Giacomo Leopardi

    At times thy image to my mind returns,
    Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams
    Upon me, for an instant, as I pass,
    In other faces; or in lonely fields,
    At noon-tide bright, beneath the silent stars,
    With sudden and with startling vividness,
    As if awakened by sweet harmony,
    The splendid vision rises in my soul.
    How worshipped once, ye gods, what a delight
    To me, what torture, too! Nor do I e'er
    The odor of the flowery fields inhale,
    Or perfume of the gardens of the town,
    That I recall thee not, as on that day,
    When in thy sumptuous rooms, so redolent
    Of all the fragrant flowers of the spring,
    Arrayed in robe of violet hue, thy form
    Angelic I beheld, as it reclined
    On dainty cushions ...

    The storm hath passed;
    I hear the birds rejoice; the hen,
    Returned into the road again,
    Her cheerful notes repeats. The sky serene
    Is, in the west, upon the mountain seen:
    The country smiles; bright runs the silver stream.
    Each heart is cheered; on every side revive
    The sounds, the labors of the busy hive.
    The workman gazes at the watery sky,
    As standing at the door he sings,
    His work in hand; the little wife goes forth,
    And in her pail the gathered rain-drops brings;
    The vendor of his wares, from lane to lane,
    Begins his daily cry again.
    The sun returns, and with his smile illumes
    The villas on the neighboring hills;
    Through open terraces and balconies,
    The genial light pervades the ...

    Approaching now the end of his abode
    On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once,
    Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled,
    When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o'er
    His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung.
    As for some time, so, on his dying day,
    He lay, abandoned by his dearest friends:
    For in the world, few friends to him will cling,
    Who shows that he is weary of the world.
    Yet she was at his side, by pity led,
    In his lone wretchedness to comfort him,
    Who was alone and ever in his thought;
    Elvira, for her loveliness renowned;
    And knowing well her power; that a look,
    A single sweet and gracious word from her,
    A thousand-fold repeated in the heart,
    Devoted, of her hapless...

    Ah, well can I the day recall, when first
    The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:
    If this be love, how hard it is to bear!

    With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground,
    I saw but her, whose artless innocence,
    Triumphant took possession of this heart.

    Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!
    Why should affection so sincere and pure,
    Bring with it such desire, such suffering?

    Why not serene, and full, and free from guile
    But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore,
    Should joy so great into my heart descend?

    O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so,
    Why with that thought such anguish should be blent,
    Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught?

    That t...

I.

    I round the threshold wandering here,
    Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,
    That they may keep my lady prisoner.

    And yet the wind was howling in the woods,
    The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds,
    Before the dawn had risen in the sky.

    O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees!
    My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth
    Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!

    Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake,
    O'erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun
    To other lands brings back the light of day!

    Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves
    Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun
    In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.


II.

    The light of d...

    Illustrious fathers of the human race,
    Of you, the song of your afflicted sons
    Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far,
    Unto the Great Disposer of the stars,
    Who were not born to wretchedness, like ours.
    Immedicable woes, a life of tears,
    The silent tomb, eternal night, to find
    More sweet, by far, than the ethereal light,
    These things were not by heaven's gracious law
    Imposed on you. If ancient legends speak
    Of sins of yours, that brought calamity
    Upon the human race, and fell disease,
    Alas, the sins more terrible, by far,
    Committed by your children, and their souls
    More restless, and with mad ambition fixed,
    Against them roused the wrath of angry gods,
    The hand of all-sustaining Natu...

    Wandering from the parent bough,
    Little, trembling leaf,
    Whither goest thou?
    "From the beech, where I was born,
    By the north wind was I torn.
    Him I follow in his flight,
    Over mountain, over vale,
    From the forest to the plain,
    Up the hill, and down again.
    With him ever on the way:
    More than that, I cannot say.
    Where I go, must all things go,
    Gentle, simple, high and low:
    Leaves of laurel, leaves of rose;
    Whither, heaven only knows!"

    Children of Fate, in the same breath
    Created were they, Love and Death.
    Such fair creations ne'er were seen,
    Or here below, or in the heaven serene.
    The first, the source of happiness,
    The fount whence flows the greatest bliss
    That in the sea of being e'er is found;
    The last each sorrow gently lulls,
    Each harsh decree of Fate annuls.
    Fair child with beauty crowned,
    Sweet to behold, not such
    As cowards paint her in their fright,
    She in young Love's companionship
    Doth often take delight,
    As they o'er mortal paths together fly,
    Chief comforters of every loyal heart.
    Nor ever is the heart more wise
    Than when Love smites it, nor defies
    More scornfully life's misery,
    And f...

    What doest thou in heaven, O moon?
    Say, silent moon, what doest thou?
    Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully
    Thou wanderest o'er the plain,
    Then sinkest to thy rest again.
    And art thou never satisfied
    With going o'er and o'er the selfsame ways?
    Art never wearied? Dost thou still
    Upon these valleys love to gaze?
    How much thy life is like
    The shepherd's life, forlorn!
    He rises in the early dawn,
    He moves his flock along the plain;
    The selfsame flocks, and streams, and herbs
    He sees again;
    Then drops to rest, the day's work o'er;
    And hopes for nothing more.
    Tell me, O moon, what signifies his life
    To him, thy life to thee? Say, whither tend
    My weary, short-lived pilgr...

Where Is Seen A Young Maiden, Dead, In The Act Of Departing, Taking Leave Of Her Family.


