Madrigale II.

Perchè al viso d' Amor portava insegna.

A LOVE JOURNEY--DANGER IN THE PATH--HE TURNS BACK.


    Bright in whose face Love's conquering ensign stream'd,
A foreign fair so won me, young and vain,
That of her sex all others worthless seem'd:
Her as I follow'd o'er the verdant plain,
I heard a loud voice speaking from afar,
"How lost in these lone woods his footsteps are!"
Then paused I, and, beneath the tall beech shade,
All wrapt in thought, around me well survey'd,
Till, seeing how much danger block'd my way,
Homeward I turn'd me though at noon of day.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Francesco Petrarca, commonly known as Petrarch, was an Italian scholar, poet, and early humanist during the Renaissance. He is often called the "Father of Humanism" and is best known for his Italian poetry, notably the Canzoniere, a collection of poems addressed to his idealized beloved Laura. Petrarch's works have influenced countless writers and helped shape the modern Italian language.

Francesco Petrarca

To Laura In Death. Sonnet XX.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXXXV.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet VII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Ballata VI.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet LXXXVII.

Perseguendomi Amor al luogo usato.

HE IS BEWILDERED AT THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL OF LAURA.


    As Love his arts in haunts familiar tried,
Watchful as one expecting war is found,
Who all foresees and guards the passes round,
I in the armour of old thoughts relied:
Turning, I saw a shadow at my side
Cast by the sun, whose outline on the ground
I knew for hers, who--be my judgment sound--
Deserves in bliss immortal to abide.
I whisper'd to my heart, Nay, wherefore fear?
But scarcely did the thought arise within
Than the bright rays in which I burn were here.
As thunders with the lightning-flash begin,
So was I struck at once both blind and mute,
By her dear dazzling eyes and sweet salute.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Canzone III.

Verdi panni, sanguigni, oscuri o persi.

WHETHER OR NOT HE SHOULD CEASE TO LOVE LAURA.


    Green robes and red, purple, or brown, or gray
No lady ever wore,
Nor hair of gold in sunny tresses twined,
So beautiful as she, who spoils my mind
Of judgment, and from freedom's lofty path
So draws me with her that I may not bear
Any less heavy yoke.

And if indeed at times--for wisdom fails
Where martyrdom breeds doubt--
The soul should ever arm it to complain
Suddenly from each reinless rude desire
Her smile recalls, and razes from my heart
Every rash enterprise, while all disdain
Is soften'd in her sight.

For all that I have ever borne for love,
And still am doom'd to bear,
Till she who wounded it shall heal my heart,

Francesco Petrarca

Madrigale IV.

Or vedi, Amor, che giovinetta donna.

A PRAYER TO LOVE THAT HE WILL TAKE VENGEANCE ON THE SCORNFUL PRIDE OF LAURA.


    Now, Love, at length behold a youthful fair,
Who spurns thy rule, and, mocking all my care,
'Mid two such foes, is safe and fancy free.
Thou art well arm'd, 'mid flowers and verdure she,
In simplest robe and natural tresses found,
Against thee haughty still and harsh to me;
I am thy thrall: but, if thy bow be sound,
If yet one shaft be thine, in pity, take
Vengeance upon her for our common sake.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Madrigale I.

Non al suo amante più Diana piacque.

ANYTHING THAT REMINDS HIM OF LAURA RENEWS HIS TORMENTS.


    Not Dian to her lover was more dear,
When fortune 'mid the waters cold and clear,
Gave him her naked beauties all to see,
Than seem'd the rustic ruddy nymph to me,
Who, in yon flashing stream, the light veil laved,
Whence Laura's lovely tresses lately waved;
I saw, and through me felt an amorous chill,
Though summer burn, to tremble and to thrill.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Madrigale III.

Nova angeletta sovra l' ale accorta.

HE ALLEGORICALLY DESCRIBES THE ORIGIN OF HIS PASSION.


    From heaven an angel upon radiant wings,
New lighted on that shore so fresh and fair,
To which, so doom'd, my faithful footstep clings:
Alone and friendless, when she found me there,
Of gold and silk a finely-woven net,
Where lay my path, 'mid seeming flowers she set:
Thus was I caught, and, for such sweet light shone
From out her eyes, I soon forgot to moan.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXLIV

Mille piagge in un giorno e mille rivi.

TO BE NEAR HER RECOMPENSES HIM FOR ALL THE PERILS OF THE WAY.


    Love, who his votary wings in heart and feet,
To the third heaven that lightly he may soar,
In one short day has many a stream and shore
Given to me, in famed Ardennes, to meet.
Unarm'd and single to have pass'd is sweet
Where war in earnest strikes, nor tells before--
A helmless, sail-less ship 'mid ocean's roar--
My breast with dark and fearful thoughts replete;
But reach'd my dangerous journey's far extreme,
Remembering whence I came, and with whose wings,
From too great courage conscious terror springs.
But this fair country and belovèd stream
With smiling welcome reassures my heart,
Where dwells its sole light ready to depart.

Francesco Petrarca