bear you, while the season lasts, far out,
And back, through spring, to any port you please.
But with fair mansions see that it be fill'd,
With everything exactly to your mind,
And every sort of comfortable folk.
No convent suffer there, nor priestly guild:
Leave the mad monks to preach after their kind
Their scanty truth, their lies beyond a joke.

APRIL

I give you meadow-lands in April, fair
With over-growth of beautiful green grass;
There among fountains the glad hours shall pass,
And pleasant ladies bring you solace there.
With steeds of Spain and ambling palfreys rare;
Provencal songs and dances that surpass;
And quaint French mummings; and through hollow brass
A sound of German music on the air.
And gardens ye shall have, that every one
May lie at ease about the fragrant place;
And each with fitting reverence shall bow down
Unto that youth to whom I gave a crown
Of precious jewels like to those that grace
The Babylonian Kaiser, Prester John.

467

MAY

I give you horses for your games in May,
And all of them well trained unto the course,—
Each docile, swift, erect, a goodly horse;
With armour on their chests, and bells at play
Between their brows, and pennons fair and gay;
Fine nets, and housings meet for warriors,
Emblazoned with the shields ye claim for yours;
Gules, argent, or, all dizzy at noonday.
And spears shall split, and fruit go flying up
In merry counterchange for wreaths that drop
From balconies and casements far above;
And tender damsels with young men and youths
Shall kiss together on the cheeks and mouths;
And every day be glad with joyful love.

JUNE

In June I give you a close-wooded fell,
With crowns of thicket coiled about its head,
With thirty villas twelve times turreted,
All girdling round a little citadel;
And in the midst a springhead and fair well
With thousand conduits branched and shining speed,
Wounding the garden and the tender mead,
Yet to the freshened grass acceptable.
And lemons, citrons, dates, and oranges,
And all the fruits whose savour is most rare,
Shall shine within the shadow of your trees;
And every one shall be a lover there;
Until your life, so filled with courtesies,
Throughout the world be counted debonair.

JULY

For July, in Siena, by the willow-tree,
I give you barrels of white Tuscan wine
In ice far down your cellars stored supine;
And morn and eve to eat in company
Of those vast jellies dear to you and me;
Of partridges and youngling pheasants sweet,
Boiled capons, sovereign kids: and let their treat
Be veal and garlic, with whom these agree.
Let time slip by, till by-and-by, all day;
And never swelter through the heat at all,
But move at ease at home, sound, cool, and gay;
And wear sweet-coloured robes that lightly fall;
And keep your tables set in fresh array,
Not coaxing spleen to be your seneschal.

468

AUGUST

For August, be your dwelling thirty towers
Within an Alpine valley mountainous,
Where never the sea-wind may vex your house,
But clear life separate, like a star, be yours.
There horses shall wait saddled at all hours,
That ye may mount at morning or at eve:
On each hand either ridge ye shall perceive,
A mile apart, which soon a good beast scours.
So alway, drawing homewards, ye shall tread
Your valley parted by a rivulet
Which day and night shall flow sedate and smooth.
There all through noon ye may possess the shade,
And there your open purses shall entreat
The best of Tuscan cheer to feed your youth.

SEPTEMBER

And in September, O what keen delight!
Falcons and astors, merlins, sparrowhawks;
Decoy-birds that shall lure your game in flocks;
And hounds with bells: and gauntlets stout and tight;
Wide pouches; crossbows shooting out of sight;
Arblasts and javelins; balls and ball-cases;
All birds the best to fly at; moulting these,
Those reared by hand; with finches mean and slight;
And for their chase, all birds the best to fly;
And each to each of you be lavish still
In gifts; and robbery find no gainsaying;
And if you meet with travellers going by,
Their purses from your purse's flow shall fill;
And avarice be the only outcast thing.

OCTOBER

Next, for October, to some sheltered coign
Flouting the winds, I'll hope to find you slunk;
Though in bird-shooting (lest all sport be sunk),
Your foot still press the turf, the horse your groin.
At night with sweethearts in the dance you'll join,
And drink the blessed must, and get quite drunk.
There's no such life for any human trunk;
And that's a truth that rings like golden coin!
Then, out of bed again when morning's come,
Let your hands drench your face refreshingly,
And take your physic roast, with flask and knife.
Sounder and snugger you shall feel at home
Than lake-fish, river-fish, or fish at sea,
Inheriting the cream of Christian life.

469

NOVEMBER

Let baths and wine-butts be November's due,
With thirty mule-loads of broad gold-pieces;
And canopy with silk the streets that freeze;
And keep your drink-horns steadily in view.
Let every trader have his gain of you:
Clareta shall your lamps and torches send,—
Caëta, citron-candies without end;
And each shall drink, and help his neighbour to.
And let the cold be great, and the fire grand:
And still for fowls, and pastries sweetly wrought,
For hares and kids, for roast and boiled, be sure
You always have your appetites at hand;
And then let night howl and heaven fall, so nought
Be missed that makes a man's bed-furniture.

DECEMBER

Last, for December, houses on the plain,
Ground-floors to live in, logs heaped mountain-high,
And carpets stretched, and newest games to try,
And torches lit, and gifts from man to man:
(Your host, a drunkard and a Catalan;)
And whole dead pigs, and cunning cooks to ply
Each throat with tit-bits that shall satisfy;
And wine-butts of Saint Galganus' brave span.
And be your coats well-lined and tightly bound,
And wrap yourselves in cloaks of strength and weight,
With gallant hoods to put your faces through.
And make your game of abject vagabond
Abandoned miserable reprobate
Misers; don't let them have a chance with you.

CONCLUSION

And now take thought, my sonnet, who is he
That most is full of every gentleness;
And say to him (for thou shalt quickly guess
His name) that all his 'hests are law to me.
For if I held fair Paris town in fee,
And were not called his friend, 'twere surely less.
Ah! had he but the emperor's wealth, my place
Were fitted in his love more steadily
Than is Saint Francis at Assisi. Alway
Commend him unto me and his,—not least
To Caian, held so dear in the blithe band.
“Folgore da San Geminiano” (say,)
“Has sent me, charging me to travel fast,
Because his heart went with you in your hand.”

470

OF THE WEEK

Seven Sonnets

DEDICATION

There is among my thoughts the joyous plan
To fashion a bright-jewelled carcanet,
Which I upon such worthy brows would set,
To say, it suits them fairly as it can.
And now I have newly found a gentleman,
Of courtesies and birth commensurate,
Who better would become the imperial state
Than fits the gem within the signet's span.
Carlo di Messer Guerra Cavicciuoli,
Of him I speak,—brave, wise, of just award
And generous service, let who list command:
And lithelier limbed than ounce or lëopard.
He holds not money-bags, as children, holy;
For Lombard Esté hath no freer hand.
 

That is, according to early Tuscan nomenclature, Carlo, the son of Messer Guerra Cavicciuoli.

MONDAY

The Day of Songs and Love

Now with the moon the day-star Lucifer
Departs, and night is gone at last, and day
Brings, making all men's spirits strong and gay,
A gentle wind to gladden the new air.
Lo! this is Monday, the week's harbinger;
Let music breathe her softest matin-lay,
And let the loving damsels sing to-day,
And the sun wound with heat at noontide here.
And thou, young lord, arise and do not sleep,
For now the amorous day inviteth thee
The harvest of thy lady's youth to reap.
Let coursers round the door, and palfreys, be,
With squires and pages clad delightfully;
And Love's commandments have thou heed to keep.

TUESDAY

The Day of Battles

To a new world on Tuesday shifts my song,
Where beat of drum is heard, and trumpet-blast;
Where footmen armed and horsemen armed go past,
And bells say ding to bells that answer dong;
Where he the first and after him the throng,
Armed all of them with coats and hoods of steel,
Shall see their foes and make their foes to feel,
And so in wrack and rout drive them along.
Then hither, thither, dragging on the field
His master, empty-seated goes the horse,
'Mid entrails strown abroad of soldiers kill'd;
Till blow to camp those trumpeters of yours
Who noise awhile your triumph and are still'd,
And to your tents you come back conquerors.

471

WEDNESDAY

The Day of Feasts

And every Wednesday, as the swift days move,
Pheasant and peacock-shooting out of doors
You'll have, and multitude of hares to course,
And after you come home, good cheer enough;
And sweetest ladies at the board above,
Children of kings and counts and senators;
And comely-favoured youthful bachelors
To serve them, bearing garlands, for true love.
And still let cups of gold and silver ware,
Runlets of vernage-wine and wine of Greece,
Comfits and cakes be found at bidding there;
And let your gifts of birds and game increase:
And let all those who in your banquet share
Sit with bright faces perfectly at ease.

THURSDAY

The Day of Jousts and Tournaments

For Thursday be the tournament prepar'd,
And gentlemen in lordly jousts compete:
First man with man, together let them meet,—
By fifties and by hundreds afterward.
Let arms with housings each be fitly pair'd,
And fitly hold your battle to its heat
From the third hour to vespers, after meat;
Till the best-winded be at last declared.
Then back unto your beauties, as ye came:
Where upon sovereign beds, with wise control
Of leaches, shall your hurts be swathed in bands.
The ladies shall assist with their own hands,
And each be so well paid in seeing them
That on the morrow he be sound and whole.

FRIDAY

The Day of Hunting

Let Friday be your highest hunting-tide,—
No hound nor brach nor mastiff absent thence,—
Through a low wood, by many miles of dens,
All covert, where the cunning beasts abide:
Which now driven forth, at first you scatter wide,—
Then close on them, and rip out blood and breath:
Till all your huntsmen's horns wind at the death,
And you count up how many beasts have died.
Then, men and dogs together brought, you'll say:
Go fairly greet from us this friend and that,
Bid each make haste to blithest wassailings.
Might not one vow that the whole pack had wings?
What! hither, Beauty, Dian, Dragon, what!
I think we held a royal hunt to-day.

472

SATURDAY

The Day of Hawking

I've jolliest merriment for Saturday:—
The very choicest of all hawks to fly
That crane or heron could be stricken by,
As up and down you course the steep highway.
So shall the wild geese, in your deadly play,
Lose at each stroke a wing, a tail, a thigh;
And man with man and horse with horse shall vie,
Till you all shout for glory and holiday.
Then going home, you'll closely charge the cook:
“All this is for to-morrow's roast and stew.
Skin, lop, and truss: hang pots on every hook.
And we must have fine wine and white bread too,
Because this time we mean to feast: so look
We do not think your kitchens lost on you.”

SUNDAY

The Day of Balls and Deeds of Arms in Florence

And on the morrow, at first peep o'the day
Which follows, and which men as Sunday spell,—
Whom most him liketh, dame or damozel,
Your chief shall choose out of the sweet array.
So in the palace painted and made gay
Shall he converse with her whom he loves best;
And what he wishes, his desire express'd
Shall bring to presence there, without gainsay.
And youths shall dance, and men do feats of arms,
And Florence be sought out on every side
From orchards and from vineyards and from farms:
That they who fill her streets from far and wide
In your fine temper may discern such charms
As shall from day to day be magnified.

GUIDO DELLE COLONNE

Canzone

To Love and to his Lady

O Love, who all this while hast urged me on,
Shaking the reins, with never any rest,—
Slacken for pity somewhat of thy haste;
I am oppress'd with languor and foredone,—
Having outrun the power of sufferance,—
Having much more endured than who, through faith
That his heart holds, makes no account of death.
Love is assuredly a fair mischance,
And well may it be called a happy ill:
Yet thou, my lady, on this constant sting,
So sharp a thing, have thou some pity still,—
Howbeit a sweet thing too, unless it kill.

473

O comely-favoured, whose soft eyes prevail,
More fair than is another on this ground,—
Lift now my mournful heart out of its stound,
Which thus is bound for thee in great travail:
For a high gale a little rain may end.
Also, my lady, be not angered thou
That Love should thee enforce, to whom all bow.
There is but little shame to apprehend
If to a higher strength the conquest be;
And all the more to Love who conquers all.
Why then appal my heart with doubts of thee?
Courage and patience triumph certainly.
I do not say that with such loveliness
Such pride may not beseem; it suits thee well;
For in a lovely lady pride may dwell,
Lest homage fail and high esteem grow less:
Yet pride's excess is not a thing to praise.
Therefore, my lady, let thy harshness gain
Some touch of pity which may still restrain
Thy hand, ere Death cut short these hours and days.
The sun is very high and full of light,
And the more bright the higher he doth ride:
So let thy pride, my lady, and thy height,
Stand me in stead and turn to my delight.
Still inmostly I love thee, labouring still
That others may not know my secret smart.
Oh! what a pain it is for the grieved heart
To hold apart and not to show its ill!
Yet by no will the face can hide the soul;
And ever with the eyes the heart has need
To be in all things willingly agreed.
It were a mighty strength that should control
The heart's fierce beat, and never speak a word:
It were a mighty strength, I say again,
To hide such pain, and to be sovran lord
Of any heart that had such love to hoard.
For Love can make the wisest turn astray;
Love, at its most, of measure still has least;
He is the maddest man who loves the best;
It is Love's jest, to make men's hearts alway
So hot that they by coldness cannot cool.
The eyes unto the heart bear messages
Of the beginnings of all pain and ease:
And thou, my lady, in thy hand dost rule
Mine eyes and heart which thou hast made thine own.
Love rocks my life with tempests on the deep,
Even as a ship round which the winds are blown:
Thou art my pennon that will not go down.

474

PIER MORONELLI, DI FIORENZA

Canzonetta

A bitter Song to his Lady

O lady amorous,
Merciless lady,
Full blithely play'd ye
These your beguilings.
So with an urchin
A man makes merry,—
In mirth grows clamorous,
Laughs and rejoices,—
But when his choice is
To fall aweary,
Cheats him with silence.
This is Love's portion:—
In much wayfaring
With many burdens
He loads his servants,
But at the sharing,
The underservice
And overservice
Are alike barren.
As my disaster
Your jest I cherish,
And well may perish.
Even so a falcon
Is sometimes taken
And scantly cautell'd;
Till when his master
At length to loose him,
To train and use him,
Is after all gone,—
The creature's throttled
And will not waken.
Wherefore, my lady,
If you will own me,
O look upon me!
If I'm not thought on,
At least perceive me!
O do not leave me
So much forgotten!
If, lady, truly
You wish my profit,
What follows of it
Though still you say so?—
For all your well-wishes
I still am waiting.
I grow unruly,
And deem at last I'm
Only your pastime.

475

A child will play so,
Who greatly relishes
Sporting and petting
With a little wild bird:
Unaware he kills it,—
Then turns it, feels it,
Calls it with a mild word,
Is angry after,—
Then again in laughter
Loud is the child heard.
O my delightful
My own my lady,
Upon the Mayday
Which brought me to you
Was all my haste then
But a fool's venture?
To have my sight full
Of you propitious
Truly my wish was,
And to pursue you
And let love chasten
My heart to the centre.
But warming, lady,
May end in burning,
Of all this yearning
What comes, I beg you?
In all your glances
What is't a man sees?—
Fever and ague.

CIUNCIO FIORENTINO

Canzone

Of his Love; with the Figures of a Stag, of Water, and of an Eagle

Lady, with all the pains that I can take,
I'll sing my love renewed, if I may, well,
And only in your praise.
The stag in his old age seeks out a snake
And eats it, and then drinks, (I have heard tell,)
Fearing the hidden ways
Of the snake's poison, and renews his youth.
Even such a draught, in truth,
Was your sweet welcome, which cast out of me,
With whole cure instantly,
Whatever pain I felt, for my own good,
When first we met that I might be renew'd.

476

A thing that has its proper essence changed
By virtue of some powerful influence,
As water has by fire,
Returns to be itself, no more estranged,
So soon as that has ceased which gave offence:
Yea, now will more aspire
Than ever, as the thing it first was made.
Thine advent long delay'd
Even thus had almost worn me out of love,
Biding so far above:
But now that thou hast brought love back for me,
It mounts too much,—O lady, up to thee.
I have heard tell, and can esteem it true,
How that an eagle looking on the sun,
Rejoicing for his part
And bringing oft his young to look there too,—
If one gaze longer than another one,
On him will set his heart.
So I am made aware that Love doth lead
All lovers, by their need,
To gaze upon the brightness of their loves;
And whosoever moves
His eyes the least from gazing upon her,
The same shall be Love's inward minister.

RUGGIERI DI AMICI, SICILIANO

Canzonetta

For a Renewal of Favours

I play this sweet prelude
For the best heart, and queen
Of gentle womanhood,
From here unto Messene;
Of flowers the fairest one;
The star that's next the sun;
The brightest star of all.
What time I look at her,
My thoughts do crowd and stir
And are made musical.
Sweetest my lady, then
Wilt thou not just permit,
As once I spoke, again
That I should speak of it?
My heart is burning me
Within, though outwardly
I seem so brave and gay.
Ah! dost thou not sometimes
Remember the sweet rhymes
Our lips made on that day?—

477

When I her heart did move
By kisses and by vows,
Whom I then called my love,
Fair-haired, with silver brows:
She sang there as we sat;
Nor then withheld she aught
Which it were right to give;
But said, “Indeed I will
Be thine through good and ill
As long as I may live.”
And while I live, dear love,
In gladness and in need
Myself I will approve
To be thine own indeed.
If any man dare blame
Our loves,—bring him to shame,
O God! and of this year
Let him not see the May.
Is't not a vile thing, say,
To freeze at Midsummer?

CARNINO GHIBERTI, DA FIORENZA

Canzone

Being absent from his Lady, he fears Death

I am afar, but near thee is my heart;
Only soliciting
That this long absence seem not ill to thee:
For, if thou knew'st what pain and evil smart
The lack of thy sweet countenance can bring,
Thou wouldst remember me compassionately.
Even as my case, the stag's is wont to be,
Which, thinking to escape
His death, escaping whence the pack gives cry,
Is wounded and doth die.
So, in my spirit imagining thy shape,
I would fly Death, and Death o'ermasters me.
I am o'erpower'd of Death when, telling o'er
Thy beauties in my thought,
I seem to have that which I have not: then
I am as he who in each meteor,
Dazzled and wildered, sees the thing he sought.
In suchwise Love deals with me among men:—
Thee whom I have not, yet who dost sustain
My life, he bringeth in his arms to me
Full oft,—yet I approach not unto thee.
Ah! if we be not joined i'the very flesh,
It cannot last but I indeed shall die
By burden of this love that weigheth so.
As an o'erladen bough, while yet 'tis fresh,
Breaks, and itself and fruit are lost thereby—
So shall I, love, be lost, alas for woe!

478

And, if this slay indeed that thus doth rive
My heart, how then shall I be comforted?
Thou, as a lioness
Her cub, in sore distress
Might'st toil to bring me out of death alive:
But couldst thou raise me up, if I were dead?
Oh! but an' if thou wouldst, I were more glad
Of death than life,—thus kept
From thee and the true life thy face can bring.
So in nowise could death be harsh or bad;
But it should seem to me that I had slept
And was awakened with thy summoning.
Yet, sith the hope thereof is a vain thing,
I, in fast fealty,
Can like the Assassin be,
Who, to be subject to his lord in all,
Goes and accepts his death and has no heed:
Even as he doth so could I do indeed.
Nevertheless, this one memorial—
The last—I send thee, for Love orders it.
He, this last once, wills that thus much be writ
In prayer that it may fall 'twixt thee and me
After the manner of
Two birds that feast their love
Even unto anguish, till, if neither quit
The other, one must perish utterly.
 

Alluding to the Syrian tribe of Assassins, whose chief was the Old Man of the Mountain.

PRINZIVALLE DORIA

Canzone

Of his Love, with the Figure of a sudden Storm

Even as the day when it is yet at dawning
Seems mild and kind, being fair to look upon,
While the birds carol underneath their awning
Of leaves, as if they never would have done;
Which on a sudden changes, just at noon,
And the broad light is broken into rain
That stops and comes again;
Even as the traveller, who had held his way
Hopeful and glad because of the bright weather,
Forgetteth then his gladness altogether;
Even so am I, through Love, alas the day!
It plainly is through Love that I am so.
At first, he let me still grow happier
Each day, and made her kindness seem to grow;
But now he has quite changed her heart in her.
And I, whose hopes throbbed and were all astir
For times when I should call her mine aloud,
And in her pride be proud
Who is more fair than gems are, ye may say,
Having that fairness which holds hearts in rule;—
I have learnt now to count him but a fool
Who before evening says, A goodly day.

479

It had been better not to have begun,
Since, having known my error, 'tis too late.
This thing from which I suffer, thou hast done,
Lady: canst thou restore me my first state?
The wound thou gavest canst thou medicate?
Not thou, forsooth: thou hast not any art
To keep death from my heart.
O lady! where is now my life's full meed
Of peace,—mine once, and which thou took'st away?
Surely it cannot now be far from day:
Night is already very long indeed.
The sea is much more beautiful at rest
Than when the storm is trampling over it.
Wherefore, to see the smile which has so bless'd
This heart of mine, deem'st thou these eyes unfit?
There is no maid so lovely, it is writ,
That by such stern unwomanly regard
Her face may not be marr'd.
I therefore pray of thee, my own soul's wife,
That thou remember me who am forgot.
How shall I stand without thee? Art thou not
The pillar of the building of my life?

RUSTICO DI FILIPPO

I
Sonnet

Of the making of Master Messerin

When God had finished Master Messerin,
He really thought it something to have done:
Bird, man, and beast had got a chance in one,
And each felt flattered, it was hoped, therein.
For he is like a goose i'the windpipe thin,
And like a cameleopard high i'the loins;
To which, for manhood, you'll be told, he joins
Some kinds of flesh-hues and a callow chin.
As to his singing, he affects the crow;
As to his learning, beasts in general;
And sets all square by dressing like a man.
God made him, having nothing else to do;
And proved there is not anything at all
He cannot make, if that's a thing He can.

480

II
Sonnet

Of the Safety of Messer Fazio

Master Bertuccio, you are called to account
That you guard Fazio's life from poison ill:
And every man in Florence tells me still
He has no horse that he can safely mount.
A mighty war-horse worth a thousand pound
Stands in Cremona stabled at his will;
Which for his honoured person should fulfil
Its use. Nay, sir, I pray you be not found
So poor a steward. For all fame of yours
Is cared for best, believe me, when I say:—
Our Florence gives Bertuccio charge of one
Who rides her own proud spirit like a horse;
Whom Cocciolo himself must needs obey;
And whom she loves best, being her strongest son.
 

I have not been able to trace the Fazio to whom this sonnet refers.

III
Sonnet

Of Messer Ugolino

If any one had anything to say
To the Lord Ugolino, because he's
Not staunch, and never minds his promises,
'Twere hardly courteous, for it is his way.
Courteous it were to say such sayings nay:
As thus: He's true, sir, only takes his ease
And don't care merely if it plague or please,
And has good thoughts, no doubt, if they would stay.
Now I know he's so loyal every whit
And altogether worth such a good word
As worst would best and best would worst befit.
He'd love his party with a dear accord
If only he could once quite care for it,
But can't run post for any Law or Lord.
 

The character here drawn certainly suggests Count Ugolino de' Gherardeschi, though it would seem that Rustico died nearly twenty years before the tragedy of the Tower of Famine.


481

PUCCIARELLO DI FIORENZA

Sonnet Of Expediency

Pass and let pass,—this counsel I would give,—
And wrap thy cloak what way the wind may blow;
Who cannot raise himself were wise to know
How best, by dint of stooping, he may thrive.
Take for ensample this: when the winds drive
Against it, how the sapling tree bends low,
And, once being prone, abideth even so
Till the hard harsh wind cease to rend and rive.
Wherefore, when thou behold'st thyself abased,
Be blind, deaf, dumb; yet therewith none the less
Note thou in peace what thou shalt hear and see,
Till from such state by Fortune thou be raised.
Then hack, lop, buffet, thrust, and so redress
Thine ill that it may not return on thee.

ALBERTUCCIO DELLA VIOLA

Canzone

Of his Lady dancing

Among the dancers I beheld her dance,
Her who alone is my heart's sustenance.
So, as she danced, I took this wound of her;
Alas! the flower of flowers, she did not fail.
Woe's me! I will be Jew and blasphemer
If the good god of Love do not prevail
To bring me to thy grace, oh! thou most fair.
My lady and my lord! alas for wail!
How many days and how much sufferance?
Oh! would to God that I had never seen
Her face, nor had beheld her dancing so!
Then had I missed this wound which is so keen—
Yea, mortal—for I think not to win through
Unless her love be my sweet medicine;
Whereof I am in doubt, alas for woe!
Fearing therein but such a little chance.
She was apparelled in a Syrian cloth,
My lady:—oh! but she did grace the same,
Gladdening all folk, that they were nowise loth
At sight of her to put their ills from them.
But upon me her power hath had such growth
That nought of joy thenceforth, but a live flame,
Stirs at my heart,—which is her countenance.
Sweet-smelling rose, sweet, sweet to smell and see,
Great solace had she in her eyes for all;
But heavy woe is mine; for upon me
Her eyes as they were wont, did never fall.
Which thing if it were done advisedly,
I would choose death, that could no more appal,
Not caring for my life's continuance.

482

TOMMASO BUZZUOLA, DA FAENZA

Sonnet

He is in awe of his Lady

Even as the moon amid the stars doth shed
Her lovelier splendour of exceeding light,—
Even so my lady seems the queen and head
Among all other ladies in my sight.
Her human visage, like an angel's made,
Is glorious even to beauty's perfect height;
And with her simple bearing soft and staid
All secret modesties of soul unite.
I therefore feel a dread in loving her;
Because of thinking on her excellence,
The wisdom and the beauty which she has.
I pray her for the sake of God,—whereas
I am her servant, yet in sore suspense
Have held my peace,—to have me in her care.

NOFFO BONAGUIDA

Sonnet

He is enjoined to pure Love

A spirit of Love, with Love's intelligence,
Maketh his sojourn alway in my breast,
Maintaining me in perfect joy and rest;
Nor could I live an hour, were he gone thence:
Through whom my love hath such full permanence
That thereby other loves seem dispossess'd.
I have no pain, nor am with sighs oppress'd,
So calm is the benignant influence.
Because this spirit of Love, who speaks to me
Of my dear lady's tenderness and worth,
Says: “More than thus to love her seek thou not,
Even as she loves thee in her wedded thought;
But honour her in thy heart delicately:
For this is the most blessed joy on earth.”

LIPPO PASCHI DE' BARDI

Sonnet

He solicits a Lady's Favours

Wert thou as prone to yield unto my prayer
The thing, sweet virgin, which I ask of thee,
As to repeat, with all humility,
“Pray you go hence, and of your speech forbear;”—
Then unto joy might I my heart prepare,
Having my fellows in subserviency;
But, for that thou contemn'st and mockest me,
Whether of life or death I take no care.
Because my heart may not assuage its drouth
Nor ever may again rejoice at all
Till the sweet face bend to be felt of man,—
Till tenderly the beautiful soft mouth
I kiss by thy good leave; thenceforth to call
Blessing and triumph Love's extremest ban.

483

SER PACE, NOTAIO DA FIORENZA

Sonnet

A Return to Love

A fresh content of fresh enamouring
Yields me afresh, at length, the sense of song,
Who had well-nigh forgotten Love so long:
But now my homage he will have me bring.
So that my life is now a joyful thing,
Having new-found desire, elate and strong,
In her to whom all grace and worth belong,
On whom I now attend for ministering.
The countenance remembering, with the limbs,
She was all imaged on my heart at once
Suddenly by a single look at her:
Whom when I now behold, a heat there seems
Within, as of a subtle fire that runs
Unto my heart, and remains burning there.

NICCOLÒ DEGLI ALBIZZI

Prolonged Sonnet

When the Troops were returning from Milan

If you could see, fair brother, how dead beat
The fellows look who come through Rome to-day,—
Black yellow smoke-dried visages,—you'd say
They thought their haste at going all too fleet.
Their empty victual-waggons up the street
Over the bridge dreadfully sound and sway;
Their eyes, as hanged men's, turning the wrong way;
And nothing on their backs, or heads, or feet.
One sees the ribs and all the skeletons
Of their gaunt horses; and a sorry sight
Are the torn saddles, crammed with straw and stones.
They are ashamed, and march throughout the night;
Stumbling, for hunger, on their marrowbones;
Like barrels rolling, jolting, in this plight.
Their arms all gone, not even their swords are saved;
And each as silent as a man being shaved.

484

FRANCESCO DA BARBERINO

I
Blank Verse

A Virgin declares her Beauties

Do not conceive that I shall here recount
All my own beauty: yet I promise you
That you, by what I tell, shall understand
All that befits and that is well to know.
My bosom, which is very softly made,
Of a white even colour without stain,
Bears two fair apples, fragrant, sweetly-savoured,
Gathered together from the Tree of Life
The which is in the midst of Paradise.
And these no person ever yet has touched;
For out of nurse's and of mother's hands
I was, when God in secret gave them me.
These ere I yield I must know well to whom;
And for that I would not be robbed of them,
I speak not all the virtue that they have;
Yet thus far speaking:—blessed were the man
Who once should touch them, were it but a little;—
See them I say not, for that might not be.
My girdle, clipping pleasure round about,
Over my clear dress even unto my knees
Hangs down with sweet precision tenderly;
And under it Virginity abides.
Faithful and simple and of plain belief
She is, with her fair garland bright like gold;
And very fearful if she overhears
Speech of herself; the wherefore ye perceive
That I speak soft lest she be made ashamed.
Lo! this is she who hath for company
The Son of God and Mother of the Son;
Lo! this is she who sits with many in heaven;
Lo! this is she with whom are few on earth.
 

Extracted from his long treatise, in unrhymed verse and in prose, “Of the Government and Conduct of Women”; (Del Reggimento e dei Costumi delle Donne).

II
Sentenze

Of sloth against Sin

There is a vice which oft
I've heard men praise; and divers forms it has;
And it is this. Whereas
Some, by their wisdom, lordship, or repute,
When tumults are afoot,
Might stifle them, or at the least allay,—
These certain ones will say,
“The wise man bids thee fly the noise of men.”

485

One says, “Wouldst thou maintain
Worship,—avoid where thou mayst not avail;
And do not breed worse ail
By adding one more voice to strife begun.”
Another, with this one,
Avers, “I could but bear a small expense,
Or yield a slight defence.”
A third says this, “I could but offer words.”
Or one, whose tongue records
Unwillingly his own base heart, will say,
“I'll not be led astray
To bear a hand in others' life or death.”
They have it in their teeth!
For unto this each man is pledged and bound;
And this thing shall be found
Entered against him at the Judgment Day.
 

This and the three following pieces are extracted from his “Documents of Love” (Documenti d'Amore).

III
Sentenze

Of Sins in Speech

Now these four things, if thou
Consider, are so bad that none are worse.
First,—among counsellors
To thrust thyself, when not called absolutely.
And in the other three
Many offend by their own evil wit.
When men in council sit,
One talks because he loves not to be still;
And one to have his will;
And one for nothing else but only show.
These rules were well to know,
First for the first, for the others afterward.
Where many are repair'd
And met together, never go with them
Unless thou'rt called by name.
This for the first: now for the other three.
What truly thou dost see
Turn in thy mind, and faithfully report;
And in the plainest sort
Thy wisdom may, proffer thy counselling.
There is another thing
Belongs hereto, the which is on this wise.
If one should ask advice
Of thine for his own need whate'er it be,—
This is my word to thee:—
Deny it if it be not clearly of use:
Or turn to some excuse
That may avail, and thou shalt have done well.

486

IV
Sentenze

Of Importunities and Troublesome Persons

There is a vice prevails
Concerning which I'll set you on your guard;
And other four, which hard
It were (as may be thought) that I should blame.
Some think that still of them
Whate'er is said—some ill speech lies beneath;
And this to them is death:
Whereby we plainly may perceive their sins.
And now let others wince.
One sort there is, who, thinking that they please,
(Because no wit's in these,)
Where'er you go, will stick to you all day,
And answer, (when you say,
“Don't let me tire you out!”) “Oh never mind—
Say nothing of the kind,—
It's quite a pleasure to be where you are!”
A second,—when, as far
As he could follow you, the whole day long
He's sung you his dull song,
And you for courtesy have borne with it,—
Will think you've had a treat.
A third will take his special snug delight,—
Some day you've come in sight
Of some great thought and got it well in view,—
Just then to drop on you.
A fourth, for any insult you've received
Will say he is so grieved,
And daily bring the subject up again.
So now I would be fain
To show you your best course at all such times;
And counsel you in rhymes
That you yourself offend not in likewise.
In these four cases lies
This help:—to think upon your own affair,
Just showing here and there
By just a word that you are listening;
And still to the last thing
That's said to you attend in your reply,
And let the rest go by,—
It's quite a chance if he remembers them.
Yet do not, all the same,
Deny your ear to any speech of weight.
But if importunate
The speaker is, and will not be denied,

487

Just turn the speech aside
When you can find some plausible pretence;
For if you have the sense,
By a quick question or a sudden doubt
You may so put him out
That he shall not remember where he was,
And by such means you'll pass
Upon your way and be well rid of him.
And now it may beseem
I give you the advice I promised you.
Before you have to do
With men whom you must meet continually,
Take notice what they be;
And so you shall find readily enough
If you can win their love,
And give yourself for answer Yes or No.
And finding Yes, do so
That still the love between you may increase.
Yet if they be of these
Whom sometimes it is hard to understand,
Let some slight cause be plann'd,
And seem to go,—so you shall learn their will:
And if but one sit still
As 'twere in thought,—then go, unless he call.
Lastly, if insult gall
Your friend, this is the course that you should take.
At first 'tis well you make
As much lament thereof as you think fit,—
Then speak no more of it,
Unless himself should bring it up again;
And then no more refrain
From full discourse, but say his grief is yours.

V
Sentenze

Of Caution

Say, wouldst thou guard thy son,
That sorrow he may shun?
Begin at the beginning
And let him keep from sinning.
Wouldst guard thy house? One door
Make to it, and no more.
Wouldst guard thine orchard-wall?
Be free of fruit to all.

488

FAZIO DEGLI UBERTI

I
Canzone

His Portrait of his Lady, Angiola of Verona

I look at the crisp golden-threaded hair
Whereof, to thrall my heart, Love twists a net:
Using at times a string of pearls for bait,
And sometimes with a single rose therein.
I look into her eyes which unaware
Through mine own eyes to my heart penetrate;
Their splendour, that is excellently great,
To the sun's radiance seeming near akin,
Yet from herself a sweeter light to win.
So that I, gazing on that lovely one,
Discourse in this wise with my secret thought:—
“Woe's me! why am I not,
Even as my wish, alone with her alone,—
That hair of hers, so heavily uplaid,
To shed down braid by braid,
And make myself two mirrors of her eyes
Within whose light all other glory dies?”
I look at the amorous beautiful mouth,
The spacious forehead which her locks enclose,
The small white teeth, the straight and shapely nose,
And the clear brows of a sweet pencilling.
And then the thought within me gains full growth,
Saying, “Be careful that thy glance now goes
Between her lips, red as an open rose,
Quite full of every dear and precious thing;
And listen to her gracious answering,
Born of the gentle mind that in her dwells,
Which from all things can glean the nobler half.
Look thou when she doth laugh
How much her laugh is sweeter than aught else.”
Thus evermore my spirit makes avow
Touching her mouth; till now
I would give anything that I possess,
Only to hear her mouth say frankly, “Yes.”
I look at her white easy neck, so well
From shoulders and from bosom lifted out;
And at her round cleft chin, which beyond doubt
No fancy in the world could have design'd.
And then, with longing grown more voluble,
“Were it not pleasant now,” pursues my thought,
“To have that neck within thy two arms caught
And kiss it till the mark were left behind?”
Then, urgently: “The eyelids of thy mind
Open thou: if such loveliness be given
To sight here,—what of that which she doth hide?
Only the wondrous ride
Of sun and planets through the visible heaven
Tells us that there beyond is Paradise.
Thus, if thou fix thine eyes,
Of a truth certainly thou must infer
That every earthly joy abides in her,”

489

I look at the large arms, so lithe and round,—
At the hands, which are white and rosy too,—
At the long fingers, clasped and woven through,
Bright with the ring which one of them doth wear.
Then my thought whispers: “Were thy body wound
Within those arms, as loving women's do,
In all thy veins were born a life made new
Which thou couldst find no language to declare.
Behold if any picture can compare
With her just limbs, each fit in shape and size,
Or match her angel's colour like a pearl.
She is a gentle girl
To see; yet when it needs, her scorn can rise,
Meek, bashful, and in all things temperate,
Her virtue holds its state;
In whose least act there is that gift express'd
Which of all reverence makes her worthiest.”
Soft as a peacock steps she, or as a stork
Straight on herself, taller and statelier:
'Tis a good sight how every limb doth stir
For ever in a womanly sweet way.
“Open thy soul to see God's perfect work,”
(My thought begins afresh), “and look at her
When with some lady-friend exceeding fair
She bends and mingles arms and locks in play.
Even as all lesser lights vanish away,
When the sun moves, before his dazzling face,
So is this lady brighter than all these.
How should she fail to please,—
Love's self being no more than her loveliness?
In all her ways some beauty springs to view;
All that she loves to do
Tends alway to her honour's single scope;
And only from good deeds she draws her hope.”
Song, thou canst surely say, without pretence,
That since the first fair woman ever made,
Not one can have display'd
More power upon all hearts than this one doth;
Because in her are both
Loveliness and the soul's true excellence:—
And yet (woe's me!) is pity absent thence?

490

II
Extract from the “Dittamondo
[_]

(Lib. iv. Cap. 23)

Of England, and of its Marvels

Now to Great Britain we must make our way,
Unto which kingdom Brutus gave its name
What time he won it from the giants' rule.
'Tis thought at first its name was Albion,
And Anglia, from a damsel, afterwards.
The island is so great and rich and fair,
It conquers others that in Europe be,
Even as the sun surpasses other stars.
Many and great sheep-pastures bountifully
Nature has set there, and herein more bless'd,
That they can hold themselves secure from wolves.
Jet also doth the hollow land enrich,
(Whose properties my guide Solinus here
Told me, and how its colour comes to it;)
And pearls are found in great abundance too.
The people are as white and comely-faced
As they of Ethiop land are black and foul.
Many hot springs and limpid fountain-heads
We found about this land, and spacious plains,
And divers beasts that dwell within thick woods.
Plentiful orchards too and fertile fields
It has, and castle-forts, and cities fair
With palaces and girth of lofty walls.
And proud wide rivers without any fords
We saw, and flesh, and fish, and crops enough.
Justice is strong throughout those provinces.
Now this I saw not; but so strange a thing
It was to hear, and by all men confirm'd,
That it is fit to note it as I heard;—
To wit, there is a certain islet here
Among the rest, where folk are born with tails,
Short, as are found in stags and such-like beasts.
For this I vouch,—that when a child is freed
From swaddling bands, the mother without stay
Passes elsewhere, and 'scapes the care of it.

491

I put no faith herein; but it is said
Among them, how such marvellous trees are there
That they grow birds, and this is their sole fruit.
Forty times eighty is the circuit ta'en,
With ten times fifteen, if I do not err,
By our miles reckoning its circumference.
Here every metal may be dug; and here
I found the people to be given to God,
Steadfast, and strong, and restive to constraint.
Nor is this strange, when one considereth;
For courage, beauty, and large-heartedness,
Were there, as it is said, in ancient days.
North Wales, and Orkney, and the banks of Thames,
Strangoure and Listenois and Northumberland,
I chose with my companion to behold.
We went to London, and I saw the Tower
Where Guenevere her honour did defend,
With the Thames river which runs close to it.
I saw the castle which by force was ta'en
With the three shields by gallant Lancelot,
The second year that he did deeds of arms.
I beheld Camelot despoiled and waste;
And was where one and the other had her birth,
The maids of Corbonek and Astolat.
Also I saw the castle where Geraint
Lay with his Enid; likewise Merlin's stone,
Which for another's love I joyed to see.
I found the tract where is the pine-tree well,
And where of old the knight of the black shield
With weeping and with laughter kept the pass,
What time the pitiless and bitter dwarf
Before Sir Gawaine's eyes discourteously
With many heavy stripes led him away.
I saw the valley which Sir Tristram won
When having slain the giant hand to hand
He set the stranger knights from prison free.
And last I viewed the field, at Salisbury,
Of that great martyrdom which left the world
Empty of honour, valour, and delight.
So, compassing that Island round and round,
I saw and hearkened many things and more
Which might be fair to tell but which I hide.
 

I am quite sorry (after the foregoing love-song, the original of which is not perhaps surpassed by any poem of its class in existence) to endanger the English reader's respect for Fazio by these extracts from the Dittamondo, or “Song of the World,” in which he will find his own country endowed with some astounding properties. However, there are a few fine characteristic sentences, and the rest is no more absurd than other travellers' tales of that day; while the table of our Norman line of kings is not without some historical interest. It must be remembered that the love-song was the work of Fazio's youth, and the Dittamondo that of his old age, when we may suppose his powers to have been no longer at their best. Besides what I have given relating to Great Britain, there is a table of the Saxon dynasty, and some surprising facts about Scotland and Ireland; as well as a curious passage written in French, and purporting to be an account, given by a royal courier, of Edward the Third's invasion of France. I felt half disposed to include these, but was afraid of overloading with such matter a selection made chiefly for the sake of poetic beauty. I should mention that the Dittamondo,like Dante's great poem, is written in terza rima; but as perfect literality was of primary importance in the above extracts, I have departed for once from my rule of fidelity to the original metre.

Mediæval Britons would seem really to have been credited with this slight peculiarity. At the siege of Damietta, Cœur-de-Lion's bastard brother is said to have pointed out the prudence of deferring the assault, and to have received for rejoinder from the French crusaders, “See now these faint-hearted English with the tails!” To which the Englishman replied, “You will need stout hearts to keep near our tails when the assault is made.”

This is the Barnacle-tree, often described in old books of travels and natural history, and which Sir Thomas Browne classes gravely among his “Vulgar Errors.”

What follows relates to the Romances of the Round Table. The only allusion here which I cannot trace to the Mort d'Arthur is one where “Rech” and “Nida” are spoken of: it seems however that, by a perversion hardly too corrupt for Fazio, these might be the Geraint and Enid whose story occurs in the Mabinogion, and has been used by Tennyson in his Idylls of the King. Why Fazio should have “joyed to see” Merlin's stone “for another's love” seems inscrutable; unless indeed the words “per amor altrui” are a mere idiom, and Merlin himself is meant; and even then Merlin, in his compulsory niche under the stone, may hardly have been grateful for such friendly interest.

I should not omit, in this second edition, to acknowledge several obligations, as regards the above extract from the Dittamondo, to the unknown author of an acute and kindly article in the Spectator for January 18th, 1862.


492

III
Extract from the “Dittamondo
[_]

(Lib. iv. Cap. 25)

Of the Dukes of Normandy, and thence of the Kings of England, from William the First to Edward the Third

Thou well hast heard that Rollo had two sons,
One William Longsword, and the other Richard,
Whom thou now know'st to the marrow, as I do.
Daring and watchful, as a leopard is,
Was William, fair in body and in face,
Ready at all times, never slow to act.
He fought great battles, but at last was slain
By the earl of Flanders; so that in his place
Richard his son was o'er the people set.
And next in order, lit with blessed flame
Of the Holy Spirit, his son followed him,
Who justly lived 'twixt more and less midway,—
His father's likeness, as in shape in name.
So unto him succeeded as his heir
Robert the Frank, high-counselled and august:
And thereon following, I proceed to tell
How William, who was Robert's son, did make
The realm of England his co-heritage.
The same was brave and courteous certainly,
Generous and gracious, humble before God,
Master in war and versed in counsel too.
He with great following came from Normandy
And fought with Harold, and so left him slain,
And took the realm, and held it at his will.
Thus did this kingdom change its signiory;
And know that all the kings it since has had
Only from this man take their origin.
Therefore, that thou mayst quite forget its past,
I say this happened when, since our Lord's Love,
Some thousand years and sixty were gone by.
While the fourth Henry ruled as emperor,
This king of England fought in many wars,
And waxed through all in honour and account.
And William Rufus next succeeded him;
Tall, strong, and comely-limbed, but therewith proud
And grasping, and a killer of his kind.
In body he was like his father much,
But was in nature more his contrary
Than fire and water when they come together;
Yet so far good that he won fame in arms,
And by himself risked many an enterprise,
All which he brought with honour to an end.
Also if he were bad, he gat great ill;
For, chasing once the deer within a wood,
And having wandered from his company,
Him by mischance a servant of his own
Hit with an arrow, that he fell and died.

493

And after him Henry the First was king,
His brother, but therewith the father's like,
Being well with God and just in peace and war.
Next Stephen, on his death, the kingdom seized,
But with sore strife; of whom thus much be said,
That he was frank and good is told of him.
And after him another Henry reigned,
Who, when the war in France was waged and done
Passed beyond seas with the first Frederick.
Then Richard came, who, after heavy toil
At sea, was captive made in Germany,
Leaving the Sepulchre to join his host.
Who being dead, full heavy was the wrath
Of John his brother; and so well he took
Revenge, that still a moan is made of it.
This John in kingly largesse and in war
Delighted, when the kingdom fell to him;
Hunting and riding ever in hot haste.
Handsome in body and most poor in heart,
Henry his son and heir succeeded him,
Of whom to speak I count it wretchedness.
Yet there's some good to say of him, I grant;
Because of him was the good Edward born,
Whose valour still is famous in the world.
The same was he who, being without dread
Of the Old Man's Assassins, captured them,
And who repaid the jester if he lied.
The same was he who over seas wrought scathe
So many times to Malekdar, and bent
Unto the Christian rule whole provinces.
He was a giant of his body, and great
And proud to view, and of such strength of soul
As never saddens with adversity.
His reign was long; and when his death befell,
The second Edward mounted to the throne,
Who was of one kind with his grandfather.
I say from what report still says of him,
That he was evil, of base intellect,
And would not be advised by any man.
Conceive, good heart! that how to thatch a roof
With straw,—conceive!—he held himself expert,
And therein constantly would take delight!
By fraud he seized the Earl of Lancaster,
And what he did with him I say not here,
But that he left him neither town nor tower.
And thiswise, step by step, thou mayst perceive
That I to the third Edward have advanced,
Who now lives strong and full of enterprise,
And who already has grown manifest
For the best Christian known of in the world.
Thus I have told, as thou wouldst have me tell,
The race of William even unto the end.
 

The speaker here is the poet's guide Solinus (an historical and geographical writer of the third century,) who bears the same relation to him which Virgil bears to Dante in the Commedia.

This may either refer to some special incident or merely mean generally that he would not suffer lying even in a jester.


494

FRANCO SACCHETTI

I
Ballata

His Talk with certain Peasant-girls

Ye graceful peasant-girls and mountain-maids,
Whence come ye homeward through these evening shades?”
“We come from where the forest skirts the hill;
A very little cottage is our home,
Where with our father and our mother still
We live, and love our life, nor wish to roam.
Back every evening from the field we come
And bring with us our sheep from pasturing there.”
“Where, tell me, is the hamlet of your birth,
Whose fruitage is the sweetest by so much?
Ye seem to me as creatures worship-worth,
The shining of your countenance is such.
No gold about your clothes, coarse to the touch,
Nor silver; yet with such an angel's air!
“I think your beauties might make great complaint
Of being thus shown over mount and dell;
Because no city is so excellent
But that your stay therein were honourable.
In very truth, now, does it like ye well
To live so poorly on the hill-side here?”
“Better it liketh one of us, pardie,
Behind her flock to seek the pasture-stance,
Far better than it liketh one of ye
To ride unto your curtained rooms and dance.
We seek no riches neither golden chance
Save wealth of flowers to weave into our hair.”
Ballad, if I were now as once I was,
I'd make myself a shepherd on some hill,
And, without telling any one, would pass
Where these girls went, and follow at their will;
And “Mary” and “Martin” we would murmur still,
And I would be for ever where they were.

II
Catch

On a Fine Day

Be stirring, girls! we ought to have a run:
Look, did you ever see so fine a day?
Fling spindles right away,
And rocks and reels and wools:
Now don't be fools,—
To-day your spinning's done.

495

Up with you, up with you!” So, one by one
They caught hands, catch who can,
Then singing, singing, to the river they ran,
They ran, they ran
To the river, the river;
And the merry-go-round
Carries them at a bound
To the mill o'er the river.
“Miller, miller, miller,
Weigh me this lady
And this other. Now, steady!”
“You weigh a hundred, you,
And this one weighs two.”
“Why, dear, you do get stout!”
“You think so, dear, no doubt:
Are you in a decline?”
“Keep your temper, and I'll keep mine.
Come, girls,” (“O thank you, miller!”)
“We'll go home when you will.”
So, as we crossed the hill,
A clown came in great grief
Crying, “Stop thief! stop thief!
O what a wretch I am!”
“Well, fellow, here's a clatter!
Well, what's the matter?”
“O Lord, O Lord, the wolf has got my lamb!”
Now at that word of woe,
The beauties came and clung about me so
That if wolf had but shown himself, maybe
I too had caught a lamb that fled to me.

III
Catch

On a Wet Day

As I walked thinking through a little grove,
Some girls that gathered flowers came passing me,
Saying, “Look here! look there!” delightedly.
“O here it is!” “What's that?” “A lily, love.”
“And there are violets!”
“Further for roses! Oh the lovely pets—
The darling beauties! Oh the nasty thorn!
Look here, my hand's all torn!”
“What's that that jumps?” “Oh don't! it's a grasshopper!”
“Come run, come run,
Here's bluebells!” “Oh what fun!”
“Not that way! Stop her!”
“Yes, this way!” “Pluck them, then!”
“Oh, I've found mushrooms! Oh look here!” “Oh, I'm
Quite sure that further on we'll get wild thyme.”
“Oh we shall stay too long, it's going to rain!
There's lightning, oh there's thunder!”

496

“Oh shan't we hear the vesper-bell, I wonder?”
“Why, it's not nones, you silly little thing;
And don't you hear the nightingales that sing
Fly away O die away?”
“O I hear something! Hush!”
“Why, where? what is it then?” “Ah! in that bush!”
So every girl here knocks it, shakes and shocks it,
Till with the stir they make
Out skurries a great snake.
“O Lord! O me! Alack! Ah me! alack!”
They scream, and then all run and scream again,
And then in heavy drops down comes the rain.
Each running at the other in a fright,
Each trying to get before the other, and crying,
And flying, stumbling, tumbling, wrong or right;
One sets her knee
There where her foot should be;
One has her hands and dress
All smothered up with mud in a fine mess;
And one gets trampled on by two or three.
What's gathered is let fall
About the wood and not picked up at all.
The wreaths of flowers are scattered on the ground;
And still as screaming hustling without rest
They run this way and that and round and round,
She thinks herself in luck who runs the best.
I stood quite still to have a perfect view,
And never noticed till I got wet through.

ANONYMOUS POEMS

I
Sonnet

A Lady laments for her lost Lover, by similitude of a Falcon

Alas for me, who loved a falcon well!
So well I loved him, I was nearly dead:
Ever at my low call he bent his head,
And ate of mine, not much, but all that fell.
Now he has fled, how high I cannot tell,
Much higher now than ever he has fled,
And is in a fair garden housed and fed;
Another lady, alas! shall love him well.
O my own falcon whom I taught and rear'd!
Sweet bells of shining gold I gave to thee
That in the chase thou shouldst not be afeard.
Now thou hast risen like the risen sea,
Broken thy jesses loose, and disappear'd,
As soon as thou wast skilled in falconry.

497

II
Ballata

One speaks of the Beginning of his Love

This fairest one of all the stars, whose flame,
For ever lit, my inner spirit fills,
Came to me first one day between the hills.
I wondered very much; but God the Lord
Said, “From Our Virtue, lo! this light is pour'd.”
So in a dream it seemed that I was led
By a great Master to a garden spread
With lilies underfoot and overhead.

III
Ballata

One speaks of his False Lady

When the last greyness dwells throughout the air,
And the first star appears,
Appeared to me a lady very fair.
I seemed to know her well by her sweet air;
And, gazing, I was hers.
To honour her, I followed her: and then....
Ah! what thou givest, God give thee again,
Whenever thou remain'st as I remain.

IV
Ballata

One speaks of his Feigned and Real Love

For no love borne by me,
Neither because I care
To find that thou art fair,—
To give another pain I gaze on thee.
And now, lest such as thought that thou couldst move
My heart, should read this verse,
I will say here, another has my love.
An angel of the spheres
She seems, and I am hers;
Who has more gentleness
And owns a fairer face
Than any woman else,—at least, to me.
Sweeter than any, more in all at ease,
Lighter and lovelier.
Not to disparage thee; for whoso sees
May like thee more than her.
This vest will one prefer,
And one another vest.
To me she seems the best,
And I am hers, and let what will be, be.
For no love borne by me,
Neither because I care
To find that thou art fair,—
To give another pain, I gaze on thee.

498

V
Ballata

Of True and False Singing

A little wild bird sometimes at my ear
Sings his own little verses very clear:
Others sing louder that I do not hear.
For singing loudly is not singing well;
But ever by the song that's soft and low
The master-singer's voice is plain to tell.
Few have it and yet all are masters now,
And each of them can trill out what he calls
His ballads, canzonets, and madrigals.
The world with masters is so covered o'er,
There is no room for pupils any more.