    Where goest thou? Who calls
    Thee from my dear ones far away?
    Most lovely maiden, say!
    Alone, a wanderer, dost thou leave
    Thy father's roof so soon?
    Wilt thou unto its threshold e'er return?
    Wilt thou make glad one day,
    Those, who now round thee, weeping, mourn?

    Fearless thine eye, and spirited thy act;
    And yet thou, too, art sad.
    If pleasant or unpleasant be the road,
    If gay or gloomy be the new abode,
    To which thou journeyest, indeed,
    In that grave face, how difficult to read!
    Ah, hard to me the problem still hath seemed;
    Not hath the world, perhaps, yet understood,
    If thou beloved,...

(THEN UNFINISHED.)


    Though all the nations now
    Peace gathers under her white wings,
    The minds of Italy will ne'er be free
    From the restraints of their old lethargy,
    Till our ill-fated land cling fast
    Unto the glorious memories of the Past.
    Oh, lay it to thy heart, my Italy,
    Fit honor to thy dead to pay;
    For, ah, their like walk not thy streets to-day!
    Nor is there one whom thou canst reverence!
    Turn, turn, my country, and behold
    That noble band of heroes old,
    And weep, and on thyself thy anger vent,
    For without anger, grief is impotent:
    Oh, turn, and rouse thyself for shame,
    Blush at the thought of sires so great,
    Of children so degenerate!

    Alien in mien, in geni...

    Such wast thou: now in earth below,
    Dust and a skeleton thou art.
    Above thy bones and clay,
    Here vainly placed by loving hands,
    Sole guardian of memory and woe,
    The image of departed beauty stands.
    Mute, motionless, it seems with pensive gaze
    To watch the flight of the departing days.
    That gentle look, that, wheresoe'er it fell,
    As now it seems to fall,
    Held fast the gazer with its magic spell;
    That lip, from which as from some copious urn,
    Redundant pleasure seems to overflow;
    That neck, on which love once so fondly hung;
    That loving hand, whose tender pressure still
    The hand it clasped, with trembling joy would thrill;
    That bosom, whose transparent loveliness
    The color from t...

    Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think
    I should again be turning, as I used,
    To see you over father's garden shine,
    And from the windows talk with you again
    Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt,
    And where I saw the end of all my joys.
    What charming images, what fables, once,
    The sight of you created in my thought,
    And of the lights that bear you company!
    Silent upon the verdant clod I sat,
    My evening thus consuming, as I gazed
    Upon the heavens, and listened to the chant
    Of frogs that in the distant marshes croaked;
    While o'er the hedges, ditches, fire-flies roamed,
    And the green avenues and cypresses
    In yonder grove were murmuring to the wind;
    While in the house were heard, at inter...

    When, as a boy, I went
    To study in the Muses' school,
    One of them came to me, and took
    Me by the hand, and all that day,
    She through the work-shop led me graciously,
    The mysteries of the craft to see.
    She guided me
    Through every part,
    And showed me all
    The instruments of art,
    And did their uses all rehearse,
    In works alike of prose and verse.
    I looked, and paused awhile,
    Then asked: "O Muse, where is the file?"
    "The file is out of order, friend, and we
    Now do without it," answered she.
    "But, to repair it, then, have you no care?"
    "We should, indeed, but have no time to spare."

    It was the morning; through the shutters closed,
    Along the balcony, the earliest rays
    Of sunlight my dark room were entering;
    When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes
    Its softest and most grateful shadows casts,
    There stood beside me, looking in my face,
    The image dear of her, who taught me first
    To love, then left me to lament her loss.
    To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such
    A countenance as the unhappy wear.
    Her right hand near my head she sighing placed;
    "Dost thou still live," she said to me, "and dost
    Thou still remember what we were and are?"
    And I replied: "Whence comest thou, and how,
    Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I
    Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think
...

    The night is mild and clear, and without wind,
    And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round
    The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals
    Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,
    Hushed now is every path, and few and dim
    The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.
    Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light
    And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart
    Consumes; and little dost thou know or think,
    How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made.
    Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn,
    That seems to greet me with a loving smile,
    And to that Nature old, omnipotent,
    That doomed me still to suffer. "I to thee
    All hope deny," she said, "e'en hope; nor may
    Those eyes of thine e'er shine, save through their tears."...

    Here, on the arid ridge
    Of dead Vesuvius,
    Exterminator terrible,
    That by no other tree or flower is cheered,
    Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around,
    O fragrant flower,
    With desert wastes content. Thy graceful stems
    I in the solitary paths have found,
    The city that surround,
    That once was mistress of the world;
    And of her fallen power,
    They seemed with silent eloquence to speak
    Unto the thoughtful wanderer.
    And now again I see thee on this soil,
    Of wretched, world-abandoned spots the friend,
    Of ruined fortunes the companion, still.
    These fields with barren ashes strown,
    And lava, hardened into stone,
    Beneath the pilgrim's feet, that hollow sound,
    Where by their nest...

    This lonely hill to me was ever dear,
    This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part
    Of the remote horizon. As I sit
    And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive
    The boundless spaces that beyond it range,
    The silence supernatural, and rest
    Profound; and for a moment I am calm.
    And as I listen to the wind, that through
    These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice
    I with that infinite compare;
    And things eternal I recall, and all
    The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives,
    And utters its complaint. Thus wandering
    My thought in this immensity is drowned;
    And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea.