Canzone I.
Nel dolce tempo della prima etade.
HIS SUFFERINGS SINCE HE BECAME THE SLAVE OF LOVE.
In the sweet season when my life was new,
Which saw the birth, and still the being sees
Of the fierce passion for my ill that grew,
Fain would I sing--my sorrow to appease--
How then I lived, in liberty, at ease,
While o'er my heart held slighted Love no sway;
And how, at length, by too high scorn, for aye,
I sank his slave, and what befell me then,
Whereby to all a warning I remain;
Although my sharpest pain
Be elsewhere written, so that many a pen
Is tired already, and, in every vale,
The echo of my heavy sighs is rife,
Some credence forcing of my anguish'd life;
And, as her wont, if here my memory fail,
Be my long martyrdom its saving plea,...