The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Prophecy Of Judgment. No. 3. The Golden Age.

Se fu nel mondo.


If men were happy in that age of gold,
        We yet may hope to see mild Saturn's reign;
        For all things that were buried live again,
        By time's revolving cycle forward rolled.
Yet this the fox, the wolf, the crow, made bold
        By fraud and perfidy, deny--in vain:
        For God that rules, the signs in heaven, the train
        Of prophets, and all hearts this faith uphold.
If thine and mine were banished in good sooth
        From honour, pleasure, and utility,
        The world would turn, I ween, to Paradise;
Blind love to modest love with open eyes;
        Cunning and ignorance to living truth;
        And foul oppression to fraternity.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet of the High Renaissance. Born on March 6, 1475, he is widely considered one of the greatest artists of all time. His poetry, although lesser-known compared to his other artistic achievements, displays his deep contemplation of art, love, and spirituality. Michelangelo passed away on February 18, 1564.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

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Flesh And Spirit.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Prophecy Of Judgment. No. 1. The Reign Of Antichrist.

Mentre l'acquila invola.


While yet the eagle preys, and growls the bear;
        While roars the lion; while the crow defies
        The lamb who raised our race above the skies;
        While yet the dove laments to the deaf air;
While, mixed with goodly wheat, darnel and tare
        Within the field of human nature rise;--
        Let that ungodly sect, profanely wise,
        That scorns our hope, feed, fatten, and beware!
Soon comes the day when those grim giants fell,
        Famed through the world, dyed deep with sanguine hue,
        Whom with feigned flatteries you applaud, shall be
Swept from the earth, and sunk in horrid Hell,
        Girt round with flames, to weep and wail with you,
        In doleful dungeons everlastingly.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Prophecy Of Judgment. No. 2. The Doom Of The Impious.

La scuola inimicissima.


You sect most adverse to the good and true,
        Degenerate from your origin divine,
        Pastured on lies and shadows by the line
        Of Thais, Sinon, Judas, Homer! You,
Thus saith the Spirit, when the retinue
        Of saints with Christ returns on earth to shine,
        When the fifth angel's vial pours condign
        Vengeance with awful ire and torments due,--
You shall be girt with gloom; your lips profane,
        Disloyal tongues, and savage teeth shall grind
        And gnash with fury fell and anger vain:
In Malebolge your damned souls confined
        On fiery marle, for increment of pain,
        Shall see the saved rejoice with mirth of mind.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Year 1603.

Già sto mirando.


The first heaven-wandering lights I see ascend
        Upon the seventh and ninth centenary,
        When in the Archer's realm three years shall be
        Added, this aeon and our age to end.
Thou too, Mercurius, like a scribe dost lend
        Thine aid to promulgate that dread decree,
        Stored in the archives of eternity,
        And signed and sealed by powers no prayers can bend.
O'er Europe's full meridian on thy morn
        In the tenth house thy court I see thee hold:
        The Sun with thee consents in Capricorn.
God grant that I may keep this mortal breath
        Until I too that glorious day behold
        Which shall at last confound the sons of death!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Parable Of Wise Men And The World.

Gli astrologi antevista.


Once on a time the astronomers foresaw
        The coming of a star to madden men:
        Thus warned they fled the land, thinking that when
        The folk were crazed, they'd hold the reins of law

When they returned the realm to overawe,
        They prayed those maniacs to quit cave and den,
        And use their old good customs once again;
        But these made answer with fist, tooth, and claw:

So that the wise men were obliged to rule
        Themselves like lunatics to shun grim death,
        Seeing the biggest maniac now was king.

Stifling their sense, they lived, aping the fool,
        In public praising act and word and thing
        Just as the whims of madmen swayed their breath.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Future.

Veggo in candida robba.


Clothed in white robes I see the Holy Sire
        Descend to hold his court amid the band
        Of shining saints and elders: at his hand
        The white immortal Lamb commands their choir.
John ends his long lament for torments dire,
        Now Judah's lion rises to expand
        The fatal book, and the first broken band
        Sends the white courier forth to work God's ire.
The first fair spirits raimented in white
        Go out to meet him who on his white cloud
        Comes heralded by horsemen white as snow.
Ye black-stoled folk, be dumb, who hate the loud
        Blare of God's lifted angel-trumpets! Lo,
        The pure white dove puts the black crows to flight!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Present.

Convien al secol nostro.


Black robes befit our age. Once they were white;
        Next many-hued; now dark as Afric's Moor,
        Night-black, infernal, traitorous, obscure,
        Horrid with ignorance and sick with fright.
For very shame we shun all colours bright,
        Who mourn our end--the tyrants we endure,
        The chains, the noose, the lead, the snares, the lure--
        Our dismal heroes, our souls sunk in night.
Black weeds again denote that extreme folly
        Which makes us blind, mournful, and woe-begone:
        For dusk is dear to doleful melancholy;
Nathless fate's wheel still turns: this raiment dun
        We shall exchange hereafter for the holy
        Garments of white in which of yore we shone.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni