The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Poland.

Sopra i regni.


High o'er those realms that make blind chance the heir
        Of empire, Poland, dost thou lift thy head:
        For while thou mournest for thy monarch dead,
        Thou wilt not let his son the sceptre bear,
Lest he prove weak perchance to do or dare.
        Yet art thou even more by luck misled,
        Choosing a prince of fortune, courtly-bred,
        Uncertain whether he will spend or spare.
Oh, quit this pride! In hut or shepherd's pen
        Seek Cato, Minos, Numa! For of such
        God still makes kings in plenty: and these men
Will squander little substance and gain much,
        Knowing that virtue and not blood shall be
        Their titles to true immortality.

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

Love's Entreaty.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love Feeds The Flame Of Age.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Doom Of Beauty.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

On Rome In The Pontificate Of Julius II.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Tobia Adami.

Portando in man.


Holding the cynic lantern in your hand,
        Through Europe, Egypt, Asia, you have passed,
        Till at Ausonia's feet you find at last
        That Cyclops' cave, where I, to darkness banned,
In light eternal forge for you the brand
        Against Abaddon, who hath overcast
        The truth and right, Adami, made full fast
        Unto God's glory by our steadfast band.
Go, smite each sophist, tyrant, hypocrite!
        Girt with the arms of the first Wisdom, free
        Your country from the frauds that cumber it!
Swerve not: 'twere sin. How good, how great the praise
        Of him who turns youth, strength, soul, energy,
        Unto the dayspring of the eternal rays!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - On Italy.

La gran Donna.


That Lady who to Caesar came in state
        Upon the Rubicon, what time she feared
        Ruin from those strange races who appeared
        Erewhile to build her empire strong and great,
Now stays with limbs dispersed and lacerate,
        A bondslave, shorn of all her pomp revered:
        Nor seems it now that Dinah's shame can gird
        Simeon or Levi to avenge her fate.
If then Jerusalem doth not repair
        To Nazareth or Athens, where did reign
        Wisdom of God or man in days of yore,
None shall arise her honours to restore:
        For Herods are all strangers; when they swear
        To save the Saviour's seed, their oath is vain.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To The Poets.

In superbia il valor.


Valour to pride hath turned; grave holiness
        To vile hypocrisy; all gentle ways
        To empty forms; sound sense to idle lays;
        Pure love to heat; beauty to paint and dress:--
Thanks to you, Poets! you who sing the praise
        Of fabled knights, foul fires, lies, nullities;
        Not virtue, nor the wrapped sublimities
        Of God, as bards were wont in those old days.
How far more wondrous than your phantasies
        Are Nature's works, how far more sweet to sing!
        Thus taught, the soul falsehood and truth descries.
That tale alone is worth the pondering,
        Which hath not smothered history in lies,
        And arms the soul against each sinful thing.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - What Makes A King.

Chi pennelli have e colori.


He who hath brush and colours, and chance-wise
        Doth daub, befouling walls and canvases,
        Is not a painter; but, unhelped by these,
        He who in art is masterful and wise.
Cowls and the tonsure do not make a friar;
        Nor make a king wide realms and pompous wars;
        But he who is all Jesus, Pallas, Mars,
        Though he be slave or base-born, wears the tiar.
Man is not born crowned like the natural king
        Of beasts, for beasts by this investiture
        Have need to know the head they must obey;
Wherefore a commonwealth fits men, I say,
        Or else a prince whose worth is tried and sure,
        Not proved by sloth or false imagining.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Venice.

Nuova arca di Noè.


New Ark of Noah! when the cruel scourge
        Of that barbarian tyrant like a wave
        Went over Italy, thou then didst save
        The seed of just men on the weltering surge.
Here, still by discord and foul servitude
        Untainted, thou a hero brood dost raise,
        Powerful and prudent. Due to thee their praise
        Of maiden pure, of teeming motherhood!
Thou wonder of the world, Rome's loyal heir,
        Thou pride and strong support of Italy,
        Dial of princes, school of all things wise!
Thou like Arcturus steadfast in the skies,
        With tardy sense guidest thy kingdom fair,
        Bearing alone the load of liberty.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Genoa.

Le Ninfe d'Arno.


The nymphs of Arno; Adria's goddess-queen;
        Greece, where the Latin banner floated free;
        The lands that border on the Syrian sea;
        The Euxine, and fair Naples; these have been
Thine, by the right of conquest; these should be
        Still thine by empire: Asia's broad demesne,
        Afric, America--realms never seen
        But by thy venture--all belong to thee.
But thou, thyself not knowing, leavest all
        For a poor price to strangers; since thy head
        Is weak, albeit thy limbs are stout and good.
Genoa, mistress of the world, recall
        Thy soul magnanimous! Nay, be not led
        Slave to base gold, thou and thy tameless brood!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni