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 THE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 
 
 DANTE ALIGHIERI; 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 THE POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA AND CONVITO. 
 
 TRANSLATED 
 
 BY CHARLES LYELL, A.M. 
 
 Formerly Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambringe. 
 
 Tosto spero 
 Che altro messaggio il vero 
 Fara in pill chiara voce manifesto. 
 
 fo venni sol per isvegliare altrui. 
 
 PrerrarRcn. 
 LONDON: 
 WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET. 
 MDCCCXLV. 
 
PQ4315 5 L8 1845 McLennan 
 Dante Alighieri. 
 
 The lyrical POCeEMS Of Dante 
 Alighieri 
 
 71870857 
 
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 LONDON: 
 
 Triree TRITEFRIAPS 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFI 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SIR WILLIAM JACKSON HOOKER, K.H., LL.D., F.R.S. 
 &e. &e. &e. 
 
 DIRECTOR OF THE ROYAL GARDEN OF KEW, 
 
 
 
 My pear Sir WI14m, 
 
 I am happy to have this opportunity of recording our long friendship and my | 
 obligations to you. The pleasure which I found in your society, when a humble fellow-labourer 
 in aiding your earliest botanical work, “The British Jungermanniee,” awakened an enthusiasm which 
 your kindness, constant correspondence, and admirable publications have never suffered to expire: a 
 spark of it remains ; and now, when age and infirmities have put an end to out-door pursuits, has 
 been expending itself in reflection on the writings of Dante. This little volume is the result. Allow 
 
 me the gratification of dedicating it to you ; and of expressing thus publicly my sincerest esteem and 
 
 
 
 
 regard. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 
 
 
 My dear Sir William, 
 
 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHARLES LYELL. 
 
 
 
 
 Kinnorpy, 7th March, 1845. 
 
 
 

 

 
 ; 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 --—— @- — 
 
 THe following are the only translations which 
 have appeared, in English, of the Lyrical Poems of 
 Dante. The greater part of them were published 
 in 1835, under the title of “'The Canzoniere of 
 Dante, Italian and English,” and comprehended 
 all those given by Professor Arrivabene, in the 
 * Amori e Rime di Dante” (Mantova 1823); to 
 that collection are now added a few from Professor 
 Karl Witte’s “ Dante Alighieri’s Lyrische Gedichte” 
 (Leipzig 1842) ; and others from the “Opere 
 Minori di Dante” (Firenze 1834), by P. J. 
 Fraticelli. 
 
 The poems of the Vita Nuova and Convito have 
 been carefully revised, and the Canzoniere has 
 been divided into two parts. Part 1. containing 
 the genuine poems of Dante ; Part 2. the doubtful 
 ones. In selecting the former, I have followed 
 Fraticelli. Among the latter are included not only 
 
 | those which he considers doubtful, but others which 
 
 he pronounces to be spurious, and thinks he has 
 traced to their proper authors. They have all 
 been printed in the name of Dante, at various 
 times, from well known ancient MSS. which give 
 his name to them ; and the question of authenticity 
 as to some in Part 2. is far from settled. 
 
 In the present edition (in deference to the pub- 
 lisher) the Italian text has been omitted. This, 
 
 | the translator has reason to regret, as it would 
 
 afford a ready apology for much that is strange or 
 obscure. It may be presumed, however, that the 
 reader who is disposed to confront the translation 
 
 with the original, will not be unprovided with the 
 
 _works of Dante. 
 
 
 
 
 
 The two publications which have 
 been mentioned, of Fraticelli and Professor Witte, 
 are particularly desirable for that purpose, and 
 are very valuable, from giving the various readings, 
 and being copiously enriched with original notes, 
 and with interesting critical and controversial disser- 
 tations. The German translation, too, occasionally 
 differs materially from mine. 
 
 The controversy as to the nature of the Mistica 
 Donna, the allegorical lady of the poet’s love, first 
 called my particular attention to these poems. It 
 is unquestionable that in most instances they are 
 intended to bear a double meaning, and that the 
 words of Dionisi apply to them as truly as to the 
 Commedia of Dante : 
 
 *«<T’interno, il misticoe’l pit prezioso dellagrand’ 
 opera di Dante Alighieri rimane in pit luoghi quasi 
 tesoro nascosto a scoprire: sicché in ordine a 
 queste segrete cose, le quali non sono né poche né 
 lievi, ella par che sia 
 
 Come pintura in tenebrosa, parte, 
 Che non si pud mostrare, 
 Ne dar diletto di colorné d’arte.” 
 Dante Canz. 1x, Amor che muovi. 
 
 
 
 * Prefaz. alla ediz. Bodoniana della Diy. Com. 
 
 +266. 
 
 
 
 To assist the student in ascertaining this internal 
 mystical sense has been my object ; and with this 
 view I have studied to make the translation cor- 
 respond to the Italian with scrupulous exactness, 
 line for line, and almost word for word ; the out- 
 ward and literal sense being the first indispensable 
 step towards a right understanding of the interior 
 sense concealed under an allegory. 
 
 “ Perocché in ciascuna cosa che ha’l dentro e’1 
 fuori, 6 impossibile venire al dentro se prima non 
 si viene al di fuori.” (Conv. Trat. 2. ¢. 1.) 
 
 Verbal fidelity is the sole merit to which such a 
 translation as this can have any pretension. There 
 is difficulty in making such a one readable, the want 
 of spirit and elegance is inevitable, and it must be 
 acknowledged, that as a representation of the 
 original it is most unfaithful. The character of its 
 imperfections cannot be more strongly drawn than 
 in the language of Giuseppe Baretti, when speaking 
 of a similar work of his own. I must be allowed 
 to hope however, that, if applied to my translations, 
 the portrait is an exaggeration. 
 
 “To non vo estendermi in apologie della mia 
 Traduzione, che, considerata la differente indole 
 delle due Lingue, ho fatta ad verbum quanto m’é 
 stato possibile. . Una Traduzione libera non fu mia 
 intenzione di fare, perché non avrebbe quadrato col 
 mio Disegno. Stando attaccato a’ miei originali 
 quanto dovetti qui stare, mi fu impossibile conser- 
 vare alcuna delle loro bellezze ; e chiunque sa due 
 Lingue sara tosto persuaso di tale impossibilita. 
 Egli vedra che il simplice e il facile debbe in simil 
 caso diventar rozzo e plebeo ; il forte e il sublime 
 cangiarsi in fantastico ed ampolloso ; il chiaro e 
 metodico in intricato ed oscuro ; e l’ingegnoso e 
 piacevole in freddo e puerile: Vedra che i sali 
 Svaporeranno ; che svaniranno le grazie ; e che la 
 proprieta delle parole, la sceltezza delle frasi, la 
 giustezza delle allusioni, il concatenamento de’ 
 pensieri, lasoavita de’ numeri’ e la musica delle rime, 
 tutto tutto trasformerassi in fiacchezza, in durezza, 
 in dissonanza, in confusione. Considerisi dunque 
 il mio Libro soltanto come un simplice vocabolario, 
 che davvero non é altro ; e allora la mia Traduzione 
 non riuscira inutile quantunque non elegante.”’ 
 
 For a concise history of the life of Dante and of | 
 
 his times, which is essential for understanding his 
 minor Poems as well as his Commedia, I would 
 refer the student to a volume of the same form as 
 the present, the last edition of the “ Vision of 
 Dante,” by the lamented Mr. Cary, to whose 
 encouragement this revisal of the Canzoniere owes 
 its appearance. 
 
 Professor Rossetti has made a bold and hazar- 
 dous attempt to develope the mysteries of the 
 poetry of Dante, and of his era. His learning, 
 ingenuity and eloquence, should have secured to 
 his writings a fair examination ; but to the reproach 
 
 
 
 ae ee 
 
 so 
 
 eS 
 
 Sez 
 
 : 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 of criticism, their merits are overlooked ; the errors 
 and vulnerable parts alone seem to have been 
 sought for ; and even these are assailed more by 
 ridicule and sarcasm, than by argument. I gladly 
 | take this opportunity of acknowledging the informa- 
 tion and assistance which he has been ever ready 
 to afford me ; and the pleasure I have had in his 
 uninterrupted correspondence since the first ap- 
 pearance of his “ Comento Analitico, 1826.” 
 
 There are many friends to whom I feel myself 
 greatly indebted for remarks and strictures ; and 
 
 vi LANGUAGE OF LOVE. 
 
 to two in so particular a manner that I must be |} 
 allowed-to name them. First, in point of time, |} — 
 my acknowledgments are due to Mr. John Edward |} 
 
 Taylor, author of the elegant philosophical work, || 
 “ Michael Angelo considered as a Poet.” More |} 
 
 recently I have been equally favoured by Mr. G. 
 Polidori, the well-known Italian poet, and translator 
 of Milton. To him, too, | am under a further 
 obligation in his having unexpectedly honoured me 
 by giving an Italian translation of an Essay on the 
 Catholic Spirit of Dante. 
 
 
 
 ON THE AMATORY LANGUAGE OF THE EARLY ITALIAN 
 
 Love, as treated by Dante, and by all the lyrical 
 poets at the revival of literature, is a poetical 
 invention of a singular character, derived chiefly 
 from the writings of Plato, but blending the beau- 
 tiful fables of Greece with Christian theology. The 
 philosophy and poetry of Paganism supply the 
 form and outline; the expression and colouring 
 are given by the worship of the Virgin Mary, the 
 ‘spirit of chivalry, and the language of the school- 
 men. From this association arise its principal 
 peculiarities ; the deification of Love, the planetary 
 influence of the third heaven, the pre-eminence 
 assigned to intellectual beauty, the high veneration 
 of the female character, and the refined nature 
 and mysticism of the passion ; in which purity, 
 gentleness, and dignified humility, constitute the 
 brightest graces in the beloved ; and loyalty, con- 
 stancy, and devoted attachment to a single mistress, 
 the noblest virtues in the lover. 
 
 From the idea, too, of the peculiar spirituality 
 of the senses of sight and hearing, and of their 
 | being the only ones with which angels are gifted, 
 _ proceeds the poet’s never-ending praise of the eyes, 
 the smile, and lips of his mistress ; the eyes giving 
 the promptest and surest indication of mental 
 intelligence, the smile bespeaking goodness of 
 heart, and the lips being the vehicle by which 
 every generous sentiment is conveyed. In the 
 extravagance of figurative language, even the 
 tresses of the fair one are made the emblems of 
 her mind, and every beautiful feature is the repre- 
 sentative of an intellectual charm. 
 
 The stream from this fountain of Love divides 
 itself into two principal branches, the human and 
 the divine, the latter is known to few, nor can 
 be perfectly tasted without a total abstraction of 
 the mind from earthly concerns, and the placing 
 of the affections exclusively on heaven. The former 
 is attainable by a virtuous union of thé sexes, 
 founded on a rational choice of kindred minds, and 
 cherished by concord and by continued acts of 
 virtue. But besides a heavenly and a natural love, 
 the love towards the Creator and his creature, the 
 poet treats every ardent desire under the deno- 
 mination of that passion ; and his favourite pursuit, 
 | whatever it may be, whether of art, or science, or 
 a gratification of the senses, is often personified 
 and addressed as his mistress. 
 
 At the time when Dante wrote, the jealous eye 
 of the Inquisition made it dangerous for any man 
 whose knowledge was in advance of his age to 
 
 
 
 POETS. 
 
 express his opinions and escape persecution : they | 
 were, therefore, cautiously conveyed in poetry | 
 under an allegory, and most frequently under that 
 of love. Dante himself, in his Convito, informs 
 the reader that the lady who is the object of his 
 love, and to whom all his poems are dedicated 
 after the death of Beatrice, is Philosophy ; a term | 
 so ample as to embrace every worthy object of 
 human intelligence, and fully to justify Professor | 
 Rossetti in the inquiry whether religion and polities | 
 are not intended by him to be comprehended in- 
 the mystical character of the lady of his lyrical | 
 poetry ; since he has treated of both so fearlessly | 
 and dangerously in the Commedia. 
 
 The most pleasing compositions of the medizeval 
 poets are those which give a picture of the real 
 affections of the heart in the intercourse of the | 
 sexes ; and the delicacy with which the passion of 
 love is treated, particularly by Dante and Petrarch, 
 is peculiar to them. Its origin is ascribed to per- 
 sonal attractions, but its nourishment and perma- 
 nence are made to depend on those that are 
 intellectual. It is the child of Nature, but Reason 
 is its tutor, and produces a regeneration of mind 
 that tends to ennoble virtue and genius in this life, 
 and prepares it for divine love and heavenly bliss 
 hereafter. | 
 
 When an allegorical love is the subject of the 
 poem, the lady is generally the personification of a | 
 very complex idea, and often becomes an mexX=| 
 plicable enigma. ) 
 
 Most of the peculiarities and fanciful ideas of 
 the poets, which contribute to this obscurity, may | 
 be traced to Plato; and as a great part of them are | 
 found in his dialogue entitled “ The Banquet,” @ 
 slight sketch of it may not be unacceptable. 
 
 At this celebrated Banquet, each of five guests | 
 is supposed to deliver a panegyrie upon Loye, and 
 the subject is treated under every possible point of | 
 view ; sportively by some, seriously by others, and | 
 most fully, logically, and sublimely by Socrates, 
 who closes the discussion. 
 
 Pheedrus, the first speaker, in a graceful but | 
 desultory manner, praises Love as a divinity born | 
 without parents, who sprung into existence out of 
 Chaos, at the instant when the Earth arose : the 
 oldest of the Gods and highest in dignity : chief 
 author of virtue and happiness in mankind: be- 
 stowing bliss that is unequalled on the young, when 
 affection is reciprocal and both the lover and the 
 beloved are equally worthy : inspiring the refined 
 
 ———— 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 mind with a continual desire to arrive at higher 
 excellence : and capable of elevating the ignoble 
 mind to a level with one born with the most excel- 
 lent dispositions. He treats the passion of Love 
 as an exalted friendship, capable of existing as 
 ardently between man and man as between “hie 
 different sexes ; and represents it as the incentive 
 which awakens more strongly than any other that 
 principle which leads to right eonduet in every 
 circumstance of life, the sense of shame ; through 
 which the lover, beyond all other persons, dreads 
 lest any unworthiness in him should be discovered 
 or suspected by his beloved ; and at the same time 
 is fired with a noble ambition to equal the perfec- 
 tions and win the admiration of the object of his 
 affection : a principle so powerful, he adds, that if 
 a city or an army could be entirely composed of 
 lovers, it would be invincible and matchless in feats 
 of heroism and virtue. 
 
 Pausanias, a statesman, next eulogises Love, as 
 the influence of two divinities of the name, Celestial 
 and Terrestrial Love ; each the offspring respec- 
 tively of a celestial and terrestrial Venus. Celestial 
 Venus is the elder, and is said to have sprung from 
 Uranus, born without a mother ; and hence the 
 deity Love, descending from her, partakes of her 
 masculine origin ; restraining youthful marriages, 
 when the understanding is immature ; inspiring 
 friendship, love of the moral characte r, and every 
 bold and manly sentiment of highest importance 
 to the public interest. Terrestrial Venus is ac- 
 knowledged as the daughter of Jupiter and Dione, 
 and hence the corre sponding Love which is her 
 offspring partakes of the male and female cha- 
 
 ‘acter ; inciting to pleasures and indulgences inno- 
 cent in themselves, but requiring the curb of reason 
 to restrain them within the bounds of temperance; 
 a curb which too often proves insufficient, and 
 licentiousness, inconstancy, and injustice is the 
 consequence. Pausanias concludes his discourse 
 with prudent advice to a lady who is courted, not 
 to allow herself to be too soon won ; since time 
 only is the test by which the motives of the lover 
 can be ascertained ; whether they be interested 
 and mercenary, or founded perhaps on the attrac- 
 tion of external beauty only ; or whether they 
 spring from admiration of the manners and dispo- 
 sition, and of a well-formed moral character, 
 qualities which alone are amiable and abiding, and 
 can win the lover whose constancy may be depended 
 on through life, 
 
 Erysimac hus the physician follows. He admits 
 the two divinities s, a heavenly and an earthly Love, 
 and asserts that the spir it of the two perv vades all 
 nature, animate and inanimate, human and divine ; 
 and that by their joint influence they form the 
 moving, attracting, and connecting power that 
 generates the harmony of the universe, by a union 
 of discordant principles. His panegyric is directed 
 to Love as the influence of this combined principle, 
 which operates in reproducing all the works of 
 
 nature, that time and the disuniting principle are 
 continually destroying ; which directs all the arts 
 and sciences to the attainment of their end ; 
 prompting the physician to promote health by main- 
 taining a just balance of sympathies andantipathies ; ; 
 the religious instructor to instil piety towards Gods 
 and men by a due observance of the conflicting 
 duties of religion and worldly pursuits. This is the 
 Love attendant on the Muse Urania, and is the 
 
 LAN GUAGE 
 
 OF LOVE. vii 
 
 
 
 source of every happiness to man; a divinity 
 differing widely ‘from that other Love, the attendant 
 of Polyhymnia, and all the Muses indiscriminately, 
 to whose suggestions we must listen with caution, 
 if we would enjoy his pleasures without introducing 
 disorder and incurring the re proac thes of reason. 
 
 Aristophanes, the comic poe t, is the next speaker, 
 and to the amusement of the guests he treats the 
 subject of love in a style of humour peculiarly his 
 own. He describes a pre-existent state of three 
 sorts of human beings, united in pairs, male with 
 male, female with female, and male with female ; 
 ach with two faces, four arms, four legs, &e. Their 
 powers were remarkable, and their rebellious 
 spirit provoked Jupiter, he says, to punish them 
 by dividing each into two, and reducing them to 
 two- legge d and two-armed males and fem: ales only : 
 threatening them with a further bisection, which 
 should compel them to hop on one leg, if they 
 offended any more. To this state of things he 
 ascribes the passion of love, whether between differ- 
 ent sexes or the same ; it being nothing more, he 
 says, than the desire of the soul to find its original 
 partner, and to be reunited to it. Sad mistakes 
 often occur in the search ; but when by chance 
 the happy discovery is made of the true dissevered 
 partner, which is the good fortune of but fe Wy & 
 union takes place productive of the greatest hap- 
 piness permitted to man’s present condition. If, 
 then, says Aristophanes, this good fortune be the 
 best abeoluste ly, it follows that the next best, in our 
 circumstances, must be that which appr oaches to it 
 the nearest ; and that is to meet with partners in 
 love whose temper and disposition are the most 
 agreeable and similar to our own. In giving glory 
 to the divine cause of this similarity and mutual 
 fitness, we celebrate in a proper manner the praise 
 of Love. A deity who gives us in our present 
 state relief and consolation, by leading us to our 
 proper good ; and further gives us the fairest 
 hope, that if we pay due regard and reverence to 
 the ¢ Gods, he will hereafter, in restoring us to our 
 primitive nature, and removing the evils we now 
 endure, make us perfec tly blest and happy. 
 
 Agatho, the poet, and donor of the feast, follows 
 Aristophanes ; and in a speech partly sportive and 
 partly serious, confounds under the name of Love 
 the subject, the object and the cause of the passion ; 
 the lover, his mistress, and the inspiring deity. 
 After his example the medizeval poets do the same ; 
 but go further, and often form one essence of the 
 three ; the deity Love being only a personification 
 of the cause of the passion, Love and the beloved 
 mistress are but one ; and by a fanciful interchange 
 of hearts, the lover and the beloved are converted 
 into one, ‘and thus the three are united and iden- 
 tified. Agatho panegyrises Love as the youngest 
 of the Gods, the offspri ing of Venus, the be auty of 
 nature, at whose birth arose every good that blesses 
 either Gods or mortals ; a divinity supreme in 
 excellence, and adorned with perpetual youth ; who 
 like his parent, is all beauty and all grace ; fixing 
 his throne in the inmost recess of the. gentle heart, 
 avoiding the aged and morose, having dominion 
 over ple asure and desire, enjoying pertect liberty, 
 and when tempered by reason, inspiring eloquence 
 and poetry, courtesy, delicacy and benevolence, 
 and every sentiment ‘end talent that is good and 
 amiable. 
 
 Socrates follows Agatho, and commences his 
 
 |S 
 
 a eee 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 —= 
 
 | eee 
 | Vill 
 
 -—_———— 
 
 | oration, like his predecessor, with a genealogy of 
 | Love; thus seeming to sanction the established 
 religion of his country, which converted every 
 work of nature And every unseen cause into a 
 deity and an object of worship ; though the sequel 
 shows that a pure monotheism was his private 
 creed, 
 
 He first represents Love as a divinity, the off- 
 spring of a union of Porus and Penia, of Plenty 
 
 
 
 and Want, and who came into being at a feast | 
 
 made by the Gods in honour of the birth of Venus. 
 He views Love also as a genius of an intermediate 
 nature between the human and divine ; a medium 
 between the plenitude and indigence of good ; 
 between wisdom the highest good and ignorance 
 
 the lowest deficiency ; also as a mediator between 
 | the subject and object of desire, the lover and the 
 beloved. But when Socrates examines the ques- 
 tion, What is Love? seriously and logically, he 
 discourses in this way. / Love, he says, in its most 
 comprehensive sense, is the desire of good ; it is 
 that longing after happiness which exists in every 
 individual of the human kind, a mighty power 
 which in various ways subdues and governs the 
 hearts ofall. In its limited and appropriate sense 
 it is the desire of beauty : a desire of uniting itself 
 with the beautiful, of possessing it, and retaining it 
 in perpetuity. But beauty and goodness are con- 
 sidered by him as one ; for beauty is either external 
 or internal, material or intellectual, and intellectual 
 beauty is virtue ; Love, then, is the desire of virtue, 
 the desire of a union with a virtuous mind ; and 
 vice being mental deformity is Love’s abhorrence. 
 
 The desire of perpetual possession of the object 
 beloved is a desire of immortality ; and Socrates 
 refers the generation of all animated nature, all 
 inventions in art and science, all glorious deeds, 
 and productions of genius, to the influence of Love. 
 A man, says Socrates, whose mind has been well 
 cultivated and teems with the seeds of wisdom, 
 when these have arrived at maturity, feels the 
 desire to communicate and implant them; he 
 meets with outward beauty, and is charmed with 
 it, and turns away from deformity. In his search 
 for the object of his desire, he learns to appreciate 
 the superior worth of mental endowments ; and 
 when he happily meets with the inward and hidden 
 beauty of a well-natured and generous soul, though 
 combined only with a moderate share of external 
 beauty, and obtains its possession, his attachment 
 to the beautiful object becomes indissoluble. <A 
 union of heart and soul, of affection and reason, 
 takes place in such a pair. Virtue, its nature and 
 its duties, become the subject of their interchange 
 of thought, and each strives to perfect the cha- 
 racter of the other. An eloquence unknown to all 
 but lovers flows from their lips, and the seeds of 
 wisdom burst forth spontaneously and generate a 
 beautiful progeny. The mortal nature seeks to be 
 perpetuated, and as far as possible immortalised 
 on earth, desiring to leave behind it, when it 
 departs, a new being bearing its resemblance : 
 both parents join in cherishing and cultivating the 
 fruits of their love and converse, and a friendship 
 of the most perfect kind cements them. They are 
 held together by a double bond of union, having 
 besides the bond of a corporeal offspring, another 
 common and joint offspring of themselves, more 
 
 beautiful and more enduring, the virtues of the 
 mind. 
 
 
 
 
 
 LANGUAGE OF LOVE, 
 
 
 
 
 
 The conclusion of the speech of Socrates is in a 
 
 1 ae 
 b 
 3 
 
 loftier strain of thought and eloquence, and might 
 have suggested to. Dante the sublime conceptions © 
 with which he terminates his Vision of Paradise, 
 It is to be remarked, that the profound doctrines 
 delivered by Socrates are declared not to have 
 
 originated with himself, but to haye been imparted | 
 
 to him by Diotima, a priestess gifted with more 
 than human wisdom; doctrines which conduct 
 the mind by a gradual ascent to the contemplation 
 of the beauty and unity of the First Cause, of that 
 Being which is beauty and goodness itself; a 
 union with whom is the end of human existence, 
 the sole object of heavenly love, and which alone 
 can confer immortal felicity. In like manner, the 
 divine instructions delivered by Dante are imparted 
 to him by Beatrice, the representative of chris- 
 tian theology, as she soars with him from heaven 
 to heaven through Paradise ; she, ever increasing 
 in beauty as they ascend ; and he, becoming more 
 enamoured of her, and more competent to under- 
 stand her ; till at the last she conducts him to the 
 Empyrean, where, contemplating the beautiful, the 
 fountain of truth, he tastes the ineffable bliss of 
 the beatific vision. 
 a 
 
 Socrates, after dilating on the proper study of 
 beauty, both material and intellectual, and on the 
 progress of a well-regulated mind in forming a 
 just estimate of its degrees of excellence, concludes 
 as follows : 
 
 To go then, or to be led by another, along the 
 right way of Love is this ; beginning with the 
 consideration of beauties of lower rank, to proceed 
 to those that are higher, in a continual ascent, all 
 the way proposing the highest beauty as the end, 
 and using the rest merely as so many steps in the 
 progress ; ascending from one to another through 
 all the varied degrees of beauty in bodies, both 
 animate and inanimate ; from the beauty of bodies 
 to that of souls, from the beauty of souls to that of 
 arts, the objects of honourable and worthy exer- 
 tions ; from the beauty of arts to that of sciences, 
 the objects of right and virtuous contemplation ; 
 and if the soul be endowed with a genius of the 
 higher kind, she rests not there, nor fixes her attach- 
 ment on any one of these beauties or mental excel- 
 lences in particular, but rises from hence to the 
 contemplation of that universal, original, and 
 exemplar beauty, from which everything beautiful 
 both in the intelligible and sensible world proceeds. 
 Whoever then is advanced thus far in the mys 
 teries of Love, by a right and regular progressof con- 
 templation, attains an intellectual power approach- | 
 ing to intuition, and will suddenly discover, bursting 
 into view, a beauty astonishingly admirable ; that 
 very beauty, to the gaining a sight of which the 
 aim of all his preceding’ love and studies had been 
 directed ; a beauty whose peculiar characters are 
 these : In the first place, it never had a beginning, 
 nor will ever have an end, but always IS, and 
 always flourishes in perfection, unsusceptible of 
 growth or of decay. In the next place, it is not 
 beautiful only when looked at in one way, or seen 
 in one light, at the same time that viewed another 
 way, or seen in some other light, is far from being 
 beautiful; it is not beautiful only at certain times; 
 or with reference only to certain circumstances, 
 being at other times, or when things are otherwise 
 circumstanced, quite the contrary : nor is it beau- 
 tiful only in some places, or as it appears to some 
 
 ; 
 
 U 
 ‘hed 
 
 
 
LANGUAGE 
 
 persons, whilst in other places or to other persons 
 its appearance is the reverse of beautiful : nor can 
 this beauty, whichis indeed no other than the beau- 
 tiful itself, ever be the object of imagination, as if 
 it had face, or hands, or other parts belonging to 
 body ; nor is it some particular art, or some par- 
 ticular science : all other forms that are beautiful 
 participate of this ; but in such a manner they 
 participate, that by their generation or destruction 
 this suffers no diminution, receives no addition, nor 
 undergoes any alteration: it resides not in any 
 other being, not in any material or immaterial 
 substance, not in the earth, nor in the heavens, nor 
 in any part of the universe ; but simple and sepa- 
 rate from all other things, it subsists alone with 
 itself, and possesses an essence eternally uniform. 
 Here then is to be found, here, if anywhere, the 
 supreme good, the happy life, the ultimate object 
 ef desire to man ; which is, to live beholding this 
 consummate beauty, the divine essence, in its own 
 simplicity of form. In beholding it with that eye 
 with which alone it is possible to behold it here, 
 thus, and thus only, true Virtue can be conceived 
 and attained : and he who attains her, and cherishes 
 her till she be mature, will become a favourite of 
 the Gods, will taste of immortality even in this life, 
 and at length will be, if ever man deserve to be, 
 himself one of the immortals. 
 
 This speech of Socrates on Love has been the 
 prolific source of the most beautiful ideas in ancient 
 lyrical poetry. It teaches that—in the words of 
 Milton— 
 
 Love refines 
 The thoughts, and heart enlarges; hath his seat 
 In reason, and is judicious; is the scale 
 By which to heavenly love thou may’st ascend. 
 P. L. vim, 589. 
 
 And in Milton’s words, too, Socrates might with 
 truth be addressed, 
 
 Well hast thou taught the way that might direct 
 Our knowledge, and the scale of nature set 
 From centre to circumference; whereon, 
 In contemplation of created things, 
 By steps we may ascend to God. 
 P. L. v. 508. 
 
 These steps constitute what is called the Platonic 
 scale, of which, according to Crescimbeni,* there 
 are six degrees. 
 
 Ist degree.—Contemplation of personal beauty 
 in a human individual. 
 
 2d degree.—Contemplation of intellectual beauty 
 in the same. 
 
 3d _degree.—Contemplation of material beauty 
 considered universally and abstractedly. 
 
 4th degree.—Contemplation of intellectual beauty 
 considered universally, abstracted from matter; by 
 which the soul becomes conscious of its dignity, is 
 converted, and a spiritual death and regeneration 
 follow. 
 
 5th degree.—The light of The Beautiful received 
 into the soul. 
 
 6th degree. 
 itself. 
 
 Crescimbeni observes that a sonnet may be 
 poetically beautiful though it only conveys an out- 
 ward sense ; but that to approach to perfection it 
 must also have an inward sense, and will be most 
 
 The discovery of The Beautiful 
 
 * Della Bellezza, &c., Dial. L., Vol. VI., Ediz. Venezia, 
 1730. 
 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 perfect when the whole six degrees of the Platonic 
 
 scale are concealed, with poetic skill, under an | 
 allegory. As an example of a sublime sonnet, 
 marking distinctly four of the degrees, and imply- 
 ing the other two, he gives the following one of | 
 Costanza : 
 
 Nell’ assedio crudel, che l’empia sorte 
 
 Mi tiene a tal, che l’ alta impresa io lasce, 
 
 Benché manchi la vista, onde si pasce 
 
 Per gli occhi, non perd |’ alma é men forte. 
 Perché le viene ogn’ hor per altre porte 
 
 Quell’ immagin gentil, che dalle fasce 
 
 Le diede il Ciel per cibo, onde rinasce 
 
 In lei ‘1 vigore, e sprezza ogn’ or la morte. 
 Ne insidie umane mai, né caso avverso 
 
 Potranno avere in lei cotanta forza, 
 
 Ch’ ella si renda, e ch’ abbia a mutar verso. 
 Che quanto dell’ inferma afflitta scorza 
 
 Di fuori abbatte il mio destin perverso, 
 
 Tanto dentro il pensier salda, e rinforza, 
 
 The verbal translation of the sonnet is as fol- 
 lows :— 
 
 ist Quartina.—In the cruel siege which impious fate 
 is carrying on against me, to make me abandon the 
 lofty enterprise, the soul is not less strong, although 
 the sight be wanting of that object with which it 
 is nourished through the eyes. 
 
 24 Quartina—For through other entrances, that 
 gentle image, which from infancy heaven gave her 
 for her food, is constantly coming to her, whence 
 her vigour is born anew, and death she ever doth 
 despise. 
 
 ist Terzina,x—Nor human wiles, nor adverse chance 
 shall ever have sufficient power against her to 
 compel her to surrender and to change her course. 
 
 2d Terzina.—For greatly as my perverse destiny sub- 
 dues the weak and afflicted outward frame, as 
 greatly is the mind within invigorated and con- 
 firmed. 
 
 This, on the surface, appears to be a mere love 
 sonnet, and the feelings of the poet to be expressed 
 in common poetical metaphors. He declares his 
 passion for a noble lady, whose beauty he has 
 admired from childhood ; his resolution to endea- 
 vour to win her ; that formidable obstacles oppose 
 his purpose ; that the lady is absent ; but that her 
 image is ever present to his mind ; that his love is 
 continually strengthened by it, and can never die ; 
 nor can his purpose be shaken ; for though his 
 bodily health is suffering, he feels his mental vigour 
 and resolution ever increasing. 
 
 The following is a concise abridgment of Cre- 
 scimbeni’s explication of the allegorical sense :— 
 
 ist Quartina.— The lofty enterprise is heavenly 
 love; the sixth and last degree of the Platonic 
 scale. The siege, is the contest between reason 
 and the senses, to which man by his nature is 
 constantly subjected. The object which nourishes 
 the soul, through the eyes, is personal beauty, the 
 first degree of the scale. The soul is not less strong 
 in the absence of the beloved; for through imagina- 
 tion she is still present, and the intellectual power 
 of beauty is felt; the second degree of the scale. 
 
 2d Quartina.—Beauty finds its way to hissoul through 
 other entrances than the eyes; implying that the 
 soul contemplates beauty universally, and in the 
 abstract ; which is the third degree of the scale. 
 The vigour of the soul is born anew; denoting a 
 regeneration of the soul, a consciousness of its 
 dignity, a spiritual death; the fourth degree of 
 the scale. 
 
 Ist Terzina.—The soul, he says, can never be made 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
' which it is interspersed. 
 
 | her charms. 
 the beginning of the last nine hours of night, he 
 
 | standing. 
 _ conceal that love is the cause ; but finds it desir- 
 able to hide his attachment to Beatrice: and an 
 
 
 
 ANALYSIS OF THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 to change its course in the advance to heavenly 
 love; wherefore the sixth and last degree of the 
 scale will surely be attained. 
 
 2d Terzina.—The afflictions of the body only serve 
 to invigorate the soul and confirm its resolutions ; 
 whieh implies, that the influence of divine light 
 is received into it; and thus denotes the fifth degree 
 of the scale. 
 
 Whether this sonnet of Costanza be judiciously 
 
 ANALYSIS OF 
 
 Tue Vita Nuova is a short narrative in prose, 
 serving chiefly as a comment on the poems with 
 It commences thus :— 
 In that part of the book of my memory, before 
 which there is little that one would be able to read, 
 stands a rubric, which says, “Incipit Vita Nova.” 
 
 | Under that rubric I find the incidents recorded 
 | which it is my intention to string together in the 
 following book. 
 
 Dante then proceeds to relate his first meeting 
 
 | with Beatrice, when both were about the age of 
 
 nine ; he describes her appearance ; its extraor- 
 
 | dinary effect upon all his faculties, especially upon 
 
 three of them, and the lasting impression left by 
 Nine years after this interview, at 
 has the dream related in— 
 
 Son. I. A ciascun alma presa. 
 
 Dante circulated the sonnet among the celebrated 
 
 | poets of the day, and requested an interpretation 
 
 of the dream. A reply was given by Guido Caval- 
 canti in the sonnet— 
 
 Vedesti, al mio parere, ogni valore. 
 
 This was the commencement of Dante’s friend- 
 
 ship with Guido, whom he calls the first- of his 
 friends, and dedicates to him the Vita Nuova. He 
 
 observes, that at that time the true meaning of his 
 sonnet was not seen by any one; but that after- 
 wards it became evident to the most simple under- 
 Dante suffers in his health, nor can 
 
 occurrence, when at church, makes many persons 
 suppose another lady to be the object of his regard. 
 He encourages the mistake: then relates, that 
 wishing to record the name of Beatrice in a poem, 
 accompanied by the name of this lady and of many 
 
 _ of the most beautiful of the city, he selected the 
 
 names of sixty, and found that the ninth place in 
 the list was the only one in which the name of 
 Beatrice could be allowed to stand. 
 
 The lady, who serves to conceal his real love, 
 
 _ has occasion to leave the city, and Dante, to carry 
 
 | says, referrible to Beatrice, 
 
 on the deception, circulates a pretended lamenta- 
 tion, many sentiments of which are in truth, he 
 
 Bal. I. O Voi che per la via. 
 
 After this, a young lady who was a general favou- 
 
 rite in the city, and a companion of Beatrice, dies. 
 
 | Dante commemorates her in two poems, with a 
 
 THE 
 
 
 
 chosen for an example, or the allegorical interpre- 
 
 tation be satisfactory to the reader, or not, the 
 
 high authority of Crescimbeni makes it suitable for || 
 our purpose as an illustration of the poetic use of |} 
 the Platonic scale, and completes what we have || 
 thought might be serviceable to the student, as an |} 
 introduction to the right understanding of the |} 
 language of love in the lyrical poems of Dante,. 
 
 ‘ 
 hey 
 
 VITA NUOVA. 
 
 covert allusion to Beatrice in the conclusion of 
 each. 
 Son, Il. 
 
 Bal. I. 
 
 Piangete amanti. 
 Morte villana. 
 
 A circumstance occasions Dante to leave the city, 
 with the intention of going to the place whither the | 
 lady, his protectress, had retired; as he travels 
 along sorrowfully at the thought of a lengthened | 
 separation from Beatrice, and is following the 
 course of'a clear stream, he encounters Love upon 
 the way, habited as a pilgrim, who directs him to 
 return, and to adopt a new fictitious mistress, whom | 
 he names, and then disappears. 
 
 
 
 Son. lil. Cavalecando, I’ altr’ ier, 
 
 Dante makes the same screen of the lady pointed 
 out to him by Love as he had done of the former, 
 in concealing his attachment to Beatrice. Many 
 are deceived, and Beatrice suspects his fidelity, and 
 discontinues to honour him with her salute, which 
 constituted all his happiness. Love gives him 
 counsel in a vision at the ninth hour of day, which 
 he follows, as related in 
 
 Bal, ILL. 
 
 3allata, io vo’. 
 
 | 
 Dante is perplexed by reflections on the good 
 and evil attending love, and declares that Pity 
 alone can remove his doubts and defend him in the 
 struggle of the will. 
 
 Son, IV. 
 
 
 
 Tutti li miei pensier: 
 
 In the presence of Beatrice, Dante is abashed, 
 and he perceives that his altered manner excites 
 the derision of her and the ladies in her company. 
 His feelings in consequence are expressed in three 
 sonnets. 
 
 Son. V. 
 Son. VI. 
 Son. VII. 
 
 Con l’altre donne. 
 Cid che m’incontra. 
 Spesse fiate vegnonmi. 
 
 Dante resolves to take a nobler subject for his 
 poems than the state of his own mind; and since 
 the salute of Beatrice was denied him, to seek for 
 happiness in recounting her praise. 
 
 Canz.I. Donne che avete. 
 
 Love being the subject of the above Canzone, & 
 friend puts the question to him : What is love ? to 
 which Dante replies, 
 
 Son. VIII. Amore e’l cor gentil. 
 
 Dante gives Beatrice as an example of loveliness, 
 
 and of the power of exciting the passion of love, | 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 en 
 ha tif 
 , 
 : , 
 eaM 
 Inte. ¥ 
 Ue 
 Mites 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ANALYSIS OF THE VITA NUOVA. xi 
 
 not only where it slept, but where it never had 
 been felt. 
 
 Son, IX. Negh occhi porta. 
 
 The father of Beatrice dies. Dante meets some 
 mourners who had left Beatrice in the deepest 
 affliction. His inquiries and their reply are ex- 
 pressed in the two sonnets. 
 
 Son. X. Voi che portate. 
 Son. XI. Se’ tu colni. 
 
 Dante when lying on a sick-bed, on the ninth 
 day of his illness, has a delirious dream, repre- 
 senting to him Beatrice asdead. He relates the 
 dream in 
 
 Canz. II. Donna pietosa. 
 
 Dante’s imagination brings before him, in a 
 vision, Love, then Giovanna, called also Primavera, 
 (the mistress of his friend Guido Cavalcanti), then 
 Beatrice, close following her, as related in 
 
 Son. XII. Io mi sentii. 
 
 Dante discourses on the origin of Italian love 
 verses ; on the personification of Love, and of in- 
 animate things in general; on allegory, which he 
 says, unless it conveys a clear moral sense, when 
 stript of its figurative language, is foolish and worth- 
 less. He then renews his praise of Beatrice, 
 saying that she excites universal admiration, is the 
 ‘ause of her companions being admired, and that 
 her virtue has irresistibly captivated him ; which 
 is expressed in the three following sonnets. 
 
 Son. XIII. 
 Son. XIV. 
 Son. XV. 
 
 Tanto gentile, 
 Vede perfettamente. 
 Si lungamente. 
 
 Beatrice dies, (on the ninth of June, 1290) in 
 the ninth month, Tismin, of the Syriac year ; on the 
 tenth term of nine years of the thirteenth century 
 in which she was born. This he s says was in con- 
 sequence of all the nine spheres having been in 
 harmony at her birth, and that it produc ed this 
 miracle of beauty. 
 
 He says that after the death df Beatrice, he 
 addressed an epistle in Latin to the principal per- 
 sons of the disconsolate city, beginning with the 
 words of Jeremiah : Quomodo sola sedet civitas, 
 &e. * How doth the city sit solitary, (Lam. i. 1.) 
 
 Dante then records the inestimable worth and 
 beauty of Beatrice, and the world’s irreparable loss 
 by her death. 
 
 Canz. III. Gli occhi dolenti. 
 
 Dante composes a lament at the request of the 
 nearest relation of Beatrice, who is also his dearest 
 friend, except one. He voluntarily adds a Ballata, 
 in the first stanza of which Beatrice is lamented, 
 he says, as by a brother ; in the second as by a 
 lover ; the two poems are, 
 
 Son, XVI. 
 Bal. LV. 
 
 Venite a intender. 
 Quantunque volte. 
 
 On the anniversary of the death of Beatrice, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Dante was employing hina If in painting an angel, 
 and so absorbed in his occupation, that some | 
 
 friends had been overlooking his work before he | 
 
 perceived them. He after wards addresses a sonnet 
 to them, recording the circumstance, and adopts 
 two beginnings ; in the first, merely stating that 
 his mind had ei entirely engrossed with the 
 remembrance o 
 was so engrossed at the moment when his friends 
 were watching him. The bicipital sonnet is the 
 following. 
 
 Son. XVII. Era venuta. 
 
 Dante finds himself in a plac e which reeallstimes | 
 
 past, and renders him pensive and exceedingly 
 sorrowful. At a window he sees a lady observing 
 him with pity: the effect it has upon him is re- 
 lated in ; 
 
 Son. XVIII. Videro gli occhi. 
 
 Continued demonstrations of pity on the part of 
 the same lady, produce feelings described in 
 AIX. 
 
 Son. Color d’amore. 
 
 The pleasure which Dante takes in seeing this 
 lady, awakens self-reproach,. 
 
 n. XX. L’amaro lagrimar, 
 
 In another sonnet which he addresses to the 
 lady, he describes, in a dialogue between the heart 
 and the soul, the struggle in his mind between 
 inclination and reason. 
 
 Son. XXII. Gentil pensiero. 
 
 A vision at the ninth hour 
 Dante, as she appeared to him at their first inter- 
 view ; he repents the having given way to an 
 snelivie ition towards another lady : - and from that 
 time all his thoughts and w ishes are directed to 
 Beatrice alone. 
 
 Son. XXII. Lasso! per forza. 
 
 Pilgrims from a far country pass through the 
 city on their way to Rome, to see the Santa 
 Veronica. 
 mating that the sorrowful state of the 
 occasioned by the death of Beatrice. 
 
 city 
 
 Son, XXITI, Deh! peregrini. 
 
 Two ladies send to request some of Dante’s 
 compositions in verse. He, 
 them, resolves to honour the request in an especial 
 manner, and therefore sends them Sonnet VI. and 
 Sonnet XXIII., together with 
 
 . 
 
 Son. XXIV. Oltre la spera. 
 The Vita Nuova concludes with Dante’s decla- | 
 ration, that a vision had determined him to cease 
 
 from writing further upon Beatrice, until he should | 
 worthy of her ; | 
 and | 
 
 be able to do so in a manner more 
 that all his studies were directed to that end ; 
 that if his life should be spared, he hoped to cele- 
 brate her as no other lady had ever been celebrated. 
 
 
 
 f Beatrice ; in the second that it | 
 
 Dante addresses a sonnet to them, inti- | 
 
 a a 
 
 shows Beatrice to | 
 
 
 
 through respect for | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ON THE CONVITO. 
 
 ON THE CONVITO. 
 
 oe 
 
 THe Convito, or Banquet, is the principal prose 
 work of Dante, and was intended to contain a com- 
 ment, literal and allegorical, of fourteen of his 
 canzoni ; but was only completed as to three ; the 
 remaining eleven are supposed to be the second 
 and ten following canzoni inclusive of this col- 
 lection: the first canzone of which appears to 
 belong to the subject of the Vita Nuova. 
 
 To this feast of wisdom Dante invites all who are 
 desirous of knowledge. The choice viands, he says, 
 are his canzoni; and the bread, without which 
 such fare would be unwholesome, is his exposition 
 of them. Great variety of learning is displayed, 
 particularly in metaphysics and theology, and there 
 are many parts of extraordinary beauty and elo- 
 quence ; but mixed with others that are fanciful 
 and unintelligible. This obscurity however, he 
 informs us, is sometimes not unintentional, but 
 
 ANALYSIS OF 
 
 THE 
 
 Hy 
 designed to avoid the commission of a greater || 
 fault. His motive, he says, in publishing the com- || 
 ment is principally to remove an obloquy affecting 
 his character, through misconception of his poems, 
 which were attributed to the predominance of the |} 
 passion of love, but were in reality the dictates of || 
 virtue. He reminds.us, that although it is a work || 
 of a riper age and sounder intellect than the Vita 
 Nuova, that he means not to derogate in the 
 slightest degree from that work, but to throw light 
 on it, and confirm it by the Convito: that the 
 language of each is proper for the age at which it 
 was composed ; the former ardent and passionate, 
 the latter temperate and manly ; and he desires 
 that the lady to whom his affections became de- 
 voted after the death of Beatrice, may be under- 
 stood to be Philosophy. 
 
 CONVITO. 
 
 —----¢@. — — 
 
 BOOK If. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE CONVITO: DEFENCE OF THE 
 ITALIAN IDIOM, IN WHICH IT IS WRITTEN. 
 
 Cuap. 1. Man has anatural desire of knowledge : 
 all men cannot obtain it: he who possesses the 
 food of wisdom ought to be bountiful in bestowing 
 it: of this food the present banquet is composed ; 
 and the bread to be eaten with it consists in the 
 exposition of fourteen Canzoni. 
 
 _Cuar. 11. The author apologises for the neces. 
 sity of speaking of himself; he intimates that 
 virtue, and not the passion of love, is the moving 
 cause of his Canzoni, and that their meaning is 
 hidden under the veil of allegory, and would remain 
 unknown to all unless he explained it. 
 
 Car. 111. He apologises for a little obscurity 
 that will be found in the Convito: he hints that 
 his misfortunes are the cause, and shows how from 
 that he may have lost the esteem of some men, 
 though wrongfully. 
 
 : : 
 
 Cuap. tv. He adds that he had endeavoured to 
 write the Convito in a loftier style, and with the 
 more gravity, that he might recover the good 
 opinion of those Italians who misjudged him. 
 
 Cuap. v. He proceeds to prove that in this work 
 propriety required him to use the vulgar idiom and 
 not the Latin; for the Canzoni being written in 
 Italian, a Latin comment would have been superior 
 in nobility, power, and beauty of language, and 
 therefore unsuitable. 
 
 Cuap. vi. He adds that the Latin comment would 
 
 like a servant who is ignorant of the mind of 
 18 master and of his friends ; for the Latin does | 
 
 not comprehend a knowledge of the Italian, and is 
 not commonly known to all who speak Italian. 
 
 Cuap. vit. He gives other reasons why a Latin 
 comment would have been unsuitable: to the un- 
 learned it would have been insufficient ; and to 
 the learned it would have been more than enough, 
 by making the sense of the Canzoni more generally 
 known than was intended or desirable. ; 
 
 Cuap. vit. He further says it would be unsult- 
 able, as his Convito is the fruit of perfect liberality, 
 which seeks to confer a benefit on many, to give 
 them what is useful, and requires that the gift 
 should be unsolicited. 
 
 Cuap. tx. He proves in consequence that the 
 Latin comment would not have been useful to 
 many ; would not have bestowed what is useful ; 
 and would not have been unexpected and uncalled 
 for like the Italian. 
 
 Cuar. x. He confesses that a comment in the 
 vulgar tongue is a great novelty, and he shows how 
 he was led to it by a natural love for his native 
 language, from a wish to raise it to eminence, from 
 jealousy of its interest, and a desire of defending 
 it from pretended faults which many lay to its 
 charge. 
 
 Cuap. x1. He proceeds to defend the vulgar 
 idiom of Italy, and points out five causes of the 
 contempt in which some men hold it. First, & 
 want of discretion in the greater number, who 
 blindly follow another’s erroneous opinion. Secondly, 
 the pretence of some who would willingly attribute 
 to a defect in the Italian language, the defect m 
 their own ability to use it. Thirdly, a vain glory 
 of knowing Latin, which others do not know. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Hy 
 || which some men fear that the Italian language can 
 |) never reach the excellence of the Latin. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Le 
 
 
 
 , Fourthly, envy, caused by not knowing how to 
 ¥ make good use of the vulgar idiom, which another 
 
 ifthly, a contemptible want of spirit, by 
 
 Cuap. xu. Having exposed these worthless 
 causes of the disparagement of the vulgar idiom, 
 he declares his confirmed attachment to it ; from 
 his natural and intimate connexion with it, from 
 his habit in the use of it, and from its intrinsic 
 worth. 
 
 Cuap. x1. He concludes that his preference 
 for the Italian is confirmed from benefits that he 
 has received from it, from its being a step to the 
 Latin, and thence to his advancement in science ; 
 from its being the language of his parents, from 
 his having availed himself of it through life, and 
 from having laboured to give it stability by num- 
 bers and rhyme. 
 
 Ge 
 
 BOOK II. 
 EXPLICATION OF CANZONE I. 
 
 THE CONSOLATIONS OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Cuap. 1. The author says that in commenting 
 on his Canzone he shall explain the literal and 
 allegorical sense, and shall touch incidentally. the 
 moral and anagogical sense : each of which senses 
 he illustrates by an example. 
 
 ANALYSIS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 
 
 Xlil 
 
 | and terrestrial. beauty, and entirely subdues his 
 
 mind. 
 
 Cuap. 1x. He first removes an objection which 
 might be urged respecting the contrariety of the 
 two thoughts, both of which are the offspring of 
 Love ; and hence a derivation of the same intelli- 
 
 | gences, and therefore ought not to be opposed to 
 
 each other. He shows, however, in what way the 
 thought of a superior and celestial nature may be 
 brought to change itself into one of an inferior and 
 terrestrial nature ; without which the principal 
 thought would fail of its effect. Then, having 
 touched upon the union of soul and body, and of 
 their separation, he discourses on the immortality 
 of the soul, and says that he intends to speak no | 
 more in the Convito of Beatrice, the living and the 
 blessed. 
 
 Cuap. x. He continues the explanation, Stanza 
 III. v. 27 to 39, and describes the nature of the 
 internal contest springing from the opposing 
 thoughts. 
 
 Cuap. x1. Explanation continued, Stanza IV. 
 v. 40 to 52, Discourses on wisdom, courtesy, and | 
 grandeur. 
 
 Cuap. x11. He explains the “Tornata,” the 
 concluding address to the canzone, Stanza V. | 
 v. 53 to the end. - Intimating that the sentiments 
 and internal worth of the canzone may not be 
 
 | understood ; but he trusts that its outward beauty, 
 
 Cuap. 1. He gives a hint of the argument of 
 5 5 i 
 
 the first Canzone, * Voi che intendendo,” &c., and 
 says it is divided into three principal parts ; and 
 shows its connexion with the Vita Nuova. The 
 first part is the invocation, “ Ye who by intellect 
 move the third heaven.” The second part describes 
 the mental struggle between love of the memory 
 of Beatrice, and love of Philosophy. The third 
 part is the Comiato, the address to the poem itself, 
 in the fifth and concluding stanza. 
 
 Cuap. 111. He discourses on the astrological 
 systems of Aristotle and of Ptolemy, and gives 
 some necessary notices for the understanding of 
 what heaven it is he speaks. 
 
 Cuap. iv. He shows that it is the heaven of | 
 Venus. He explains the nine heavens of Ptolemy ; | 
 beyond which the Catholic Church places a tenth, | 
 
 the Empyreum. 
 
 Cuap. vy. He then speaks of the celestial intelli- 
 gences, and proves that the Gentiles had an im- 
 perfect idea of them. THe discourses also on the 
 two beatitudes of life, the active life, and the 
 contemplative life. 
 
 } 
 
 Cuap. vi. He explains the celestial hierarchy, | 
 
 and shows that the particular intelligences to which 
 his canzone refers, are the Thrones, the order of 
 angels which moves the third heaven, the heaven 
 of Venus, the heaven of Love. 
 
 Cuap. vit. He then explains the text of the first 
 part of the canzone, Stanza I. v. 1 to 13, which is 
 an invocation to the above-mentioned intelligences, 
 to hear and aid him in an internal struggle between 
 two affections. 
 
 CHap. vir. He continues the explanation, 
 Stanza II. v. 14 to 26, and shows that his inward 
 struggle arises from a thought which sweetly 
 prompts him to contemplate the glory of his lady 
 in the kingdom of the blest ; and another contrary 
 thought which represents to him her corporeal 
 
 
 
 from construction, order, and rhythm, must be 
 apparent. 
 
 Cuap. x1. Having shown the literal meaning 
 of the canzone, he proceeds to the exposition of 
 the allegory, which refers to his love of Philosophy, 
 the lady to whom he became devotedly attached 
 after the death of Beatrice, having sought conso- 
 lation and found it in her, after reading the works 
 of Boetius and Cicero. 
 
 Cuap. xry. He proceeds to explain the allegory 
 concerning the third heaven, to whose intelligences 
 the canzone is addressed, and shows the corre- 
 spondence of the nine heavens to the nine sciences, 
 and of the first seven, to Trivium and Quadrivium. 
 
 Cuap. xv. He proceeds further to show the 
 similitude between the superior heavens and the 
 sciences, physics aud metaphysics, to which they 
 correspond ; the Empyreum being the symbol of 
 Theology. 
 
 Cuap. xvi. Having shown in the two preceding 
 chapters that the third heaven corresponds to the 
 science of rhetoric, and the intelligences whom he 
 addresses to the rhetoricians, he explains the 
 allegorical sense of various passages of the canzone, 
 and concludes with saying that the sweetness of 
 the instructions of Boetius and Cicero had led him 
 to the love of Philosophy, the most beautiful and 
 most virtuous daughter of the Emperor of the 
 Universe, and that she is the lady whom he 
 addresses, in an anagogical sense, in this canzone. 
 
 a oe 
 
 BOOK III. 
 EXPLICATION OF CANZONE IL. 
 
 THE PRAISES OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Cuap. 1. He explains the argument of the second 
 canzone, which is to praise, as far as lies in his 
 power, the excellence and virtue of the lady who 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
= 
 
 
 
 . ws ¥ “4, a at tp? ee M 
 Sy res cs ie i % ae 
 = 7 ae ae ee ees ee - 
 
 xiv ANALYSIS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 is the object of his second love, namely Philosophy. 
 
 He shows that his strong attachment proceeds 
 from three motives ; first, to do honour to him- 
 self, through the merits of the object of his attach- 
 ment ; next, to do honour to her from his labours 
 in her service ; and lastly, to remove the imputa- 
 tion of seeming to have exchanged the love of 
 Beatrice for that of another lady. He divides the 
 canzone into three parts; the first, from v. 1 to 
 18 ; the second, from v. 19 to 54 ; the third, from 
 v. 55 to 72. 
 
 Cuap. 11. He subdivides the first part into three ; 
 
 and in this chapter explains the first subdivision, | 
 
 to v. 8, showing the sublimity of the argument he 
 
 had chosen, and that the love of which he discourses 
 is that of his soul for a noble lady, the image of 
 divine light, so united to his soul that his thoughts | 
 
 are continually exercised in the endeavour to attain 
 a perfect knowledge of this lady’s worth. He dis- 
 
 courses on love generally ; and on the vegetative, | 
 
 sensitive, and reasoning souls. 
 
 Cuap. 111. He shows that as truth and virtue 
 afford the noblest delights to the mind, his love is 
 most worthily placed ; 
 desirous to be able to express with words as he 
 
 feels himself inadequate to do so, from the ineffable | 
 
 virtues of the beauty of his beloved. 
 Cuap. iv. He then explains the causes of his 
 
 insufficiency to express truly the ineffable merits | 
 
 of his lady, and continues the comment from v. 9 
 
 to 13, and from v. 14 to 18, which concludes | 
 
 Stanza I, 
 Cuap. v. He continues the comment from v. 19 
 to 36, and shows first that he had rightly said of 
 
 the sun, (v. 19,) that it revolves round the world, | 
 
 meaning by world the terraqueous globe, and then 
 
 discourses largely on the astronomical system of 
 5 « 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 Cuap. vi. He continues the comment from | 
 
 v. 19 to 36, (Stanza IT.) and commends and displays 
 the excellence of his lady both in respect of soul 
 and body. 
 CHAP. VII. 
 (Stanza III.) and commends his lady, more espe- 
 cially respecting the beauty of the soul ; showing 
 that the virtue proceeding from it is useful to the 
 
 whole world ; since in her is exhibited a continual | 
 
 miracle, conceived in the mind of the Deity, and 
 ordained from eternity for the strengthening of 
 our faith. He then discourses on intelligence, 
 human and divine. 
 
 Cuap. vil. He explains from v. 55 to 72, 
 (Stanza IV.) commending his lady in respect of the 
 
 body, and showing that even in that particular she | 
 
 aids our faith, and furthers the divine intention in 
 producing that effect. He dwells particularly on 
 the power of expression in the eyes and the mouth, 
 and on the beauty of her silent smile. 
 
 Cuap. 1x. He comments the conclusion, or 
 comiato of the canzone, from v. 73 to 83, and 
 excuses the canzone for a seeming contradiction 
 in giving such praises to his lady, while in another 
 composition he had described her as disdainful 
 and proud. He then shows that some things even 
 in nature are not what they appear, and discourses 
 particularly on vision. 
 
 Cuap. x. He completes the literal explanation 
 of the conclusion of the canzone from v. 84 to 90. 
 
 Cuap. x1. He then proceeds to show the alle- 
 gorical sense of the canzone. The lady of his love, 
 
 a love, which he is as | 
 
 
 
 
 
 He explains from v. 37 to 54, | 
 
 
 
 
 
 he says, is the lady who is the object of his intel- 
 lectual study, and who is named Philosophy. 
 
 informs us who had given her that name, in what 
 
 it. truly consists, how noble is its end, and in what 
 sciences it is most intimately occupied. 
 Cuap. xit. He proceeds with the praises of 
 
 Philosophy, saying that his love means the study || 
 he employs to acquire her; shows how the corporeal || ~ 
 
 and sensible Sun, of which he speaks in the can- 
 zone, is an image not unworthy of the Deity, the 
 spiritual and incomprehensible Sun; and then 
 makes known how peculiarly the Deity delights in 
 Philosophy. ‘This carries the allegorical comment 
 from v. 1 to 22. 
 
 Cuap. x1. He continues the comment from 
 v. 23 to 36. He points out in what manner men 
 may be made capable of attaining Philosophy, and 
 
 He ¢ 
 
 |} 
 
 I 
 
 how a great part of her blessings are granted to | 
 
 human nature. 
 
 Cuap. x1v. Having spoken the praises of Phi- 
 losophy generally, he descends to particulars, and 
 unveils the allegory from v. 37 to 54, 
 the meaning of Donna gentile, v. 39 ; shows how 
 Philosophy operates upon human intelligences, and 
 elevates them to the love and knowledge of things 
 eternal, and to the acquisition of the three Christian 
 virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity. 
 
 Explains | 
 
 CHap. xv. He concludes the allegorical com- | 
 ment from v.55 to the end; and explains how 
 
 Philosophy generates in us true wisdom, the 
 wisdom of Scripture, the only light which we can 
 have to guide us in the brief journey of life. 
 
 —-~<- — — 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 EXPLICATION OF CANZONE III. 
 ON TRUE NOBILITY. 
 
 Cuap.1. He premises that as a follower of 
 
 Philosophy, he was an enemy to the followers of | 
 wilful error; and that among the many errors | 
 
 which divert men from the right road, it seemed to 
 
 him particularly desirable to remove one of them, | 
 
 a mistaken notion of nobility, which places it on 
 a foundation entirely different from the love of 
 virtue and wisdom. 
 in his third canzone, and that he has not made use 
 of allegory in it, im order that his remedy for 
 this common disease may take the speedier effect. 
 
 Cuap. 11. He explains the introduction of the 
 canzone, from v. 1 to 20, (Stanza I,,) and divides 
 it into three parts. The invocation (v. 18,) is to 
 Truth, the sovereign who dwells in the eyes of his 
 lady Philosophy. The argument proposed is to 
 
 show the truth, and expose the falsity respecting | 
 
 men’s ideas of nobility ; but in order to excite a 
 greater desire to hear him, he says he shall first 
 expose and remove errors, that the truth may be 
 more readily received. 
 
 Cuap. 11. He divides the remainder of the can- 
 zone into three parts: First, from v.21 to 80, 
 (Stanza IT. IIT. IV.) ; second, from vy. 81 to 140, 
 (Stanza V. VI. VII.) ; third, from v.141 to 146, 
 (Stanza VIII.) In the first, he speaks of nobility. 
 according to the false opinion of others ; in the 
 second, according to the true opinion as taught by 
 Philosophy ; in the third, he concludes the can- 
 zone. He makes further subdivisions, for which 
 
 Of this he says, he is to treat | 
 
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 | opinion of it entertained by the people. 
 
 
 
 “apologises ; but says they are lind for, hi his 
 
 || argument being a profound one, and which has 
 AS ‘been little investigated. 
 |) given the definition of nobility by an emperor, 
 
 OA 
 my 
 
 From v. 21 to is 
 _ Frederick Il. ; from v. 25 to 31, is shown the false 
 This leads 
 him to speak of the foundation of imperial autho- 
 rity, and of its great influence in strengthening 
 these errors. 
 
 Cuap. itv. He shows that the empire of a uni- 
 versal monarchy is desirable for the peace of the 
 world ; and proceeds to prove that the Roman 
 Empire was constituted for that end ; not by force 
 but by divine will, to which Rome owed its rise 
 and progress. 
 
 Cuap. v. Rome, he shows, was conceived 
 ordained by Providence to be the holy city, 
 the seat of a universal monarchy. 
 
 Cuap. vi. He considers the different qualities of 
 imperial authority, and philosophical authority ; 
 refers to the ancient philosophers, particularly 
 Aristotle, and to Scripture ; and shows that the 
 one is not repugnant to the other, but that, for the 
 good of the people, it is necessary that the autho- 
 rity of the prince should be joined to that of the 
 Philosopher. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 and 
 and 
 
 He then exposes the old and false 
 
 opinion of the vulgar, that he is noble, whose 
 ancestor was noble, though the descendant be 
 
 utterly worthless in himself. 
 comment of the second stanza. 
 
 Cuap. vill. He shows that in impugning the two 
 erroneous opinions upon nobility, that of the vulgar 
 and that of the emperor Frederick IJ., he does not 
 fail in due respect, either to him or ‘to Aristotle. 
 First in regard to the philosopher. 
 
 Cuap. rx. Then in regard to the emperor. 
 
 Cap. x. Having shown that he is at libe rty to 
 
 This completes the 
 
 | reprove the false opinions of others upon nobility, 
 
 he proves the falsity of that of the emperor, who 
 makes it dependent upon ancestry ; and then, in 
 showing that riches can neither by time nor by 
 abundance give a title to nobility, he exposes the 
 falsity of that of the vulgar. Thus completing the 
 comment from v. 41 to 55. ; 
 
 Cuap. x1. To show that riches have no necessary 
 connexion with nobility, he asserts that they are 
 defective as well in their acquisition, as in ‘their 
 increase, and in their possession. And first as 
 || regards their acquisition, that it is generally con- 
 trary to distributive justice. 
 
 Cuap. x11. Then with respect to their increase, 
 it generates an insatiable desire of acquiring more. 
 This carries the comment from vy. 56 to 58. He 
 next considers how such a desire is adverse to the 
 love of science ; then to show how different is the 
 nature of these twodesires, he discourses onthe in- 
 stability and variety of men’s desires in the search 
 after happiness. 
 
 Cuap. x11. He then proves that the desire of 
 science leads to perfection, however much it may 
 be increased ; whereas the desire of riches is in- 
 creased to the de triment of perfection. He shows 
 that their possession is hurtful, both as the cause 
 of evil and the privation of good ; which developes 
 the sentiment of v. 59 and 60. 
 
 Cyap. x1v. Having shown that riches do not 
 constitute nobility, he proves that neither time nor 
 
 ancestry are truly required for the possession of 
 it, v. 61 to 68. 
 
 
 
 
 
 } 
 
 
 
 ANALYSIS 5 OF THE CONVITO., 
 
 
 
 XV 
 
 
 
 Cuap. xv. He overtheona the error, that a low- 
 born man cannot be noble, vy. 69 to 80. 
 
 Cuap. xvi. He proceeds to comment the second 
 part of the canzone, from v. 81 to 140, and makes 
 various divisions. He observes that it is first 
 necessary to define what is meant by the word 
 nobility. 
 
 Cuap. xvil. He explains the canzone from vy. 
 81 to 88; and shows that the degree of human 
 perfection required to constitute true nobility, is 
 necessarily founded in the exercise of the moral 
 virtues ; and that these alone lead to perfection 
 and happiness in this life. 
 
 Cuap. xvill. He continues the comment from 
 v. 89 to 100; and proves, that as every virtue 
 proceeds from a principle of perfection, nobility is 
 that principle from which the virtues proceed as 
 an effect from its cause. He supports his reason- 
 ing by an obscure philosophical proposition. 
 
 Cuap. x1tx. He continues the comment from 
 v. 101 to 108, and proves that where active virtue 
 is, there is always nobility ; in like manner, as 
 where there are stars, there is always heaven ; and 
 as where heaven is there are not always stars, so 
 he shows that where nobility is, there is not always 
 active virtue. Modesty, for e xample, being a noble 
 feeling, but not one of the moral virtues. 
 
 Cuap. xx. He continues the comment from v. 
 109 to 120, and affirms that nobility is the seed 
 of happiness, placed by the Deity in a human 
 mind rightly disposed to receive it ; and that to be 
 noble, it is not sufficient to descend from a noble 
 stock ; but that fruits must be borne to confer 
 true nobility, which fruits are the moral virtues. 
 
 Cuap. xxi. He undertakes to show how the 
 principle of nobility descends into our souls by 
 celestial influence, explains the opinions of Plato, 
 Aristotle, and others on the nature of the soul, 
 shows that ina natural way the human soul may 
 obtain a state of such perfect generation, as to be 
 enabled to show itself divine in its operations, even 
 in the midst of the i impe ‘diments of the body ; and 
 by theological reasoning shows, that the Deity 
 may grant to the human soul all the gifts which 
 are ascribed to the Holy Ghost, because the 
 granting them is the work ‘of divine love alone. 
 
 Cuap. xxiI. He proceeds to prove how by this 
 principle of nobility, it is granted to man to reach 
 the end of the happiness for which he is destined ; 
 and how this happiness, which is imperfect in the 
 active life, and nearly perfect in the contemplative 
 life, may become perfect in the highest degree in 
 a future life,through the vision of the Deity. He 
 explains allegoric ally the visit of the three Marys 
 to the tomb of the Saviour. (Mark xvi.) 
 
 Cuap. xxii. Having explained the idea of true 
 nobility, the seed of virtue given by the Deity to 
 conduct man to eternal happiness, he proceeds with 
 the comment from v. 121 to 140 (Stanza VIL.) ; 
 and shows that the man who is noble, gives mani- 
 fest signs of his nature in every age of life, the 
 course of which he compares to an arch, v. 121 to 
 124, 
 
 Cuap. xxiv. Hecontinueshis argument in general 
 upon the division and duration of the four ages of 
 life ; ane comments particularly on v. 135 to 
 128 ; and having asserted that to each age the 
 exercise of peculiar virtues is becoming, he pro- 
 en to treat of those which are siitable to Ado- 
 lescence, which he makes to terminate at the age 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 XV1 
 
 of twenty-five ; and first dilates on the virtue of 
 obedience. 
 
 Cuap. xxv. He then treats of gentleness, of the 
 sense of shame, and of horror of a bad action, of 
 modesty in thought and act, thence of the improve- 
 ment of the person, that is, of the beauty and the 
 agility of the body. 
 
 Cuar. xxvi. He comments v. 129 to 131, and 
 shows that temperance, strength, love, courtesy, 
 and loyalty are becoming to the age of youth ; the 
 period of from twenty-five years to forty-five. 
 
 Cuap. xxvul. He comments v. 132 to 135, and 
 shows that prudence, justice, bounty, and affability 
 are the virtues peculiarly becoming to Old Age, 
 the period from forty-five to seventy years. 
 
 Cuap. xxviul. He comments from v. 136 to 139. 
 | Passing to the period beyond three-score and ten, 
 | the fourth and last age of human existence, he 
 shows that its duties are, to prepare itself for a 
 return to the Deity, to feel contentment for the life 
 that has been past, and to bless it, as a journey 
 which must be performed, or the joys of heaven 
 cannot be attained. 
 
 
 
 CONVITO, 
 
 ANALYSIS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 BOOK IV, 
 
 Cuap. xxix. He comes to the last verse, (v. 140,) 
 of the seventh stanza, and presuming that the mis- 
 take must be evident of those who believe men to 
 be noble, because they spring from ancient and 
 famous families, he observes further, that the great 
 actions of ancestors are of no avail in covering the | 
 base actions of descendants ; that a progeny suf- | 
 fices not to perpetuate nobility, since the good | 
 who have flourished in virtue cannot prevent the 
 birth of the wicked, who may change both the con- 
 dition of the family and the name. 
 
 Cuap. xxx. He terminates the comment, and 
 the Convito, with an explanation of the concluding 
 address to the canzone, v. 141 to 146 ; in which 
 he recommends the instructions which it contains 
 to all those whose minds are the dwelling- 
 Philosophy.* a 
 
 
 
 * V. Appendice al Convito, da Scholari. Padova 1828, 
 Argomenti delli Trattati e delli Capitoli del Conyito, 
 p. 27 et seg. 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 TABLE OF DANTE’S FIVE AGES OF MAN, AND OF THE DUTY 
 
 PARTICULARLY CALLED FOR IN BACH. 
 
 
 
 PERIOD OF LIFE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Childhood 
 
 
 
 Adolescence 
 
 of life 
 
 Old age 
 
 
 
 Extreme old age 
 
 Summit of the arch || / 
 
 
 
 Tx 
 
 acquire life. 
 
 
 
 To confirm it. 
 
 To employ it well. 
 
 To attain its summit, 
 | To perfect it. 
 | 
 To direct it to its ultimate end, 
 2. €. to GOD. 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 | 
 | To end it in peace. 
 
 “Il vivere dell’ uomo é ragione usare.” (Convito, B. iy. ec. 7.) 
 
 Uomini, studiate Dante, studiatelo bene: 
 
 e in questa breve e misera vita sarete meno infelici. 
 
 Egli vi scorge a Dio. 
 
 
 
 ScoLARI. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 ; 
 
 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 POEMS 
 
 SONNET I. 
 A ciascun’ alma presa e gentil core. 
 
 To every captive soul and gentle heart, 
 Into whose sight the present song shall come, 
 Praying their thoughts on what it may portend, 
 Health in the name of Love, their sovereign 
 
 _ A third part of the hours had almost past 
 Which show in brightest lustre every star, 
 When suddenly before me Love appeared, 
 Whose essence to remember gives me horror. 
 
 Joyful Love seem’d, holding within his hand 
 My heart, and in his arms enfolded lay 
 
 | Madonna sleeping, in a mantle wrapt. 
 
 Then waking her, he with this burning heart 
 
 Courteously fed her, and in fear she ate. 
 
 That done, I saw him go his way in tears. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 REPLY OF GUIDO CAVALCANTI. 
 Vedesti, al mio parere, ogni valore. 
 
 Txov hast beheld all power, meseems, and worth, 
 All joy and every good that man can know, 
 
 If thou hast proved the virtue of that lord 
 Who sovereign o’er the world of honour rules : 
 For he delights to live where troubles die, 
 
 _ And with a mind compassionate is just ; 
 So softly o’er the fancy steals in sleep, 
 That hearts he bears away without a pang. 
 
 _ Your heart he bore away, fo | 
 
 
 
 for he perceived 
 That to your lady Death was laying claim 
 And fearing this, sustained her with that hear 
 When he appeared to go his way in grief, 
 Sweet was the dream, for then it fully told 
 That sorrow’s opposite was conquering. 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS OF DANTE. 
 
 THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 —PPALLL LP 
 
 BALLATA I. 
 O voi che per la via d’Amor passate. 
 O ye who wander in the path of Love, 
 
 Attend to me and see, 
 
 If there be any sorrow great as mine ; 
 I pray you but to hear me patiently, 
 
 And then think whether J 
 
 Of every torment am the abode and key. 
 Love, not through merit of my slender worth, 
 But through his nobleness, 
 
 Had placed me in a life so calm and sweet, 
 That oft I heard behind me voices say, 
 
 Tell me the mighty worth 
 
 Entitles this man to a heart so light. 
 Now have I wholly lost the spirit bold 
 That from the fountain of Love’s treasure flow’d, 
 Whence I am left so poor, 
 I tremble to give utterance to thought : 
 So that, endeavouring to do like those 
 Who strive to hide their penury through shame, 
 I wear a face of joy, 
 And inwardly at heart I pine and mourn, 
 
 a ee 
 
 SONNET I. 
 Piangete amanti, poiché piange Amore. 
 YE lovers weep, for Love himself doth weep, __ 
 When you shall hear the cause whence flow his 
 
 tears ; 
 
 Love feels the piteous claim of ladies’ moan, 
 Whose eyes declare the bitterness of grief ; 
 For the rude hand of Death has done a deed 
 Of cruelty upon a gentle heart ; 
 Destroying all that merits the world’s praise 
 In gentle lady, save her honoured fame. 
 Hear now what honour she received from Lov 
 I saw him in his very person mourn 
 O’er the dead image of her loveliness ; 
 And oft he cast a wistful look to heaven, 
 Where then the gentle spirit was at rest, 
 That lady was of countenance so gay. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 aarti atmeetn anton 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA. _ 
 
 
 
 BALLATA II. | 
 Morte villana, di pieta nemica. 
 
 DiscourtTEous Death ! compassion’s 
 Of grief the parent old, 
 O judgment, ir resistible, severe, 
 Since thou hast given a theme to this sad heart, 
 On which my thoughts still dwell, 
 The tongue is wearied in upbraiding thee. 
 And if to prayer thou wilt refuse all grace, 
 *'T is just that I denounce 
 Thy cruelty, of wrongful deeds most wrong ; 
 Not that it can be hidden from the world, 
 But I would stir the wrath 
 Of all whose nourishment henceforth is love. 
 From this world thou hast driven fair courtesy, 
 And virtue most in lady to be prized ; 
 In_ gaiety of youth 
 Thou hast destroyed the gracefulness of love. 
 More of this lady I will not disclose 
 Than by her attributes may here be known: 
 He who deserves not heaven, 
 May never hope to have her company. 
 
 S enemy, 
 
 SONNET III. 
 Cavaleando I’ altr’ier per un camino. 
 
 Rip1nG the other day along a road, 
 And on my irksome j journey pondering 
 I chanced to meet with Love upon the * way, 
 Clad in a pilgrim’s light and humble garb. 
 In look he seemed dejected and forlorn, 
 As if his mighty sovereignty were lost ; 
 And sighing, was advancing pensively, 
 With head declined, to avoid the sight of man. 
 When seen of him, he called to me by name, 
 And said, I come from a far distant land, 
 Where, by my will, thy heart had been disposed, 
 And bring it here for service sweet and new. 
 Then was I so enamour’d of his will, 
 That he had vanished, and I knew not how. 
 
 BALLATA ITI. 
 
 Ballata, io vuo’ che tu ritrovi Amore. 
 
 My song, it is my wish thou find out Love, 
 And to Madonna’s presence go with him, 
 So that my sovereign in discourse with her 
 May offer my excuse, which thou shalt sing. 
 
 Thy bearing is so courteous, my song, 
 
 That unaccompanied 
 
 Thy spirit might be bold in every place ; 
 But wouldst thou go in full security, 
 
 First thou must find out Love, 
 
 For without him to go might not be well ; 
 Since she who ought to give thee audience, 
 If, as it seems, I have much angered her, 
 And thou wert not accompanied by him, 
 Might hastily perhaps dishonour thee. 
 
 In sound melodious, when thou art with him, 
 Begin the following strain, 
 
 After a prayer to be with pity heard : 
 
 %: Madonna, he whose messenger Iam, 
 When you shall please, entreats 
 That you will hear if he may be excused. 
 Love standeth here, who by your keauty’s power 
 Makes him to change his countensnce at will ; 
 Reflect then, why he made him seem to court 
 Another, for his heart hath never changed.” 
 And say, “ Madonna, yours his heaat hath been 
 With stich confirmed faith, 
 That every thought is bent on serving you ; 
 Yours was he early, nor hath ever swerv ed. és 
 If she believe thee nok: 
 Tell her to question Love, who knows the truth. 
 Lastly, prefer to her a humble priyer, 
 To pardon, if offence he may have given : 
 Let her by message order me to de, 
 And she shall see her servant wil! obey. 
 And say to him who is compassion’s skey, 
 Before thou leave the lady, 
 For he shall prove to her my loyalty : 
 “In virtue of my sweet and suppiant lay, 
 Remain thou here with her, 
 And for thy servant, plead as he desires : 
 And if she grant him pardon throigh thy pray er, 
 Make her announce his peace in b:auty’s smile.” 
 My gentle song, go when it pleaseth thee, 
 And in such time that it shall bring thee honour. 
 
 SONNET IV. 
 Tutti li miei pensier parlan d’\more. 
 
 My thoughts are all discoursing upen Love, 
 And have in them so great variety, 
 That one persuades me to desire his sway, 
 Another says his power is vanity: 
 One sweetly soothes and cheers me while I hope, 
 Another ofttimes makes my tears to flow, 
 And they alone accord in pity’s daim, 
 Trembling with fear which is witain the heart. 
 Hence know I not what argument take, 
 And sor would speak, and knov not what to 
 Say 
 Thus do 1 wander in Love’s labyrinth. 
 And if with all I would accordance mma 
 I needs must eall upon my enemy 
 Madonna Pity, to be my defence 
 
 SONNET V. 
 Con I’ altre donne mia vista gebbate. 
 
 Wits other ladies you deridé my leoks, 
 And you reflect not, lady, whene: it comes 
 That I appear to you a sight so strange 
 And alter’d when your beauty I regard. 
 If you but knew it, Pity would relent, 
 Nor with the wonted trial vex me more $ 
 For when Love finds me near ya, he assumes 
 Such boldness, and so great security, 
 That my poor timid spirits he assails, 
 And some he deadly wounds, sone drives away, 
 Till he alone remains to gaze on you. 
 Hence to another’s semblance I am changed ; 
 But not so changed that still I do not feel 
 The anguish of the exiled sufferers. 
 
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 Yung & Oc SRR ee, 2 peewee os, 
 
 Be 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 SONNET VI. 
 
 Cid chem’ incontra nella mente more. 
 
 Aut thoughts that meet within my mind expire, 
 Fair jewel, vhen I come to gaze on you ; 
 And when Iam near you, I hear Love exclaim, 
 O flee, if thy destruction thou wouldst shun. 
 
 The countenance the heart’s complexion wears, 
 Which fainting seeks support where’er it can ; 
 And through the intoxication of great fear, 
 The very stones, methinks, ery out, Die, die ! 
 
 He sins who can behold me then unmoved, 
 
 Nor comfort gives to the affrighted soul, 
 At least in showing that he pities me 
 For the distress occasioned by your scorn, 
 Which is apfarent in the deadly hue 
 Of these sad eyes that fain would close in death. 
 
 QQ - 
 
 SONNET VII. 
 Spesse fiate venemi alla mente. 
 
 Many the times that to my memory comes 
 The cheerless state imposed on me by Love ; 
 And o’er me comes such sadness then, that oft 
 I say, alas, was ever fate like mine! 
 For Love assauteth me so suddenly 
 That life itself almost abandons me : 
 One spirit alme escapes alive, and that 
 Is left, fair laly, for it speaks of you. 
 At length I make an effort for relief, 
 And so, all pele and destitute of power, 
 I come to gaze on you, in hope of cure : 
 And if I raise the eyes that I may look, 
 A trembling at my heart begins, so dread, 
 It makes the soul take flight from every vein. 
 
 ~~ — 
 
 CANZONE IT. 
 Donne the avete intelletto d’amore, 
 
 LaptEs who have intelligence of love, 
 With you of my loved lady I would speak ; 
 Not vainly thinking to exhaust her praise, 
 But in discoursing to relieve my mind. 
 I say that, in reflecting on her worth, 
 Love’s inspiration is so sweetly felt, 
 That, if my courage did not fail me then, 
 The world should be enamour’d by my words. 
 And from a fight so lofty I abstain, 
 Lest I become contemptible through fear ; 
 But of her geatle nature I will treat, 
 In lowly strain compared with her desert, 
 Ladies and damsels rich in love, with you ; 
 For ’tis a theme unmeet for other ear. 
 An angel to the intelligence divine 
 Appeals, and says : Sire, in the world is seen 
 A miracle in action, which proceeds 
 From a fair soul whose splendour mounts thus 
 high. 
 Heaven, that no want had ever known but her, 
 Entreats to have her presence of its lord, 
 And every saint aloud implores the grace. 
 Pity alone opyoses our request. 
 What is Madoana’s doom ? What God’s decree ? 
 My well-beloved, suffer now in peace 
 
 
 
 
 
 POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 
 
 That, while my pleasure is, your hope should 
 stay 
 
 Where there is one who must abide her loss, 
 
 And who shall say to the condemn’d in hell, 
 
 The hope of blessed spirits I have seen. 
 Madonna is in highest heaven desired : 
 
 Now will I tell you of her excellence. 
 
 I say then, that the lady who would show 
 
 True gentleness should walk with her ; for when 
 
 She moves, Love casts o’er vulgar hearts a 
 chill, 
 Which freezes and destroys their every thought : 
 
 A thing ennobled should become, or die ; 
 
 And when he finds one who may worthy be 
 
 To look on her, her influence is proved ; 
 
 For he receives the gift, conferring health, 
 
 And the meek spirit which forgets all wrongs. 
 
 Still hath God given her this higher grace, 
 
 That who with her converses heaven secures. 
 Love says of her, can there be mortal thing 
 
 At once adorn’d so richly and so pure ? 
 
 Then looks on her, and silently affirms 
 
 That Heaven designs in her a creature new. 
 
 A hue of pearl invests her countenance, 
 
 Suiting a lady, pale but not extreme. 
 
 All choicest gifts in nature’s power are her’s: 
 
 In her example beauty finds its test ; 
 
 Where’er she turns her eyes, from them 
 
 forth 
 
 Spirits of love, which, full of gentle flame, 
 
 Strike on the eyes of those beholding her, 
 
 And thus each finds a passage to the heart. 
 
 You see Love pictured in her countenance, 
 
 Where none has power to look with fix’d regard. 
 My song, I know that thou wilt converse hold 
 
 With many a lady when sent forth by me : 
 
 Now I admonish, having brought thee u 
 
 For one, young, modest, and the child of Love, 
 
 That where thou com’st thou shalt entreating 
 
 say, 
 
 Teach me my course, for I am sent to her, 
 
 Whose praise doth constitute my ornament. 
 
 And if thou wouldst not have thy journey vain, 
 
 Remain not where ungentle minds are found : 
 
 Endeavour, if thou canst, to be reveal’d 
 
 Only to lady or to courteous man, 
 
 Who soon will speed thee to thy journey’s end. 
 
 Love thou wilt find in company with her ; 
 
 Commend me to them, as becometh thee. 
 
 | 
 | 
 And he whom Love permits to see her long, | 
 
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 -—--} —— 
 
 
 
 SONNET VIII. 
 Amore e ’l cor gentil sono una cosa. 
 
 Love and the gentle heart are but one thing, 
 As says the wise man in his apophthegm ; 
 And one can by itself no more exist 
 Than reason can without the reasoning soul. 
 
 Nature when full of love creates the two ; 
 Love for a king, the heart for his abode, | 
 Within which palace sleeping, his repose | 
 At times is brief, at others lasteth long. | 
 
 Beauty appears in virtuous lady then, 
 
 Which so delights the eye, that in the heart | 
 Desire is born to win the pleasing thing ; 
 
 And there maintains itself at times so long, | 
 That it compels the spirit of Love to wake : 
 
 And manly worth in lady doth the same. | 
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 SONNET IX. 
 Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore. 
 
 Wituin her eyes my lady carries Love, 
 
 Whence is ennobled all that she regards : 
 
 Where’er she moves, towards her do all men 
 turn, 
 
 And the heart throbs of him whom she salutes ; 
 
 So that with countenance cast down and pale 
 He then, remembering all his failings, sighs. 
 Anger and pride before her presence fly : 
 
 O ladies, lend me aid to do her honour. 
 
 All sweetness, every humble thought is born 
 Within the heart of him who hears her speak : 
 Then blest is he who first hath look’d on her. 
 
 What she appears when she a little ‘smiles, 
 
 Tongue cannot tell nor memory retain, | 
 So new and lovely is the miracle. 
 
 
 
 ~~ -— 
 SONNET X. | 
 Voi che portate la sembianza umile. 
 
 Ye who a countenance so lowly wear, 
 Showing with downeast eyes an inward grief, 
 Whence do ye come, that your complexion’ s hue 
 Seems changed into a likeness of the tomb ? 
 
 Our gentle lady have you left, and seen 
 Her face bedew’d with tears of sorrowing love ? 
 O tell me, ladies, for so says my heart, 
 When your enviotied bearing I regard. 
 
 And if from such affliction ye do come, 
 O stay in kindness here with me awhile, 
 And whatsoe’er her state conceal it not. 
 
 For by your eyes I see that they have wept, 
 And see you come with features so disturb’ d, 
 That my heart trembles at such signs of woe. 
 
 -—<}— — 
 
 SONNET XI. 
 Se’ tu colui ch’ hai trattato sovente. 
 
 Art thou the man who of our lady hast 
 So often sung, addressing us alone ? 
 In voice thou dost indeed resemble him, 
 But in thy looks thou seem’st of other race. 
 And wherefore weepest thou so feelingly, 
 That others thou dost make to pity “thee ? 
 Hast thou too seen her weep, and hast not power 
 The anguish of thy bosom to conceal ? 
 Leave us to weep, and go our mournful way ; 
 He sins who doth attempt to comfort us, 
 For we have heard her speak amidst her tears. 
 Such woe is in her countenance express’d, 
 That who should have the heart to look on it, 
 Would in her presence through his sorrow die. 
 
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 CANZONE IT. 
 Donna pietosa e di novella etate. 
 
 A tapy, piteous and of tender age, 
 Richly adorn’d with human gentleness, 
 Stood where I oft was calling upon death ; 
 And seeing that my eyes were full of grief, 
 And listening to the folly of my words, 
 Was moved by fear to weep with bitterness. 
 
 POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 And other ladies, who were kindly drawn 
 To notice me, through her who wept with me, 
 Removed her from my side, 
 And then approach’d, to rouse me by their voice. 
 And one said, sleep no more ! 
 Another s said, why thus discomfort thee ? 
 Then fled the strange distressing fantasy, 
 As I was calling on my lady’s name. 
 ) indistinct and mournful was my voice, 
 And broken so by anguish and by tears, 
 That in my heart I only heard the name: 
 And with a countenance o’erspread with shame, 
 So strongly it had mounted to my face, 
 Love made me turn to them distractec lly ; - 
 And such was my complexion to the sight, 
 That it led others to discourse of de: ath. 
 Oh let us comfort him, 
 Said each one to the other tenderly. 
 And oft they said to me, 
 What hast thou seen, that has unmann’d thee 
 thus ? 
 And when I had regain’d some strength, I said, 
 Ladies, to you I will relate the whole. 
 Whilst I lay ‘pondering on my ebbing life, 
 And saw how brief its tenure and ‘how frail, 
 Love wept within my heart, where he abides ; : 
 For my unhappy soul was wandering SO, 
 That sighing heavily, it said, in thought, 
 My lady too most certainly shall die. 
 Such consternation then my reason seized, 
 That my eyes closed through fear and heaviness ; 
 And scatter’d far and wide 
 My spirits fled, and each in error stray’d. 
 Imagination then, 
 Bereft of understanding and of truth, 
 Show’d me the forms of ladies in distress, 
 Who said to me, thou die’st, ay, thou shalt die. 
 Many the doubtful things which next I saw, 
 While wandering in imagination’s maze ; 
 I seem’d to be I know not in what place, 
 And to see ladies pass with hair all loose, 
 Some weeping, and some uttering loud laments, 
 Which darted burning grief into the soul. 
 And then methought I saw a thickening veil 
 Obscure the sun, and night’s fair star appear, 
 And sun and star both weep ; 
 Birds flying through the dusky air drop down, 
 And earth tse lf to shake ; 
 And then appear’d a man, feeble and pale, 
 Saying, what dost thou here? hast thou not 
 heard ? 
 Dead is thy lady, she who was so fair. 
 I raised mine eyes, oppress’d and bathed in tears, 
 saw what like a shower of manna seem’d, 
 
 S 
 
 ~ 
 
 And 
 The angels re-ascending up to heaven ; 
 And spread before them was a little cloud, 
 Behind which they were chanting loud, Hosanna. 
 And if they more had added, you should hear. 
 Then Love thus spoke : concealment here shall 
 end ; 
 
 Come now and see our lady on her bier. 
 Deceitful fancy then 
 Conducted me to see my lady dead : 
 And while I gazed, I saw 
 That ladies with a veil were covering her ; 
 And in her face humility so true 
 There was, it seem’d to say, I am in peace. 
 
 So humble.in my sorrow I became, 
 Seeing such humbleness in her express’d, 
 That I exclaim’d, O Death, I hold thee sweet 5 ; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 Thou must be deem’d henceforth a gentle thing, 
 Since thou hast been united to my lady, 
 
 And pity thou shouldst have, and not disdain : 
 Behold me so desirous to be one 
 
 Of thine, that I resemble thee in faith : 
 
 Come, for the heart entreats thee. 
 
 Then, all sad rites being o’er, I went my way ; 
 And when I was alone, 
 
 I said, with eyes upraised to realms above ; 
 Blessed is he who sees thee, beauteous soul ! 
 "T'was then you call’d to me, thanks to your love. 
 
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 SONNET XII. 
 lo mi sentii svegliar dentro a lo core. 
 
 | 
 I FELT awaken in my inmost heart 
 
 A loving spirit that was sleeping there, 
 
 And then saw Love, approaching from afar, 
 
 His air so joyous that I scarcely knew him, 
 Saying, now think for once to do me honour ; | 
 
 And every word of his spoke laughingly ; 
 
 And soon, while yet my sovereign staid with me, 
 
 In looking toward the quarter whence he came, 
 I saw Giovanna and fair Beatrice, 
 
 Coming, not far apart, to where I was, 
 
 The one fair miracle behind the other. 
 And thus, as memory recalls the words, 
 
 Love said to me, this lady’s name is Spring, 
 
 And that—is Love, she so resembles me. 
 
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 SONNET XIII. 
 Tanto gentile, e tanto onesta pare. 
 
 So noble and so modest doth appear 
 My lady when she any one salutes, 
 That every tongue becomes in trembling mute, 
 And none dare raise the eyes to look on her. 
 Robed in humility she hears her praise, 
 And passes on with calm benignity ; 
 Appearing not a thing of earth, but come 
 From heaven, to show mankind a miracle. 
 So pleasing is the sight of her, that he 
 Who gazes feels a sweetness reach the heart 
 That must be proved or cannot be conceived, 
 And from her countenance there seems to flow 
 A spirit full of mildness and of love, 
 Which says for ever to the soul, O sigh. 
 
 ———&— 
 
 SONNET XIV. 
 Vede perfettamente ogni salute. 
 
 He the perfection sees of every grace, 
 
 Who doth my lady among ladies see ; 
 
 They who partake her company are bound 
 
 To render thanks to heaven for boon so fair. 
 Her beauty too has virtue so benign, 
 
 That it excites no envy in another, 
 
 But a resolve to walk like her, array’d 
 
 In gentleness, fidelity, and love. 
 Her look on all things sheds humility, 
 
 And makes not her alone delight the eye, 
 
 But every thing through her receiveth honour. 
 And she so perfect is in all her acts, 
 
 That no one can recall her to the mind 
 
 Who doth not sigh amid the sweets of Love. | 
 
 SONNET XV. 
 Si lungamente m’ ha tenuto Amore. 
 
 So long has Love retain’d me in his power, 
 And so accustom’d to his sovereignty, 
 That, hard as was his rule to me at first, 
 He now is softly seated in my heart. 
 
 Hence when he robs me of all energy, 
 So that the spirits seem forsaking me, 
 Then the frail fainting soul such sweetness feels 
 That in the face all colour dies away. 
 
 Love then has over me such mastery, 
 That he compels my sighs to flow and speak ; 
 And they go forth entreating 
 
 My lady to bestow more grace on me. 
 This is my state whene’er she looks on me, 
 And she so humble is, ’tis not believed. 
 
 ————— 
 
 CANZONE III. 
 Gli occhi dolenti per pieta del core. 
 
 THE eyes which mourn in pity for the heart, 
 Such suffering have endured from many tears, 
 That they at length are perfectly subdued ; 
 And now if I would give my woe relief, 
 Which step by step is leading me to death, 
 
 [ needs must tell my sorrow in my moans ; 
 And as I well remember that I spoke 
 Concerning her, my lady, while she lived, 
 Ye gentle ladies, willingly with you, 
 
 Now will I speak to none 
 
 Save to the gentle heart in lady’s breast. 
 And weeping, then, my song shall be of her 
 Who is to heaven departed suddenly, 
 
 And has left Love companion of my: grief. 
 
 To highest heaven Beatrice is gone, 
 
 Into the realm where angels dwell in peace, 
 
 And rests with them ; and, ladies, you she hath 
 left. 
 
 No quality of cold, nor yet of heat, 
 
 Robb’d us of her, as it of others does ; 
 
 But her supreme benignity alone ; 
 
 For the bright beam of her humility 
 
 Pass’d with such virtue the celestial spheres, 
 
 That it raised wonder in the eternal Sire: 
 
 So that his pleasure was 
 
 T'o call away a soul so full of grace, 
 
 And make it from our earth ascend to him, 
 
 Deeming this life of weariness and care 
 
 Unworthy of a thing so excellent. 
 
 Forth from her beauteous frame the soul is fled, ~ 
 Replete with perfect gentleness and grace, 
 And is made glorious in a worthy place. 
 
 He who can speak of her without a tear, 
 
 Must have a heart of stone, perverse and vile, 
 Where kindly spirit can no entrance find. 
 
 The ignoble heart is fraught with sense too low 
 To form the faintest image of her worth, 
 
 And hence to such comes no desire to weep. 
 But grief and sadness come, 
 
 And sighs and deadly sorrow, and the soul 
 
 Of every consolation is bereft, 
 
 To him who but in thought has once beheld 
 How good she was, and how from us is taken. 
 
 Great is the anguish which my sighs inflict, 
 When to the burden’d mind remembrance brings 
 
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 6 POEMS OF THE 
 
 
 
 The thought of her who has my heart divided. 
 And often when I ruminate on death, 
 There comes to me so sweet a wish to die, 
 That in my face it makes the colour change. 
 And when imagination holds me fast, 
 Pain so excessive seizes all my frame, 
 That I am roused through very agony ; 
 And such a spectacle 
 Become, that shame disparts me from mankind. 
 Then lonely, weeping, I lament and call 
 On Beatrice, and say, Art thou then dead ! 
 And while I call on her am comforted. 
 The sighs of anguish and the tears of grief 
 So wring the heart, whene’er I am alone, 
 That who should hear me must compassion feel. 
 And what my life hath been, e’er since the day 
 That to the world unknown my lady went, 
 Tongue there is not that hath the power to tell. 
 And therefore, ladies, even though I would, 
 I could not truly tell you what I am, 
 So am I harass’d by my bitter life, 
 Which is become so vile, 
 That all men seem to say, I own thee not, 
 Seeing my countenance show signs of death. 
 But what I truly am my lady sees, 
 And still from her I hope for my reward. 
 My piteous Song, now weeping go thy way, 
 And for the ladies and the damsels seek, 
 To whom thy sisters blithe 
 Were wont to bear the happy notes of joy ; 
 And thou, who art the daughter of my sorrow, 
 Depart disconsolate to dwell with them. 
 
 SONNET XVI. 
 Venite a intender li sospiri miei. 
 
 O comE, ye gentle hearts, for pity calls, 
 And listen with compassion to my sighs, 
 Which go their way from me disconsolate, 
 And if they did not, I of grief should die. 
 For many a time the eyes would be perverse, 
 Much more than I could wish, nor give relief, 
 Alas! in weeping for my lady so, — 
 That by my tears I might assuage the heart. 
 Oft will you hear them call upon the name 
 Of her, my gentle lady, who is gone 
 Unto a world deserving of her worth ; 
 And sometimes hear this life despised by them, 
 In person of the deep-afflicted soul 
 Abandon’d by the fountain of her health. 
 
 BALLATA IV. 
 Quantunque volte, lasso! mi rimembra. 
 
 Aas ! whenever memory recalls 
 That I may never more 
 Behold the lady whom I so lament, 
 The afflicted mind collects around my heart 
 Such overwhelming grief, 
 That I exclaim, My soul, why longer stay ? 
 For all the torments which thou shalt endure 
 In this sad world, to thee so painful grown, 
 Fill me with thought and fear of ills to come, 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 
 
 VITA NUOVA. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Wherefore I eall for death, 
 
 As for a sweet and tranquil state of rest,- 
 
 And say, O come to me! with love so true, 
 
 That I am envious of whoever dies. 
 Confused amid the tumult of my sighs 
 
 A piteous sound is heard, 
 
 Which supplicates for death unceasingly ; 
 
 To him were all my ardent wishes turn’d, 
 
 That instant when my lady 
 
 Was overtaken by his cruelty. 
 
 For when the beauty of her pleasing form, 
 
 Withdrawing from our view, was lost to us, 
 
 It changed to beauty, spiritual and great, 
 
 Which through the heaven spreads 
 
 A light of love, that greets the angelic choir, 
 
 And in their deep and subtle intellect 
 
 Causes astonishment, it is so fair. 
 
 SONNET XVII. 
 Era venuta ne la mente mia. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE had brought back into my mind 
 The gentle lady, who for worthiness — 
 Was raised to glory by the Lord most high, 
 Where in the heaven of meekness Mary dwells, 
 
 REMEMBRANCE had brought back into my mind 
 That gentle lady for whom Love doth weep, 
 At the same instant that his influence 
 Drew your regard to what engaged me. 
 
 Love, who perceived her presence in the mind, 
 Had waked from slumber in my wretched 
 
 heart, 
 
 And calling to the sighs, exclaim’d, Go forth ! 
 They heard, and each departed mournfully. 
 Weeping they issued from my breast, with voice 
 Of grief, which often brings to the sad eyes 
 
 The bitter tears of my unhappiness. 
 
 3ut those which issued forth with greater pain 
 Went saying, Noble intellect, this day 
 Completes the year since thy ascent to heaven. 
 
 SONNET XVIII. 
 Videro gli occhi mici quanta pietate, 
 
 THESE eyes have seen how great the pity was 
 That overspread your features, when you 
 mark’d 
 The actions and condition which through grief 
 My wretched person many times display’d, 
 I then perceived that you were pondering 
 Upon the nature of my gloomy life, 
 So that a fear within my heart arose 
 Of showing with the eyes my abjectness ; 
 And from your presence I withdrew, for tears, 
 I felt, were set in motion by the heart, 
 Which was affected by the sight of you. 
 I afterward, within the mournful soul, 
 Said, surely with that lady must abide 
 The love which makes me go thus sorrowing. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 POEMS OF THE VITA NUOVA. 
 
 
 
 SONNET XIX. SONNET XXII. 
 Color d’amore e di pieta sembianti. Lasso ! per forza di molti sospiri. 
 
 Never did pity’s semblance and love’s hue Atas! through violence of many sighs, 
 Take such admired possession of the face | Which spring from thoughts that lie within the 
 Of lady, from her having oft observed | heart, 
 The gentle eyes and tears that told of grief, The eyes are conquer’d, and have not the power | 
 As it doth take of yours, when you regard To look again on one who looks on them. 
 My mournful aspect which before you stands : er such the y are, they seem but two desires, 
 So that through you my mind re calls a thing, f shedding tears and m: inifesting grief ; 
 Which makes 1 me gre atly fear the heart will break : poke many times they weep so bitte rly 
 I struggle to prevent the wasted eyes That with a torturing crown Love circles them. 
 From gazing on you often, but in vain ; These thoughts, and the tumultuous sighs I heave, 
 So strong is the desire they have to weep : Become such cruel torments in the heart, 
 And you have given such increase to their will, That Love lamenting o’er them faints away. 
 That by their wishing they are quite consumed, | For the »y, the widow’d mourners, bear inscribed 
 But cannot in your presence shed a tear. That sweet name of Madonna, and record 
 Her death in many melancholy words. 
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 SONNET XX. 
 SONNET XXIII. 
 
 L’ amaro lagrimar che voi faceste. 
 Deh peregrini, che pensosi andate. 
 
 THE many bitter tears that you have shed, 
 Mine eyes, during long seasons past, drew down 
 Tears of commiseration from the eyes 
 Of other persons, as you did observe. 
 Now it appears you w ould for get the past, 
 If I on my part were so criminal 
 That I disturb’d you not continually, 
 Reminding you of her for whom you wept. 
 Your vanity “disquieteth my thoughts, 
 And so alarms me, that I greatly fear 
 A lady’s countenance who looks on you. 
 You never more, unless through death, should be 
 Forgetful of your lady who is dead. 
 So says my anxious heart, and then it sighs. 
 
 Say, pilgrims, ye who go thus pensively, 
 Musing perchance on things that distant are, | 
 Come ye from land and men so far away, 
 
 As by your outward mien ye show to us, 
 
 That ye weep not when passing through the midst 
 Of the dejected city, in her woe, 
 
 Seeming as persons who have never heard 
 
 
 
 Of the calamity oppressing her ? 
 If ye remain and have the will to hear, 
 This heart of sighs assures me ye will then 
 Share in our grief and weep when ye depart. 
 The desolate city mourns her Beatrice, 
 And in the tale that may be told of her 
 Is virtue to foree every one to weep. 
 
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 — —> -- 
 
 SONNET XXI. | SONNET XXIV. 
 Gentil pensiero che parla di vui. | Oltre la spera che pit larga gira. 
 
 Lavy, the gentle thought which speaks of you Bryonp the circling sphere of widest range 
 Comes frequently to bear me company, Passes the sigh which issues from my heart ; 
 And then so sweetly reasons upon Love, Thither updrawn by intellectual power 
 It makes the heart consent to all it says. Unknown before, which weeping Love inspires. 
 
 The soul says to the heart, O who is this When it hath reach’d the bourn of its desire, 
 That comes with consolation to our mind, A lady it beholds receiving honour, 
 
 And is so strong in virtue he permits And shining so, that through her splendid light 
 No other thought beside with us to stay ? The pilgrim spirit gazes and admires. 
 
 The heart replies to her, O thoughtful soul, It sees her such, that when ‘tis told to me 
 This is a new and gentle spirit of Love, I understand it not, so subtle are 
 Who brings and lays before me his desires : The answers to the heart that makes it speak. 
 
 And all his power, and his very life, I know it speaketh of that gentle one, 
 
 Hath sprung from pity in that lady’s eyes For Beatrice it often brings to mind ; 
 Who was distress’d to see our sufferings. So far, dear ladies, well 1 understand. 
 
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 POEMS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i | POEMS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 CANZONE I. 
 
 My Song, I do believe that there are few 
 
 ‘Who will thy reasoning rightly understand, 
 Voi che, intendendo, il terzo ciel movete. To them so hard and de ark is thy disnolanaae 
 ; 75 al ae : Hence peradventure, if it come to pass 
 Cea aye accning beg sei : That aon shouldst find thyself with persons who 
 Appear unskill’d to comprehend thee well, 
 Braiia « I pray thee then, my young and well beloved, 
 The heaven that obeys your influence, Be not discomforted, but say to them, 
 : 
 Creatures who are all gentleness and oe e, Take note at least how beautiful I am. 
 Hath drawn me to the 1 state in which I am ; 
 
 “ . ‘pf --— -~<@———- 
 Hence the discourse upon the life I prove, 
 
 It seems, should meetly be address’d to you ; 
 Therefore I pray you to attend to me. 
 
 I will unfold to you the heart’s new cares, 
 How the dejected soul within it weeps ; 
 
 And how a spirit against her reasoneth, 
 
 VANZONE I. 
 
 Amor, che nella mente mi ragiona. 
 
 
 
 Which none but you may hear, so strange it 
 | 
 
 Love, who discourses to me in my mind 
 
 
 
 
 
 Which on the beams of your fair star descends. With never-ceasing pleasure of my lady, 
 Often says things to me concerning her 
 The joyless heart was wont to be sustain’d On which the intellect refiects till lost. 
 In life by a sweet thought, which often bent The music of his words so sweetly sounds, 
 Its flight unto the footstool of your Sire ; That the attentive soul, which hears and feels, 
 Where it beheld a lady glorified, Exclaims, alas, why have I not the b sei! 
 Of whom so sweetly it discoursed to me, To tell what of my lady I do hear ? 
 That the soul said, would I could follow her ! "Tis sure, that in the first place I must leave, 
 Now appears one which drives the thought away, If I would treat of what I hear of her, 
 And rules me with such power, that it makes That which my reason cannot comprehend, 
 The heart to tremble so as to be seen. And of that understood 
 A lady this one makes me to regard, Great part, from inability of speech. 
 f And says, he who would see the bliss of heaven, Hence if my verses shall defective prove, 
 al Let him intently view this lady’s eyes, | Which fondly enter on this lady’s praise, : 
 4 Unless the painfulness of sighs he dread. The feeble understanding must be blamed, | ? 
 i And our deficient language, wanting power 
 This rival spirit opposes and destroys To paint completely that which Love describes. | a 
 } The humble thought, accustom’d to discourse ‘ 
 i Of a bright angel who in heaven is crown’d. The sun, that all this world revolves around, ; 
 me The soul so mourns her loss that still she weeps, Sees not a thing so fav and excellent, | ; 
 i i And says, ah woe is me! how flees away As when he shines upon the part where dwells f 
 Bt | The pity ing thought that was my comforter ! The lady for whom Love commands my song. | : 
 if Again, the troubled soul says of mine eyes, On her all heaven’s intelligences gaze ; | 7 
 i What was the hour this lady look’d on them ? And they whom she enamours here below | 
 Pi And why believed they not my words of her? Still find her image present to their thoughts, | ‘ 
 . I said, full surely in that lady’s eyes When Love calms all emotions into peace, : : 
 Ki Must dw ell the power that such as me destroys ; With such complacency her Maker views | 
 | And it avail’d me not that I foresaw His work, that he still showers his gifts on her, 
 They should not gaze on her, whence I am dead. Beyond our nature’s uttermost demand. | 7 
 lit Her pure and spotless soul, ) 
 er) || Thou art not dead, but in delusion strayest, Which from his hand receives this heavenly grace, 
 et ')))| Poor soul, who so lamentest thy estate, Declares his power in her material frame ; 
 ee Exclaims a little gentle spirit of love ; For in her beauty things are seen so rare, . 
 i f For this fair lady, who disquiets thee, That from the eyes of those she shines upon, é 
 a} Has so transform’d thy life, that thou hast fear Fly heralds to the heart, with wishes fill’ d, ) 
 i Of her, so spiritless thou act become. Which mount into the air and sighs Seeorme, ) 
 
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 How courteous in her greatness and how sage; {| On her the virtue of the Deity 
 And think to cail her mistress evermore: Descends, as on the angel that beholds him: | 
 For thou shalt see, if not by self deceived, And this if gentle lady disbelieve, | 
 The beauty of such lofty miracles, Let her accompany her, and mark her ways. 
 That thou wilt say, O Lov e, my sovereign true, Here, when she speaks, an angel boweth down 
 
 \ Behold how piteous and how meek she is, 
 | Behold thy handmaid ; do as pleaseth thee. From heaven, who joyful testimony bears 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
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 POEMS OF 
 
 How the high worth of which she is possess’d 
 
 Exceeds the endowments that to us belong. 
 
 The courteous acts which she bestows on all, 
 
 Rival each other in invoking Love, 
 
 With that persuasive voice which makes him 
 hear. 
 
 Of her it may be said, 
 
 Fair is in lady what is found in her, 
 
 And most is fair what most resembles her. 
 
 And truly we may say, her aspect aids 
 
 Belief in what appears a miracle, 
 
 Hence is our faith confirm’d, and she for this 
 
 Hath been created from eternity. 
 
 Things in her countenance appear which show 
 
 The ineffable delights of Paradise ; 
 
 In her sweet smile I say, and in her eyes, 
 Whither Love brings them as their proper home. 
 Our intellect they dazzle and subdue, 
 
 As the sun’s rays o’erpower the feeble sight : 
 And since I may not view them stedfastly, 
 
 To say but little I must be content. 
 
 Her beauty showers little flames of fire, 
 
 With a benignant spirit animate, 
 
 Which is creator of all virtuous thought ; 
 
 And they like thunder crush 
 
 The innate vices which make others vile. 
 
 The lady then who hears her beauty blamed, 
 For wanting a deportment calm and meek, 
 Should view this pattern of humility ; 
 *Tis she that humbles every froward heart, 
 She, whom the mover of the world conceived. 
 
 My Song, thy words may seem to contradict 
 
 The language of a sister that thou hast ; 
 
 For she declares this lady, whom thou makest 
 
 So humble, to be scornful and severe : 
 
 Thou know’st that heaven is ever clear and 
 bright, 
 
 And ever, as regards itself, serene ; 
 
 But yet our eyes, from causes manifold, 
 
 Do sometimes call the sun itself obscure ; 
 
 So when thy sister calls this lady proud, 
 
 She views her not according to the truth, 
 
 But forms her judgment on appearances : 
 
 For fearful was the soul, 
 
 And still has fear, so that she seems unkind 
 
 Whene’er I see that she observeth me. 
 
 Excuse thee thus, my Song, if there be need : 
 
 And when thou canst, present thyself to her, 
 
 And say, Madonna, if it pleaseth you, 
 
 Your praise I will rehearse throughout the 
 world. 
 
 ——~@}--~ 
 
 CANZONE III. 
 
 Le dolci rime @’Amor, ch’ io ¢olia. 
 
 Tue pleasant rhymes of Love, that I was wont 
 
 To seek for in my thoughts, 
 
 I must forsake ; not that I have not hope 
 Of a return to them, 
 
 But because signs of cruelty and scorn, 
 Which in my lady’s looks 
 
 Are evident, have closed the Way against 
 My customary strain. 
 
 And since it seems to me fit time to wait, 
 I will lay down my soft and tender style, 
 
 a 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 That I have held in treating upon Love, 
 And of the worth will speak ; 
 Which truly gives nobility to man ; 
 With verse severe and keen 
 
 Reproving the opinion false and base 
 
 Of those who hold that of nobility 
 
 The principle is wealth. 
 
 And to begin, I here invoke that lord 
 Whose dwelling-place is in my lady’s eyes, 
 Through whom she is enamour’d of herself. 
 
 A certain emperor held nobility, 
 
 As it appear’d to him, 
 
 To be possession of ancestral wealth 
 
 With generous manners joined : 
 
 And there was one of lighter judgment, who 
 The saying overthrew ; 
 
 And took the latter clause away, perchance 
 Because he had it not. 
 
 Of him the crowd are followers, who affirm 
 Those noble who from families are sprung 
 That long have flourish’d in great opulence, 
 And such the lasting hold 
 
 That this so false opinion among us 
 
 Has taken, that men call 
 
 Him noble who can say I am the son 
 
 Or nephew of some certain man of worth, 
 Though worthless of himself : 
 
 But he who looks at truth deems him most vile 
 To whom the way is shown, and erreth still, 
 And walks the earth, and yet is as the dead. 
 
 3 
 
 Who defines man an animated tree, 
 
 Says first what is not true, 
 
 Then adds what is defective to the false ; 
 But haply sees it not. 
 
 He in like manner who was emperor 
 
 Did in defining err ; 
 
 For what is false he first assumed, and then 
 Defectively proceeds ; 
 For riches cannot give nobility, 
 
 As is supposed, nor can they take away, 
 Since in their very nature they are vile. 
 
 The artist cannot give 
 
 The pictured form unless ’tis in his mind ; 
 Nor will the upright tower 
 
 send to the stream which rolls its wave from far. 
 That they imperfect are, and vile, is clear, 
 For great howe’er the store, 
 They cannot calm, but bring increase of care , 
 And hence the mind, which upright is and true, 
 Unshaken stands, although they pass away. 
 
 No man low-born ennobled can become, 
 
 Nor from low sire descend 
 
 A race that noble may be ever deem’d ; 
 This is by them affirm’d. 
 
 Hence does their reasoning seem to oppose itself ; 
 Since it maintains that time 
 
 Is requisite to give nobility, 
 
 With time defining it. 
 
 It follows from such argument as this, 
 That all are noble, or that all are base, 
 Or no beginning there has been to man. 
 But this I cannot grant, 
 
 Nor they moreover, if they Christians be. 
 Wherefore to healthful minds 
 
 Their arguments are manifestly vain : 
 And thus I reprobate their falsity, 
 
 And turn from them away ; 
 
 THE CONVITO. 9 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ’ 
 } 
 
 
 
 10 POEMS OF THE CONVITO. 
 
 And now will tell, as it appears to me, 
 What is nobility, and whence it springs, 
 And what the signs that mark the noble man. 
 
 I say, each virtue in its origin 
 Springs from a single root ; 
 Virtue I mean, which happiness bestows 
 On man by its good works ; 
 ‘This is, as Aristotle’s Ethics say, 
 A habit of election, 
 Choice of the medium between two extremes ; 
 And such the words there used. 
 I say the nature of nobility 
 Ever implies the subject to be good, 
 As baseness e’er implies the subject bad. 
 And virtue such as this 
 Gives ever of its goodness proofs to all. 
 Since in one predicate 
 Two things agree, producing one effect, 
 The one must from the other be derived, 
 Or each one from a third : 
 But if the one equals the other’s worth, 
 And more, from it that other rather springs : 
 Let me on this hypothesis proceed. 
 
 Nobility must be where virtue is ; 
 But may be, where ’tis not ; 
 So heaven is wherever is the sun, 
 But not conversely so. 
 And we in ladies and in early age 
 May see nobility 
 Evinced in bashfulness and modesty, 
 Which virtue differ from ; 
 Hence must proceed, as violet from black, 
 Each several virtue from nobility, 
 Or from the parent root, before explain’d. 
 Therefore let no one boast, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Saying, nobility is mine by birth ; 
 For they are almost gods, 
 Who, void of every sin, possess this grace 5 
 For God bestows it only on the soul 
 Which, in itself, he sees 
 
 From imperfection free ; so that to few 
 This seed of happiness is found conjoin’d, 
 Planted by God in soul aright disposed. 
 
 The soul that this celestial grace adorns 
 In secret hides it not ; 
 For from the first, when she the body weds, 
 She shows it, until death : 
 Gentle, obedient, and alive to shame, 
 Is seen in her first age, 
 Careful to improve the beauty of her frame 
 With all accomplishments : 
 In youth is temperate and resolute, 
 Replete with love and praise of courtesy, 
 Placing in loyalty her sole delight: 
 And in declining age 
 Is prudent, just, and for her bounty known ; 
 And joys within herself 
 To listen and discourse for others’ good : 
 Then in the fourth remaining part of life, 
 To God is re-espoused, 
 Contemplating the end which is at hand, 
 And blesseth all the seasons that are past. 
 Reflect now, how the many are deceived ! 
 
 Against the erring multitude, my Song, 
 Declaiming, go thy way ; 
 And where our lady is, when thou shalt be, 
 Hide not from her the purport of thy strain ; 
 For truly mayst thou say, 
 I ever am discoursing of your friend. 
 
 
 
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 THE CANZONIERE OF DANTE. 
 
 ratwky f. 
 
 CANZONE I. 
 Morte poich’ io non truovo a cui mi doglia. 
 
 O Dearu, since I find none with whom to mourn, 
 Nor whom compassion of me moves to sigh, 
 Wherever I may be, or whither turn ; 
 
 And since it is by thee that I am stripped 
 Of all my boldness and am clothed in w oes, 
 And thou revolv’st for me all Fortune’s ills ; 
 Since in thy hand, O Death, my life is held, 
 And at thy pleasure is m: de rich or poor ; 
 To thee, as it is meet, I turn my face, 
 
 Coloured in likeness of a person de aa : 
 
 I come to thee, as to a pitying spirit, 
 Lamenting the ‘Sweet peace thy cruel blow 
 Will rob me of, O Death, if it ‘destroy 
 
 The lady who still bears my heart with her, 
 And is the gate which leads to all true joy. 
 
 O Death, how sweet the peace thou tak’st from me, 
 
 Which brings me to thy presence thus in tears 
 
 I tell not here, for thou canst see it well ; 
 
 Whether hou: view these eyes bedewed with 
 tears, 
 
 Or view compassion’s image there impressed, 
 
 Or view the signs I bear that I am thine: 
 
 Alas, if by the blows of fear alone 
 
 I thus am pained, what must the torment be 
 
 If I should see the light of those fair eyes 
 
 Extinct, which is to mine so sweet a guide ! 
 
 "Tis plain thou dost approve and w ish my end ; 
 
 Sweet will my lamentation sound to thee : 
 
 And much I fe ar, from what I suffer now, 
 
 That soon, to ease my woes, I shall deaire 
 
 To die, nor shall, to kill me, find a friend. 
 
 Death, if this noble lady thou shouldst kill, 
 In whom perfection and the highest worth 
 In all she seems and does the mind discerns, 
 Virtue thou banishest, and robb’st of faith ; 
 Thou tak’st from gracefulness its fair retreat : 
 Extinguishest the high result of worth ; 
 Destroy est the beauty which is hers alone, 
 Whose beams surpass all other so much more, 
 As does beseem a creature worthy found 
 To bring to us below the light of heaven : 
 Thou dost dissolve the faith, so good and strong, 
 Of that true love which guideth ‘all her ways 
 Death, if thou quench the light of her fair eyes, 
 Love may declare with truth, where’er he 
 reigns, 
 My beauteous banner is for ever lost. 
 
 O Death, repent thee then of all the ill, 
 So vast, that will ensue if she should die ; 
 
 Exceeding all that earth hath ever known. 
 
 Relax the bended bow, nor let the cord 
 
 Have force to urge the shaft, which thou hast 
 fixed 
 
 With barbarous intent to pierce the heart. 
 
 O weigh the threatened deed, be merciful ; 
 
 Restrain the uncurbed daring for a while, 
 
 Which is already moved with will to uizike 
 
 This lady, to whom God has given such grace, 
 
 O De: ith, ‘de lay not mercy, if ’tis thine ; 
 
 For I seem now to see the heavens unclose, 
 
 And angels of the Lord descend to earth, 
 
 With will to bear aw ay the saintly soul 
 
 Of her whose worth is sung in hy mns above. 
 
 The thread whereon my hope depends, and seest 
 
 How powerless I am without this lady ; 
 
 Hence with thy plain and humble reasoning 
 
 Go forth, my last-born child, nor use delay ; 
 
 For to thy faith I do commit my prayer ; 
 
 And with that meekness which investeth thee, 
 
 Approach, my piteous song, the throne of death ; 
 
 So that thou break the gates of eruelty, 
 
 And reach the blissful fruit of thy desert. 
 
 vn should Death’s fatal will be turned aside 
 By thee, O haste, and let our lady hear 
 
 The grateful news ; and comfort to her bring ; 
 
 So that again be given to the world 
 
 | 
 | My song, thou seest full well how subtile is 
 
 CANZONE II. 
 
 | This gentle soul bo whom my life is bound, 
 
 Io sento si d’Amor la gran possanza. 
 
 I FEEL the mighty power of Love so great 
 That I can not endure 
 Its suffering long ; whence I am sorely grieved ; 
 For he is ever growing in his strength, 
 And I feel mine decay ; 
 So that each hour I am weaker than before. 
 I ask not Love to grant more than I wish, 
 For should he grant all that the will requires, 
 The virtue which from nature I derive 
 Could bear it not, for it is limited : 
 And this it is of which my heart complains, 
 That power corresponds not to desire. 
 But if from good desire reward should spring, 
 [ claim it, in a grant of longer life, 
 From those fair eyes, W hose splendour, sweetly 
 
 mild, 
 Brings eonafowt when I feel Love’s influence. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 SSS 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 12 CANZONIERE. 
 
 The rays proceeding from those beauteous eyes 
 
 Pierce mine of her enamoured, 
 
 And sweets impart where bitterness I feel ; 
 
 And journey onwards, like to travellers 
 
 Who erst have passed that way ; 
 
 Remembering the place where Love they left, 
 
 When through the eyes they led him to my heart. 
 
 Thus their return confers a boon on me ; 
 
 And when they hide themselves they do her wrong 
 
 Whose votary I am, with love so true, 
 
 That life I only prize for serving her ; 
 
 And all my thoughts, which spring from Love 
 alone, 
 
 Press forward to her service as their goal. 
 
 So strong my zeal to labour for her good, 
 
 That could I think ’t were gained by leaving her, 
 
 Light were the task, though certain were my 
 death. 
 
 O true must be the love which captivates, 
 And strong must be the chain, 
 Since I would do for it what I aver: 
 For love exists not of an equal weight 
 To that which pleasure finds ; 
 In death, from serving of another well. 
 And in this will I was confirmed, as soon 
 As birth was given to the strong desire 
 I feel, through virtue of the pleasing traits 
 Of that fair face, where all that’s fair is found. 
 Servant I am, and, when I think of whom, 
 And what she is, perfect content is mine: 
 For man may serve her well against her will ; 
 And though her youth may rob me of reward, 
 Hope shows a time when she will be more just ; 
 Provided life defend itself so long. 
 
 When on a sweet desire I meditate, 
 Born of the grand desire 
 Which all my energies to virtue prompts, 
 I seem rewarded far above desert ; 
 And further still, I seem 
 Wrongly the name of servant to retain : 
 For service is converted to good-will, 
 When viewed with pleasure by a master kind ; 
 But since to rigid truth I would adhere, 
 *Tis fit that such desire be service deemed 
 For all my efforts made to labour well, 
 Are less directed to my private good, 
 Than that of her, who holds me in her power. 
 I labour that her worth may more be prized, 
 And am entirely hers. It is my pride 
 That Love hath made me worthy of such honour. 
 
 > 
 
 No power but that of Love could render me 
 Deserving to be made 
 Subject of her, who never is enamoured ; 
 But, as a lady unconcerned, regards 
 The mind inspired with love, 
 That cannot pass without her one short hour: 
 I have not seen her yet so many times 
 That beauty which is new I have not found ; 
 Whence love within me gains increasing strength. 
 From’every new addition to the pleasure ; 
 And hence my state remains unchanged, so. long 
 As Love accustoms me by turns to feel 
 One bitter suffering, and one sweet delight, 
 Dependent on that time of frequent pain, 
 Which lasts from when I lose the sight of her, 
 Until the moment when it is regained. 
 
 My beauteous song, if thou resemblest me, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ° © * . 
 Thou wilt show less disdaim, 
 
 Than goodness such as thine might well become ee | 
 Hence I beseech thee subtilize thy skill, : 
 
 My sweet and lovely one, : > 
 
 In choosing mode or way may suit thy need te 
 If cavalier invite thee, or retain, ie 
 Before thou with his pleasure dost comply, | 
 
 Spy whether thou canst make him of thy sect; |] 
 And if thou canst not, leave him with all speed; || 
 For with the good the good are ever found : 
 But oft it happens, that with one we are thrown 
 In company, who is unjustly blamed, 
 By ill report spread by another’s tongue. | ? 
 The wicked shun, though famed for wit or skill, 
 
 For it were never wise to sort with them, 
 
 My song, before thou elsewhere take thy way, 
 
 Go to the three least guilty of our city: 
 
 Salute the two, the other strive to win, 
 
 And from an evil sect to draw away : 
 
 Tell him, the good ne’er war against the good ; 
 But rather strive the wicked to subdue ; 
 
 Tell him, that he who through the fear of shame 
 From folly flies not, is a fool indeed ; 
 
 But he may fear who is of vice afraid, 
 
 For shunning one he finds the other’s cure. 
 
 CANZONE III. B 
 
 E’ m’incresce di me si malamente, 
 
 MOURN my piteous state so painfully, 
 
 That the amount of grief 
 
 From pity and from suffering is the same. 
 
 For now, alas! I feel with deep regret 
 
 That in my will’s despite, 
 
 The breath of the last sigh is gathering 
 
 Within that heart, which the fair eyes did 
 wound, 
 
 When Love, with his own hand disclosed their 
 charms, 
 
 To bring me to the pass of my undoing. 
 
 Ah me! how calm and meek, 
 
 How soft and sweet toward me they were 
 raised, 
 
 When they at first began 
 
 To cause my death, which now I so deplore, 
 
 Saying ; our beams are messengers of peace. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Peace to the heart we bring, to you delight, 
 
 Said once unto my eyes 
 
 Those of the lady kind and beautiful ; 
 
 But when they from their intellect had learned 
 That through the force of her 
 
 My mind was taken from me totally, 
 
 They turned and bore Love’s banners far away 5 
 So that their pleasing show of victory 
 
 Hath never from that moment been beheld : 
 Hence hath my soul remained 
 
 In sorrow, who from them expected joy ; 
 
 And now she sees the heart, 
 
 At brink of death, to whom she was espoused, 
 And is compelled to part from it enamoured. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Enamoured and lamenting, takes her way, 
 
 Beyond the gates of life, 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CANZONTIERE. 
 
 
 
 _ The soul disconsolate, whom Love expels : | 
 In such affliction deep she leaves the world, | 
 That ere she hence departs, CANZONE IV. | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Her Maker with compassion hears her plaint. Cosi nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro, 
 At the heart’s inmost core she makes a stand, 
 Together with the remnant of that life SEVERE shall be my speech, asin her deeds 
 Which is extinguished only by her flight : Is she, the rock so beautiful and cold, 
 There she complains of Love, Who every hour acquires 
 Who drives her from the confines of this More hardness and a nature more unkind : 
 world ; And clothes her person, too, in adamant, 
 And many & fond embrace So that by strength of armour, or retreat, 
 She gives the spirits, which weep unceasingly, No quiver sends a dart 
 That their companion they are soon to lose. Can ever reach a part of her exposed ; | 
 And she still wounds ; nor space nor coat of 
 The image of this lady hath a seat mail | 
 Exalted in my mind, Can man protect, to escape her mortal blows, | 
 On which Love placed her, forhe was her Which fly as they had wings, 
 ide. And him o ertake, and all his armour rend ; 
 And all the ill she sees affects not her ; Whence skill or might avails me not ’gainst her. 
 But she more beauteous is 
 Than éver now, and happier seems her smile: No shield of mine I find but she can break, 
 Her fatal eyes she raises, and exclaims, No place that can conceal me from her view; | 
 Calling to her who grieves she must depart, Yet as the flower crowns 
 ' Begone, thou wretched one, away, begone : The stem, so she the summit of my mind. | 
 This the beloved exclaimed, Regardless of my pain she seems, ‘and moved | 
 Who wars against me thus as she is wont ; No more than ship unlifted by the wave. | 
 But now my pain is less, The weight which sinks me down 
 For all my feeling is far less acute, Is such as verse unequal were to tell : | 
 And nearer is the e nding of my woes, Alas ! thou pitiless, tormenting file, | 
 Which silently art shortening my life, *| 
 The day on which this lady came to earth, Why fear’st thou not as much, | 
 As it is found inscribed By piecemeal, thus to wear my heart, 
 In memory’s record, which begins to fade, As | to tell the world whence springs thy power ¢ 
 My young and tender frame was made to feel 
 A passion then unknown, My heart more trembles when I think of her 
 So potent that it left me full of fear ; In place where I may draw another’s eye, | 
 For over all my faculties was thrown Through terror lest my thought | 
 A curb so sudden, that I fell to e arth, Should glimmer through the veil, and be dis- | 
 O’erpowered by a voice which struck the heart : cerned, | 
 And, if the record errs not, Than when I think of death, who every sense 
 The master-spirit trembled with such force, Already with the teeth of Love devours. 
 That it seemed sure that Death The thought on which I muse ' 
 Was come into the world to take it thence: Strips bare my energy, and slacks its work. 
 p He who was cause of this laments it now, By Love I am stricken down, who o’er me stands, | 
 ; Wielding the sword with which he Dido slew. | 
 When the great beauty I again beheld Suppliant I call on him, 
 Which makes me so lament, Imploring mercy in a humble prayer : | 
 Ye gentle ladies whom I have addressed, And he seems fixed all mercy to deny. ie 
 : That virtue which has most nobility, iit 
 In gazing with delight, From time to time this cruel victor lifts iy 
 Perceived full well that its chief ill was born ; His hand, in threats to take my feeble life ; if 
 And knew what the desire created was, Thrown down and stretched on earth t 
 By admiration so intent and strong ; He holds me, wearied out with struggling : | 1] 
 So that in tears it to the others said : Then cries of anguish rise within my mind, | |} 
 There shall arrive, in place And the red blood, dispersed throughout the i 
 Of one whom I have seen, the beauteous form veins, a 
 Which makes me fear even now ; Runs swift toward the heart, f 
 ‘ | And over all of us shall mistress be, Which calls it, leaving me all pale and wan. bt 
 _ Soon as her eyes their pleasure shall declare. On the left side, he strikes me with such force, F 
 That with the agony the heart rebounds. ! 
 
 j To you, O youthful ladies, have I sung, 
 
 Whose eyes with every beauty are adorned, 
 
 And who have thoughtful minds subdued by 
 Love ; 
 
 To you Bion let my words | O could I see him cleave the heart in twain 
 
 Be recommended wheresoe’er they are heard ; Of her, the cruel one, who mangles mine ; 
 
 i And hear me now declare, Death then would not appal, 
 
 That I forgive that beauteous thing, my death, To whom I hasten through her beauty’s charm : 
 
 Who is the cause, and pity ne’er hath shown. For this assassin, who both robs and kills, 
 
 | Wrongs me alike in sunshine and in shade. 
 
 I then say: should he lift 
 His hand again, Death’s arms will me enfold 
 Ere that the blow shall have descended down. 
 
 Rg hg ties 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 Alas ! why cries she not 
 
 For me, as I for her, engulfed in fire ? 
 | For quick would I exe Jaim : Your help is here ; 
 | And anxious to assist, would do like him 
 | Who in the flaxen locks, 
 
 | Would fix the hand ; 
 
 When once those golden tresses I had seized, 
 Which have to me as scourges been and goads, 
 Though grasped before the daw nD, 
 
 Them w ould I hold at vespers and each ] bell ; 
 Nor piteous nor courteous would I be, 
 | But like the bear in sportive mood w ould play : 
 And should Love punish me, 
 I then would be a thousand fold avenged : 
 And on those beauteous eyes, whence fly the 
 sparks 
 That evermore inflame my wounded heart, 
 Close would I fix my gaze, 
 To be revenged for her avoiding me ; 
 And then would peace restore to her, with love. 
 
 
 
 28 My song, unto the lady straight repair, 
 
 By whom my heart is w ounded, and who steals 
 From me my chief delight ; 
 
 ‘ | And pierce her with an arrow through the heart ; 
 For bright the honour by revenge acquired. 
 
 <-> --- 
 
 | 
 | CANZONE V. 
 | Amor, tu vedi ben che questa donna. 
 
 _ O Love, thou seeest well this lady slights 
 | Thy influence in all seasons of the year, 
 She who is wont to reign o’er others fair, 
 | And hath discovered that she was my queen, 
 | Thanks to thy ray, that on my countenance 
 | | shines. 
 oe | Of every cruelty the mistress grown, 
 She seems not to possess a lady’s heart ; 
 But one of creature wild least warmed by love ; 
 ! For both in summer’s heat and winter’s cold, 
 i I see in her a lady’s form, which looks 
 As if *t were fashioned of a beauteous rock 
 i By hand of him who best can grave the gem. 
 
 
 
 ‘i And I who am more firm than is the rock, 
 In thee obeying, through a lady’s charms, 
 In secret bear ‘the blow which w. ith that stone 
 i | Thou hast wounded me, as if I were a rock, 
 | That by its presence had long troubled thee ; 
 So that it reached my heart where I am flint ; 
 And never hath been found a precious stone 
 Gifted with native ray or solar power, 
 Whose virtue could suffice, or friendly light, 
 To guard my bark from striking on that rock; 
 So that its chilling nature bring me not 
 Where I shall lie and feel the cold of death. 
 
 Thou knowest, my sovereign, that by piercing cold 
 Water is turned into a ery ‘stal rock 
 Beneath the arctic skies,in realms of frost ; 
 And the air is to the colder element 
 Converted, so that water ever reigns, 
 Through cold, an icy mistress near the pole: 
 So in the presence of her cold regard 
 My blood in every season is congealed ; 
 
 
 
 | Which Love for my destruction crisps and gilds, 
 and then my bliss were full. 
 
 CANZON IERE. 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 And by the thought w ich shortens most my days, 
 
 Iam converted to a frozen mass ; 
 
 That after melts, escaping at the eyes, 
 
 Through which the unpitying light first entrance | 
 found. 
 
 
 
 In her concentred is all beauty’s light ; 
 So of all cruelty the cold intense 3 
 Runs to her heart, where thy light never shines; || — 
 Yet are her beams so lovely to my eyes ' 
 When I regard her, that her form I see 
 In every rock and thing that meets my sight. 
 Her eyes upon me shed so sweet a ray, 
 
 It makes me every other lady slight. 
 Would that she were a lady less unkind 
 Toward me, who supplicate by night and day 
 For place and time to serve but only her; 
 Nor, for aught else do length of days desire. 
 
 Then, Love divine, who art before all time, 
 All motion, and before the solar beam, 
 Have pity of me, fallen on evil days ; 
 Enter the heart of her, for ’tis full time 
 So that thou mayst expel from it the frost ; 
 Which lets me not like others live my term: ¢ 
 For if thy winter’s storm o’ertake me now, 
 Weak as I am, this gem of highest price 
 Will see me laid within the narrow tomb, 
 Never to rise till the appointed time, 
 When I shall see if in the world hath been 
 Lady as fair as this who is so stern. ) 
 
 My song, within my mind a lady dwells, ! 
 One who, although to me she is as stone, 
 Gives boldness to me where mankind seem ice; | 
 So that for her so cold I dare invent | 
 The novelty which shines throughout thy form, 
 And ne’er before in time hath been conceived. 
 
 
 
 
 
 CANZONE VI. 
 
 Io son venuto al punto della rota. 
 
 THE circling year’s cold point I have attained, 
 When the horizon gives the sun repose, 
 
 And in the east brings forth the heavenly twins. 
 The star of Love remains removed from view, 
 Hid by the lucid ray, across it thrown, 
 
 So widely as to form for it a veil : 
 
 The planet also which gives strength to frost 
 Moves full disclosed through the capacious arch, | 
 In which each of the seven cast little shade : 
 And yet no thought of Love, 
 
 With which I am loaded, ever quits my mind, 
 That harder is than ag: ste to retain 
 
 The image of a lady formed of stone. 
 
 In Ethiopia’s sands the pilgrim wind 
 
 Arises and the lurid air disturbs, 
 
 That burns beneath the scorching solar ray ; 
 Then, the sea passing, draws from it a mist 
 
 So thick, that if no other wind disturb, 
 
 It covers and shuts up this hemisphere ; ; 
 
 And then dissolves, and falls in whitened flakes 
 Of chilling snow, or showers of noisome rain, 
 Whence saddened i is the air, and nature mourns. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 Yet Love, who all his nets 
 
 Withdraws to heaven, as the tempest swells, 
 Never abandons me, beauty so great 
 
 Adorns this cruel lady whom I serve. 
 
 | Each bird that seeks the genial heat hath fled 
 From Europe’s lands, in whose extensive bounds 
 The seven frosty stars are never lost ; 
 The voices of the rest are silent all, 
 To sound no more till verdant spring’s return ; 
 Unless it be that grief calls forth their plaints ; 
 And every animal by nature gay 
 Is liberated from the thrall of Love, 
 Their spirit being deadened by the cold ; 
 And mine with love burns more: 
 For never am I robbed of the sweet thoughts 
 Which are not given me by the season’s change, 
 But by a lady in youth’s tender spring. 
 
 The leaves have passed the fated term, prescribed 
 When Aries by his influence drew them forth 
 To decorate the world ; the grass is dead, 
 
 And every verdant bough from us is hidden, 
 Save in the pine, the laurel, or the fir, 
 
 Or other plant by nature ever green. 
 
 The season too is harsh, and so severe, 
 
 That all the pretty flowerets of the plain 
 
 Are killed, unable to endure the frost ; 
 
 Yet is the amorous thorn 
 
 Fixed in my heart, nor Love can it withdraw ; 
 For firm is my resolve to hold it there, 
 
 Long as I live, though life should never end. 
 
 The veins pour forth the watery streams which 
 smoke 
 
 From vapours that earth holds within her womb, 
 Sending them up aloft from the abyss, 
 Whence glad I found a road to cheerful day 
 Now to a river changed, and such shall be, 
 Long as stern winter’s rude assault shall last. 
 Ename lled is the surface of the earth, 
 And the dead pool converted into glass, 
 Through cold which closes every outward pore : 
 ‘Yet I still w age my war, 
 Nor backward have recoiled a single step, 
 Nor will recoil ; for if the pain be sweet, 
 All other sweets must be surpassed by de: ath. 
 
 
 
 My Song, say what will be my fate, in days 
 Far different and sweet, when Love shall shower 
 P His blessings on the earth from every heaven ; 
 Since even ‘amid these frosts 
 Love is in me alone, nor elsewhere found 2 
 My fate will be that of a man of stone, 
 If stone shall be this tender maiden’s heart. 
 
 ~~} -—.- 
 
 CANZONE VII. 
 
 Amor, dacché conoien pur ch’ io mi doglia, 
 
 > 
 That men may mark my words, 
 
 And see how all my virtue is extinct, 
 
 O give me wisdom with the will to weep ; 
 
 So that my unchained grief 
 
 Be told in words as strong as what I feel. 
 n Thy will is that I die, to that I bend ; 
 
 But me who shall excuse, unless I tell 
 
 Love, since my lamentations must have vent 
 | 
 
 ina CANZONIERE, 
 
 
 
 All that thou anki st me feel? g 
 
 Who will believe the toils in which I am caught ? 
 But if thou giv’st me power of speech as great 
 As is my torment, lord, then ere I die, 
 
 Let not this cruel maid hear my complaint ; 
 For should she know what inwardly I feel, 
 
 Pity would make her beauteous face less fair. 
 
 Fly from her where I will, ’tis vain, her form 
 Imagination brings 
 Swift to my mind as thought, which leads her 
 there. 
 The silly soul, ingenious to its harm, 
 Paints her all loveliness 
 And cruelty, inventing its own pain ; 
 Then gazes, and when filled with the desire, 
 Which strongly by the eyes attracts to her, 
 Is anger’d ’gainst itself, 
 For kindling fire, where it burns wretchedly. 
 What argument af reason can controul 
 My thoughts, which as an inward tempest 
 rage ? 
 The anguish which the bosom cannot hold 
 Breathes from the lips, so that ’tis understood, 
 And even to the eyes gives their desert. 
 
 The pietured form, my enemy, remains 
 Victorious and severe, 
 And lords it o’er the freedom of the will ; 
 She of herself enamoured, makes me seek 
 The substance of this shade ; 
 As like to like is ever wont to flee. 
 I know that I am snow which seeks the sun 
 But to resist is vain ; like him I move 
 Who, in another’s power 
 Mar ches obediently where he is killed, 
 When I am near her, words I seem to hear 
 Which say: Haste, haste, this man thou shalt 
 
 see die. 
 
 Then I look out on whom to eall for aid ; 
 And thus am led at pleasure of the eyes 
 Which most unjustly give me mortal wounds. 
 
 What I become when wounded thus, O Love, 
 Thou canst relate, not I ; 
 Thou, the spectator of my lifeless state ; 
 And though the soul return unto the heart, 
 Knowledge and memory 
 From her were sever’d while she was divoreed. 
 When I revive, and look upon the wound 
 By which I was undone when I was struck, 
 No comfort can I find, 
 But every limb is shaken by my fear ; 
 And the discoloured features testify 
 How great the lightning’s force w hich fell on me ; 
 For though by a sweet “amile the shaft be thrown 
 Yet long the features darkened will remain, 
 Because the spirit cannot feel assured. 
 
 Thus hast thou used me, Love, amid the Alps, 
 And in the river’s vale, 
 Along whose shore thy strength I ever feel : 
 Living and dead thou treat’ st. me as thou wilt, 
 Thanks to the cruel light 
 Whose flashes are the harbingers of death. 
 Alas! no ladies here, no gentle minds 
 I see, in whom my sorrows cause regret. 
 If she be unconcerned, 
 Never from others can I hope for aid. 
 And this fair spirit banished from thy court, 
 
 
 
 
 
 ay 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Se et ee rere: 
 
 
 
 
 ah 
 
 
 
 
 
 cence 
 mn meine 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 O Love, regards no blow fir om shade of thine : 
 Pride has a breast-plate given of such defence, 
 That every dart is blunted ere it pierce ; 
 
 For heart so armed no weapon can offend. 
 
 My little mountain Song, thou goest thy way ; 
 Haply, my city, Florence, thou wilt see, 
 Who ’gainst me bars her gates, 
 Stripped of all pity and devoid ‘of love. 
 If thou within her walls shouldst enter, say : 
 My master can with you no more wage war ; | 
 There, whence I come, he by a chain is bound 
 So strong, that, should your cruelty relent, 
 Here to return he is no lon iger free. 
 
 CANZONE VIII. 
 La dispietata mente che pur mira. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE, which unpitying turns the view 
 Backward to times that are for ever gone, 
 On one hand carries war into my heart ; 
 
 On th’ other hand, the fond desire, which draws 
 My thoughts to the sweet country T have left, 
 Oppresses it with all the force of Love : 
 
 Nor do I feel within it strength enough 
 
 And courage to maintain a long defence, 
 
 Gentle Madonna, if not helped by you: 
 
 If then you may think fit 
 
 Ever to try and save it by your aid, 
 
 O now be pleased to send your kind salute, 
 
 By which its virtue may be comforted. 
 
 Be pleased, O Lady mine, to fail me not, 
 In this the heart’s distress which loves you so; 
 For succour it expects from you alone. 
 The generous master never checks his steed 
 When by the servant called who needs relief ; 
 For his own honour he defends, not him. 
 And truly, my heart’s grief afflicts me more 
 When I reflect, Madonna, that your form 
 Is there depicted by the hand of Love ; 
 An argument why you 
 Should deem it w orthy of the greater care ; 
 For He, from whom all goodness must be 
 
 learned, 
 
 Holds us more dear that we his image are. 
 
 If you, my sweetest hope, should hesitate, 
 And still delay in granting my request, 
 Know, that expectance has the limit reached ; 
 For on the verge of death my powers stand : 
 And this you cannot doubt, who see me moved 
 To seek the very last resource of hope : 
 For man should every grievous burthen bear, 
 Even the load which presses to the death, 
 Rather than prove his greatest friend’s true faith, 
 Not knowing what may chance. 
 And should an evil answer be returned, 
 Thing there is not that costs a man so dear ; 
 For death it hastens and embitters more. 
 
 You, lady, are the one whom most I love, 
 And who the boon most valued can confer, 
 And upon whom my hope rests most secure : 
 For only to serve you I covet life ; 
 
 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 And what may to your honour best conduce 
 I wish and ask ; all else to me gives pain : 
 
 *Tis yours to give me what none other dares ; 
 For “ yes” and “no” hath Love placed in your | 
 
 hand, 
 
 Unfettered ; ; whence my service is my pride, | 
 My confidence i in you, i 
 From your humane and noble bearing springs; |} 
 For he who sees you, by your outward air q 
 Well knows that pity hath her seat within. tf) 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Then let your kind salute at last go forth, 
 And come into the long expecting heart, 
 Whose wishes, gentle lady, you have heard : 
 But know, that at the entrance there is found 
 A portal strong, barred by the dart which Love 
 Hurled on the ‘day when I was made his thrall: 
 Wherefore admission is denied to all 
 Except Love’s messengers, who have the power 
 To open, by his will who keeps it closed : 
 Hence in the war I wage, 
 This aid’s arrival might be to my loss, 
 If unattended by the messengers 
 Of him, the lord whose pleasure I obey, 
 
 My Song, thy journey should be short and swift, 
 
 For well thou knowest how brief will be the time 
 That he who sends thee, if unhelped, can last. 
 
 > 
 
 CANZONE IX. 
 
 Amor, che muovi tua virti dal cielo. 
 
 
 
 O Love, who send’st thy virtue down from heaven, 
 As the bright sun his beams, 
 Who where his ray finds most nobility 
 There kindles most his genial influence ; 
 And as he cold and darkness puts to flight, 
 So thou, O mighty lord 
 Expellest from the heart all vulgar thoughts, 
 Nor anger against thee can long contend ; 
 From thee must flow each blessing which the 
 world 
 With toil and ardour labours to obtain ; 
 Without thee is destroyed 
 All power we possess of doing well ; 
 Lost like a picture on a gloomy wall, 
 Which cannot show its worth, 
 Nor give delight from colour nor from art. 
 
 Thy light for ever strikes upon the heart 
 As sunbeam on the star ; 
 For from my earliest day 8 my soul became 
 The handmaid of thy majesty and power : 
 Hence has its life a thought which leads me on, 
 And with its sweet discourse 
 Directs me to regard each beauteous thing 
 With most delight when it most pleasing is. 
 By thus regarding hath a youthful maiden 
 Entered my mind, and made me prisoner, 
 And lighted up a flame, 
 As water glows from brightness of the fire ; 
 For at her coming, thy effulgent rays, 
 Which she still sheds on me, 
 Had mounted all aloft into her eyes. 
 
 Beauteous and gentle as her nature is, 
 And lovely all she does, j 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
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 —_——--—_----___ _ 
 
 So does imagination, which ne’er rests, 
 Adorn her in my mind where she resides : 
 
 _ Not that my fancy’s self hath subtilty 
 _ For argument so high, 
 
 > _ But gains a daring from thy influence, 
 oe 
 
 rey 
 ‘ 
 
 Beyond the strength which nature grants to man. 
 Faith in thy virtue from her beauty springs, 
 As strong as can be given by an effect 
 Produced on thing of worth : 
 So the sun’s virtue is confirmed by fire, 
 Which neither gives him strength nor takes away, 
 But by effects declares 
 The mightier goodness of his power in heaven. 
 
 O Sovereign, then, whose nature is so kind, 
 
 That from thy majesty, 
 
 Nobility and every other grace 
 
 Bestowed on earth, their origin derive ; 
 
 Look down and see how wretched is my life, 
 And pity of it take: 
 
 For grievous at my heart I feel the flame 
 Which by this lady’s beauty is inspired. 
 
 With thy sweet influence, Love, O make her feel 
 The great desire I have of seeing her : 
 
 O suffer not that she 
 
 Should bring me in the day of youth to death ; 
 For she perceives not yet how she can please, 
 Nor knows how strong my love, 
 
 Nor that my peace she carries in her eyes. 
 
 Great honour thou shalt gain in aiding me, 
 
 
 
 And I a bounteous gift, 
 
 Prized in proportion as I know that where 
 I am, my life I cannot long defend ; 
 
 For all my spirits are assailed by one 
 
 So strong, that reason says, 
 
 Short time they can abide without an end : 
 And mayst thou also make thy power felt 
 In this fair lady who deserves it well ; 
 
 For her deserts may claim 
 
 That every good should bear her company, 
 As one who hath been born into the world 
 Supremely to command 
 
 The minds of all who contemplate her worth. 
 
 —— 
 
 CANZONE X. 
 
 Poscia che Amor del tutto m’ ha lasciato. 
 
 Since love hath utterly abandoned me, 
 
 Not with my will, 
 
 For never was my state so full of joy ; 
 But that he pitied so 
 
 The sufferings of my heart 
 
 He could no longer bear to hear its plaint : 
 Deserted thus by love, I will declaim 
 
 Against the vice 
 
 New born in us, which ealls distortedly 
 
 That which is base and vile 
 
 By a name of mighty worth, 
 
 The name of gallantry, a grace so fair 
 
 That where it reigns, it gives 
 
 A worthy claim to the imperial robe. 
 
 It is the banner true 
 
 That designates the troop where virtue dwells : 
 Wherefore, I trust, that if I well defend 
 
 True gallantry, as understood by me, 
 
 Love will restore me to his grace again. 
 
 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 There are who prodigally waste their wealth, 
 Thinking to gain 
 An estimation where the good are found, 
 Who after death afford 
 A refuge in the mind 
 To those who rank among the nobly wise ; 
 But their profuseness cannot please the good ; 
 For thriftiness | 
 Were wisdom, and the ills they would avoid 
 Attending the mistake 
 Of them and all the tribe 
 
 Who in their reasoning form this judgment 
 
 false. 
 Who shall not call it sin 
 To riot in excess and gluttony ? 
 And gorgeously to dress, 
 As if for sale where purchasers are fools ? 
 The wise ne’er estimate a man by robes, 
 These are mere ornament ; 
 
 But sense and generous hearts are what they 
 
 prize. 
 
 Others there are, who laughing at mankind, 
 Would fain be thought 
 Of flowing wit and liberal intellect, 
 By those who are deceived, 
 Seeing them laugh at what 
 Their humbler understanding cannot reach : 
 And excellent in phrase is their discourse. 
 Scorned by the few, 
 Contented by the many to be praised. 
 No lovely lady 
 Ever enamours them ; 
 In conversation frivolous and false, 
 A foot they would not stir 
 In courtship as true gallantry demands ; 
 But as the thief goes forth 
 To rob, so they to steal a base delight ; 
 But ladies are not so to manners dead, 
 And virtuous gallantry, 
 That they should act as things of reason void. 
 
 Virtue which leaves the strait way is not pure ; 
 Hence is condemned, 
 Nor owned where virtue is demanded most, 
 That is, in quiet men 
 Of spiritual life, 
 Or habits which to science are inclined. 
 If then this virtue in a knight be praised, 
 It must be caused 
 By many things commixed, for one is found 
 With one man well to suit, 
 And with another ill. 
 But virtue which is pure suits well with all ; 
 It is the comforter, 
 And love and perfect works with it are joined. 
 Ruled by this three-fold good 
 Is gallantry, and in its essence lies ; 
 The sun resembling, in whose essence dwell 
 Both light and heat, combined 
 With the perfection of a beauteous form. 
 
 Although there be conjunction of the stars 
 Which, from its course 
 Turns gallantry, and more than I recount ; 
 Yet I to whom ’tis known, 
 Thanks to a gentle lady, 
 Whose every act example of it gave, 
 Will not conceal its worth ; for it were guilt 
 In me so vile, 
 
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 18 CANZONIERE. 
 
 That I should seem one of its enemies : 
 Henceforth then shall my song 
 
 More subtily declare 
 
 The truth of it ; but 1 know not to whom, 
 By him then here I swear, 
 
 Who Love is named, and fulness is of bliss, 
 That without virtuous works 
 
 True praise by no one ever can be gained. 
 Therefore if this my argument be good, 
 As every one admits, 
 
 Virtue with virtue mixed is gallantry. 
 
 This virtue is the image of the sun, 
 Who from the east 
 Goes forth advancing till his light he hides ; 
 His beauteous beams infuse 
 Vigour and life below 
 To matter as it fitly is disposed : 
 So she despising the unworthy herd | 
 Of those whose form | 
 Resembles man’s, but by their fruit are known, 
 [ll answering to the leaf, 
 By habits vile debased, 
 Like blessings on the gentle heart confers ; 
 In gifts of life is prompt 
 With joy and acts of favor, fair and new, 
 Fresh springing every hour. 
 He takes the sun for pattern who takes her. 
 Shame on the recreant knights, perverse and 
 
 false, 
 
 The enemies of her 
 Who to the prince of stars may be compared. 
 
 
 
 The man she favours freely gives and takes, | 
 And never rues ; 
 Nor does the sun in giving light to stars, | 
 And by reflected light | 
 Receiving aid from them ; 
 But one and other in the exchange delight. 
 He never is provoked to wrath by words ; 
 But those alone 
 He hears which pleasing are, and of himself 
 Are ever full of praise. 
 Dear for himself he is held, 
 And loved by every person who is wise ; 
 As for the vile and rude 
 He prizes equally their praise or blame : 
 No greatness swells his pride ; 
 But when by duties of his station called, 
 His ardour and his courage to display , 
 He then wins praise from all. 
 How opposite the course the living take ! 
 
 
 
 —_-—} — 
 
 CANZONE XI. 
 Tre donne intorno al cuor mi son venute. 
 
 THREE ladies have retreated to my heart, 
 And at the portal sit, 
 Where Love resides within, 
 Who in his sovereignty commands my life. 
 So great their beauty, and their virtue such, 
 That he, the mighty lord, 
 Whose seat is in my heart, 
 Can scarcely find fit terms to speak of them. 
 Each one ségms melancholy and in fear, 
 Like an unhappy exile faint and weary, 
 Whom all the world forsakes, 
 
 
 
 In many a piteous note one vents her grief, [fe 
 
 When she had made herself thus clearly known, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 And nobleness and virtue nought avail. 
 
 In days of old they were 
 
 (As report tells of them) mankind’s delight; =| 
 Now are they hated and contemned by all. |} 
 These ladies, thus forlorn, a 
 Are come as to the mansion of a friend ; : 
 For well they know that he I name dwells there, — 
 
 And on her hand reclines, | 
 
 Like a dissevered rose ; i 
 
 The naked arm, the pillar of her woe, 
 
 Feels the bright gem which from the cheek 
 drops down: 
 
 The other hand conceals 
 
 The face bedewed with tears ; 
 
 Unshod, unzoned, she still appears a lady. 
 
 Soon as the tattered gown revealed to Love 
 
 Her form in part, of which to speak were wrong, 
 
 Pity he felt and wrath, 
 
 And questions asked of her and of her grief. 
 
 O thou, the staff of few, 
 
 She said, in voice oft broken by her sighs, | 
 
 The claim of kindred sends us here to thee. 
 
 1, who do sorrow most, 
 
 Am Rectitude, the sister of thy mother ; 
 
 How poor, thou seest by these my robes and 
 zone. 
 
 
 
 My sovereign was seized | 
 With grief and shame, and asked, 
 
 Who were the other two who were with her, 
 And she, who was so prone to melt in tears, 
 Soon as she heard his words, 
 
 Burned with increase of woe, 
 
 Saying : Now grievest thou not to see these eyes ? 
 Then thus began : The Nile, as well thou knowest, 
 Springs forth a little river at its souree, 
 
 In land where heaven’s great light 
 
 Deprives the earth of every willow’s leaf: 
 Beside that virgin wave, 
 
 | brought forth her who here is at my side, 
 And with her flaxen tresses dries the tear: 
 And she, my fair offspring, 
 
 Herself admiring in the fountain pure 
 
 Brought forth this other, more removed from me. 
 
 
 
 Love paused awhile, his speech being checked by 
 
 sighs ; 
 And then, with softened eyes 
 Which playful were at first, 
 Saluted his unhappy relatives. 
 He after took a dart of either kind, 
 And said: Look up, be cheered ; 
 Behold the arms I need, 
 Now soiled and dull you see, from want of use. 
 Bounty and Temperance, and the others who 
 Are daughiers of our blood, in beggary rove. 
 But though this be an ill, 
 Let the eyes weep for it, and lips lament 
 Of men, whom it concerns, 
 And are exposed to influence of such skies ; 
 Not we, who are of the eternal rock ; 
 For though sore wounded now, 
 Yet still shall we endure, and yet shall find 
 A race by whom this dart shall shine again. 
 
 And I, who hear the speech divine, and see 
 
 How exiles great as these 
 

 
 
 
 
 CANZONTERE. 19 | 
 } 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 _ _ —— - — ee 
 
 re grieved and comforted, In her short pilgrimage 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 a ‘Henceforth my banishment an honour deem : Preserves, adorns, enriches what she finds ; if 
 _ And though a judgment, or the force of fate, And wars with Death till he excites no care. | a 
 _ Wills that this fickle world should change O handmaid dear and pure, | he 
 _ The flowers white to black, | In heaven thy mould was cast ; | i 
 _ To fall among the good is worthy praise : | Thou only mak’st the noble, and this proves | i! 
 _ And if the beauteous star which guides these eyes That thou the treasure art which never fails. at 
 _ Were not by distance taken from my view, | ih} 
 Which hath my soul inflamed, Slave not of lord, but of a worthless slave, | 4 
 Light should I count the burden I endure: The man becomes who from that lord with- 2M 
 But so this inward fire draws. i 
 ' Already hath consumed the bones and nerves, Hear now, how dear he pays, A 
 That Death upon my breast hath placed the key. If you consider well the twofold loss, | q 
 Hence though I may have erred, Who strays from virtue’s path: | 
 Months have revolved long since I were forgiven, So vile and wayward is this servile lord, 4 
 | If error dies provided man repent. That the eyes which render light unto the | t 
 . mind, ; | j 
 My song, forbid that man should touch thy robes, Through him are firmly closed ; | i 
 | To see what beauteous lady does conceal : So that his slave behoves to follow one } 
 Let what is shown suffice ; Who seeks but foolishness. it 
 _ Refuse to all the sweet and envied fruit And now, that you may profit by my song, : 
 | For which each hand is stretched ; [ will descend, and make | 
 : _ And should it happen that thou ever find’st The structure and the parts 
 A friend of virtue, and he thee entreat, More simple, that the sense may be more clear ; : 
 Robe thee in colours new ; For rarely, under veil, HY 
 | Then show thyself, and make all loving hearts Dark parables the understanding reach ; | 
 | Desire the flower of outward form so fair. And hence with you my reasoning should be 
 plain ; at 
 aaaalgpiti a: This for your good I do, 
 Surely not for my own: 
 | | pon Cosa aaltieeae 3 That every slave of vice you may abhor ; 
 BR: | CANZONE XII. | For who delight us make us like themselves, 
 , | Doglia me reca, nello core ardire. 
 ) He who is slave of vice is like the man 
 | Grier brings a daring spirit to my heart, Who follows swift his lord, and knows not 
 | To aid the will, which is the friend of truth: where, 
 : | If therefore in my verse Along a rueful way: 
 " | Are words that seem to censure all mankind, So fares the miser in pursuit of wealth, 
 | Ladies, be not surprised, Which lords it over all: 
 But learn to know your own perverse desire ; The miser runs, but swifter flies his peace ; ' 
 For beauty, which is yours by Love’s consent, QO blindness of the mind, which cannot see | 
 By his desire of old, The folly of thy will! | 
 Was formed to wait on virtue, and none else. He strives incessantly to swell his hoard, 
 Gainst which decree you sin. Doting on boundless wealth. | 
 | To you, who are enamoured then, I say : Behold it reached by Death, who levels all : | 
 | If beauty hath to you, Now say, what is thy gain | 
 | Virtue to us, been given, Thou undone miser blind ? / 
 | And power to Love to form of two but one, Reply, if thou art able: there is none. | 
 | You rightly cannot love, A curse hath been thy couch, | 
 But ought to hide all beauty you possess ; Which oft deceived thee with such flattering 
 For virtue was its aim, and is not yours. dreams ; ' 
 Alas! where tends my strain ? Accursed thy unprofitable store, | 
 I say, the scorn were just, Less lost if given to dogs ; 
 Noble and rightly praised, in lady who For late and early thou. | 
 Should cast away her beauty from her care. Hast reaped, and fondly grasped with both thy 
 . | hands, 
 : Man from himself hath banished virtue far ; That which so soon shall leave thee far away. 
 Not man indeed, but beast resembling man : | 
 O God, how wonderful As wealth with thirst immoderate is heaped, it 
 To wish to fall abased from lord to slave! So with immoderate grasp it is retained : 
 Or worse, from life to death ! This avarice compels | 
 Virtue is to her Maker still submiss, The many into bondage, and if one I 
 Obeys, and honour seeks to gain. Resist, ’tis with much pain. (| 
 O ladies, long as Love Where art thou Death? Kind Fortune where || 
 Enrols her of the glorious family art thou 2 
 Which grace his blissful court ; Why not let loose the miser’s unspent heaps? | 
 Forth from the happy gates she goes with joy If done,—then who is heir? | 
 And to her lady hies ; I know not ; for a sphere encircles us | 
 Ther € sojourns joyfully ; Which writes our fate above. i 
 With joy her noble vassalage performs ; The fault is Reason’s which corrects him not. I 
 y ae c 2 st 
 4 igen ae). a See = eas eo | 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Says he: I am not free? 
 
 Alas ! what poor defence 
 
 Urged by a sovereign whom 
 
 The shame is doubled here ; 
 
 If well you mark their ways at whom I point: 
 
 O beasts, false to yourselves, cruel to others, 
 
 Who see men wandering 
 
 Naked, o’er hills and fens, 
 
 Men from whose presence vice has fled afar ; 
 
 And you your garments throw o’er dregs of 
 earth, 
 
 a slave commands ! 
 
 Before the miser’s face pure Virtue stands, 
 Who still invites her enemies to peace ; 
 A polished lure she holds, 
 To entice him to her; but it little serves ; 
 For still he shuns the bait ; 
 Then after various turns, and many a call, 
 Such her concern for him, she throws the food ; 
 But close he keeps his wings ; 
 And if at length he comes, ’tis when she is gone, 
 So much he seems annoy od. 
 How gifts may be conferred, and yet not bring 
 Praise to the benefactor, 
 I wish that all should hear. 
 Some by delay, some by a vain parade, 
 Some by a sour brow, 
 Subvert the gift, by selling it so dear, 
 That he alone who buys can know the cost. 
 Ask you, if gifts can wound ? 
 Aye, so that the receiver 
 Will after think refusal is less bitter: 
 Thus does the miser wound himself and others. 
 
 | Ladies, to you I have unveiled one limb 
 Of a vile worthless race who court your love, 
 That they may meet your scorn ; 
 But more deformed is that which is concealed, 
 Wherefore too foul to tell. 
 In every one is gathered every vice ; 
 For concord is confounded i in the w orld. 
 Love’s verdant branches spring 
 From blissful root, and other bliss attract, 
 Like in degree of worth. 
 Hear now at what conclusion I arrive ; 
 Never let her believe, 
 Who beauty deems a good, 
 That she is loved by persons such as these ; 
 If beauty we account 
 Among our ills, believe it then she may, 
 When brutal appetite shall love be called. 
 Perish the lady who 
 Her beauty shall divorcee 
 From natural goodness, 
 cause, 
 And out of reason’s 
 
 and through such a 
 garden trusts in Love. 
 
 My song, not far from here a lady dwells, 
 A native of our land, 
 Fair, courteous, and discreet, 
 Invoked by all, and yet divulged to none : 
 When, giving her a name, 
 We call on Vanna, Bianca, or Cortese ; 
 To her pursue thy way, modest and veiled ; 
 First stay thy course with her, 
 To her first, undisguised, 
 Show what thou art and wherefore sent by me, 
 Then journey on wherever she command. 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 Lanp of my fathers, 
 
 Thin the malignant roots which waste thy soil ; 
 
 
 
 CANZONE XIII. ag 
 O Patria degna di trionfal fama. 
 
 famed for glorious deeds, 
 
 Parent of valiant: sons, 
 
 Great is thy sister’s woe, far greater thine. 
 
 He of thy sons who loves thee faithfully, 
 
 Hearing ‘the deeds of guilt 
 
 In thee’ committed, feels both grief and shame. 
 
 Alas ! how prompt the wic ‘ked in thee are 
 
 To flock together and conspire thy death ; 
 
 With dark ‘distorted eye, 
 
 Presenting to thy people false for true ! 
 
 Lift up the sinking hearts, and fire their blood ; 
 
 Upon the traitor let 
 
 Thy judgment fall ; so that in thee, with praise, 
 
 That grace may dwell in peace, which scorns 
 thee now, 
 
 And is the nest and fountain of all good. 
 
 appy thou reignedst in those haleyon days 
 
 When all thy sons desired 
 
 The virtues should be pillars of thy state. 
 
 Of praise the parent, and of health the abode, 
 
 With pure united faith, 
 
 And with the seven ladies thou wert blessed. 
 
 Stript of such ornaments, I see thee now 
 
 Clothed with sorrow, and with vices filled ; 
 
 Exiled the true Fabricii. 
 
 O proud, and vile, the enemy of peace, 
 
 O faction’s mirror, how art thou dishonoured, 
 
 Since thou art jomed with Mars ! 
 
 The loyal thou to Antinora doomest 
 
 Who follows not the widowed lily’s spear ; 
 
 And those who love thee most thou treatest 
 worst. 
 
 No pity show those sons 
 Who have polluted and despoiled thy flower ; | 
 Will, that the virtues should be conquerors ; 
 So that the faith now hid 
 
 May rise again, with Justice sword in hand, 
 Steered by the beacons which Justinian gave, | 
 And thy unjust, ferocious, fiery laws | 
 With sound discretion mend ; 
 
 So that their praise be sung in earth and heaven. 
 Then with thy honours and with wealth enrich 
 Those sons who prize thee most ; 
 
 Nor on the undeserving heap thy gifts. 
 
 So that fair Prudence and her sisters may 
 
 All dwell with thee ; nor thou ’gainst them rebel. 
 
 
 
 Serene and glorious, by the influence blest 
 
 Of every heavenly sphere, 
 
 If such thy conduct, thou shalt honoured reign ; 
 And then thy noble name, now ill applied, 
 Florence, shall well be given. 
 
 Soon as with mutual love thou art adorned, 
 Happy the soul that shall be born in thee ! 
 
 All power and praise thou shalt deserve, and be 
 The ensign of the world. 
 
 But if thy vessel’s pilot be not changed, 
 
 Still mightier tempests and a stormy death 
 Expect to be thy lot, 
 
 And all thy course to be with wailing filled. 
 Choose then and judge, whether fraternal peace 
 Be best, or to remain a ravenous wolf. 
 
 
 
 ieee 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ‘ - 
 ‘ 
 2 
 cd 
 
 sae 
 ay 3h 
 
 Song, now go thy way, severe and bold, 
 
 VS 
 | For Love is still thy guide ; 
 || Enter my city, o’er whose woes I mourn ; 
 And thou shalt find some good men there, whose 
 
 lamp 
 
 No brightness sends abroad ; 
 _ But vilely lost they and their virtues lie. 
 Exclaim: Arise, for you my trumpet sounds ; 
 
 Arise, take arms, raise up your abject land, 
 
 For wretchedly she lives ; 
 
 And Crassus, Simon Magus, Capaneus, 
 
 Aglauro, and the treacherous Greek devour her, 
 
 And Mahomet the blind 
 
 Who rules proud Pharaoh’s and Jugurtha’s 
 course. 
 
 Then turn, and move her just ones with thy 
 prayer, 
 
 So that her empire rise for evermore. 
 
 —_->—- 
 
 SESTINA I. 
 
 Al poco giorno ed al gran cerchio d’ombra. 
 
 At the short day, alas! I am arrived 
 Pi | 5] 
 
 Broad is night’s shade, and white are all the 
 * 2 ; 
 hills, 
 And vanished is the colour of the herb ; 
 Yet is my love unchanged, and still is green, 
 So is it rooted in the cold hard stone 
 Which speaks and hears, as if it were a ladv. 
 5 J 
 
 So cold and flinty is this youthful lady, 
 
 Who rests like snow congealed beneath the shade ; 
 For she no more is moved than is the stone, 
 
 By the sweet season which revives the hills, 
 Changing again their hue from white to green, 
 And robing them in flowers and the herb. 
 
 When with a garland crowned of flowering herbs, 
 
 From memory she draws every other lady ; 
 For crisped and mingled are the gold and green 
 So beauteously, that Love flies to their shade ; 
 And me he fetters amid gentle hills, 
 
 More firmly than a tower of hardest stone. 
 
 Her beauties far exceed each precious stone, 
 
 And wounds from her defy the healing herb ; 
 Hence have I fled amain o’er plains and hills, 
 To save me, and escape from this fair lady ; 
 But’gainst her brightness nothing yields a shade, 
 Nor hill, nor wall, nor trees of leafy green. 
 
 Once I beheld her clad in robes of green, 
 
 So beautiful she might have warmed a stone, 
 With love, such as I bear her very shade ; — 
 And in a mead adorned with brightest herb 
 
 I woo’d her, as a love-inspired lady, 
 
 Where closed around stood loftiest alpine hills. 
 
 But sooner shall the streams ascend the hills, 
 
 Than this fair plant, so tender and so green, 
 Shall feel a flame, beseeming gentle lady, 
 For me, who were content to sleep in stone 
 For all my days, or graze upon the herb, 
 Solely to view her garment cast a shade. 
 
 Where’er the hills send forth their deepest shade, 
 
 Clothed in her robe of green, the youthful lady 
 Dispels it, like a gem among the herb. 
 
 CANZONIERE. 21 | 
 
 Love sometimes leads me to enjoy the shade 
 
 When mine eye gazes on this gentle maid, 
 
 
 
 SESTINA II. 
 
 Amor mi mena tal fiata all’ ombra. 
 
 Of ladies, on whose necks are beauteous hills, 
 Fairer than whitest flower that decks the herb : 
 And one there is, arrayed in robes of green, 
 Who warms my heart like light from precious 
 stone, 
 And fairer seems than every other maid. 
 
 Before whose splendour vanishes all shade, 
 Her light so wounds my heart it turns to stone . 
 And griefs oppress me heavier than the hills. 
 Then I revive, and am in love more green 
 Than verdant Spring, or leaf, or goodliest herb. 
 
 I ween no power was ever found in herb 
 
 A 
 
 So healing as the virtue of this maid, 
 
 Who steals my heart, yet leaves the life-cords 
 green 5 
 
 When she restores it, I am as a shade, 
 
 Lifeless, and cold, and barren as the hills 
 
 Of loftiest summit, and of driest stone. 
 
 heart I had as hard as any stone 
 
 When first I saw her, like the budding herb 
 
 In Spring’s sweet dawn, when flowers first deck 
 the hills ; 
 
 Now is it tender toward every maid, 
 
 Solely through love of her, who yields a shade 
 
 To me more welcome than the laurel green. 
 
 For season hot, or cold or parched, or green, 
 
 Still brings me joy,such health this preciousstone 
 Imparts, and peace from resting in her shade. 
 O sight how fair to see her press the herb, 
 Surpassing in the dance each other maid, 
 
 And tripping blithe as day o’er plain and hills. 
 
 Long as I dwell amid the Alps and hills 
 
 Love leavesme not, but still maintains more green, 
 Than man ere was most favoured by a maid ; 
 For form was never seen on precious stone, 
 Nor carved, nor painted, nor was bloom on herb, 
 Which can compare in beauty with her shade. 
 
 Thus Love contents me, living in the shade 
 
 O 
 
 If 
 
 Of hope to win all favour from this maid, 
 Whose garland wreathes my brow with choicest 
 herb. 
 
 SESTINA III. 
 
 Gran nobilt&a mi par vedere all’ ombra. 
 
 NOBLE is the sight, when in the shade 
 
 Are ladies seen, with necks like snowy hills, 
 Tossing from each to each the flowery herb ; 
 If she be there for whom my love is green, 
 And fixed as firm as wall of hardest stone, 
 And stronger than was ever love for maid. 
 
 fervent love I bear toward this maid, 
 Let no one wonder, nor his brow o’ershade ; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 © 
 
 ~ 
 
 34 
 
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 aT Se tm, 2 BE at, pene met 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 22 CANZON TERE. 
 
 
 
 
 ! 
 
 i For my heart’s bliss springs from dh precious So pee in ie beauty is this lady, 
 
 i stone ; She who feels Love a dweller in her eyes. 
 Were it to fail me, low would sink the hills, But let her hide and guard him as she will, == || 
 | And all things change their hue, like as the green | That for a while I may not see such bliss, | 
 Fil Departed from the verdant new-mown herb. Yet my desires at last shall have the power —_ |j_—— 
 | To conquer the disdain I bear from Love. 
 
 
 
 
 
 v 
 
 goed a 
 « 
 
 
 
 
 +) Well may I say that she adorns the herb, 
 rail With which to adorn herself each other maid 
 Mingles gay flowers with the foliage green ; 
 
 | 
 For such the brightness of her pleasant shi ade ; BALLATA IL. 
 
 ‘ 
 
 ae i 7 
 
 —<— 
 
 
 
 
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 — = 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 oo 2, *s 
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 That valleys are rejoiced, and plains, and hills, 
 And virtue it imparts to very stone. 
 
 "oe 
 
 Per una ghirlandetta. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 <4 
 
 A GARLAND have I seen 
 So fair, that every flower 
 Will cause my sighs to flow. 
 
 I know that I should be more vile than stone, 
 If she were not my health-bestowing herb ; 
 Her virtue hath prevailed mid Alps and hills, 
 Where power was never owned of any maid, 
 Save her alone; and happy in her shade 
 Am I, as bird among the branches green. 
 
 es 
 
 ins 
 
 ae ey 
 
 Lovely s faire st flower ; 
 
 And blithely fluttering ov er it, beheld 
 A little angel of Love’s gentle quire, 
 Who sung an artful lay, 
 
 Which said, who me beholds 
 
 Shall praise my sovereign lord. 
 
 5 alee 
 peers by ys 
 — 
 
 And were I like this humble plant and green, 
 I might show forth the worth of every stone, 
 Nor leave one virtue hidden in the shade: 
 For I am hers, her flower, and fruit, and herb ; 
 But none in works may reach this sovereign 
 maid, 
 Whether she walk the plain or climb the hills. 
 
 a8 
 + ihn 
 
 Lady, I saw a garland borne by you, 
 / 
 
 a? mee « 
 33 A ge RSS ee 
 
 ~ 
 
 Let me be found where tender floweret blooms, 
 Then will my sighs break forth. 
 Then shall I say, my lady fair and kind 
 Bears on her head the flowerets of my Sire ; 
 But to increase desire, 
 Soon shall my lady come 
 Crowned by the hand of Love. 
 
 I faint like him who climbs the steepest hills, 
 When forced to leave her; and I feel the green 
 Bright Spring return see ing again this maid: 
 When far from sight of her I am a stone; 
 
 But contemplate in faith, still fresh as herb, 
 That soul most pleasing in its modest shade. 
 
 < 
 
 Re EOS 
 
 => 
 
 ee = 
 
 Of flowers, these new and trifling rhymes of mine, 
 A ballad have composed ; 
 
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 = Anukes tas = : 
 
 ae 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 a / 
 
 A ; = ee ‘ Fr hem, to wi orace, they have ta’en | 
 
 oe i My highest wish is still to enjoy the shade rom them, to win @ grace, they Have | 
 
 ie Of her the chief of every noble maid, TMD S's be | 
 
 it And fairer than all flowers, or fruit, or herb. That never to another hath been given : | 
 
 Y; Therefore let me entreat, | 
 
 #y ; 
 4 When ye shall sing the lay, 
 
 ee That ye W ill do it Ronour. 
 
 BALLATA I. : | 
 Voi che sapete ragionar d’ Amore. 
 
 Ye who are able to discourse of Love, BALLATA III. 
 Attend I pray and hear my piteous song 
 
 Io mi son pargoletta bella; e nova. 
 Which tells of a disdainful lady’s scorn, - 
 
 
 
 Who willed that I should bear you company. 
 
 ipiae Who by her worth hath robbed me of my heart. | Lapres, behold a maiden fair and young ; 
 ai | To you I come, to show you in myself 
 an Such is her scorn of all who look on her The beauties of the place where I have been. 
 } That she compels the eyes to bow through fear ; 
 | For round her own there plays s unceasingly | In heaven I dwelt, and thither shall return, 
 | A portraiture of every cruelty ; To impart delight to others with my beams: 
 Yet the sweet image do they be ar within | And he who sees me and is not enamoured, 
 i Which prompts the gentle soul to say: Be kind! | Shall never have intelligence of love ; 
 | And has such virtue when it is beheld, | For every pleasing gift was freely given, 
 | That it draws forth the sighs from every heart. | | When Nature sought the grant of me from Him 
 
 She seems to say, Ne’er will I gracious be 
 
 f \ € . » ohe M4 : Tt 
 Bes | To any one shall look upon mine eyes ; Each planet showers down upon mine eyes 
 a For I within them bear that gentle Lord Most bounteously its virtue and its light : 
 Beet |) | Who makes me feel the virtue of his darts: Beauties are mine the world hath never seen, 
 x ! if And truly I believe she guards them thus For I obtained them in the realms above : 
 ah To view them at her pleasure and alone. | And ever must their nature rest unknown, ) 
 f qt | As looks a modest lady in her mirror, Unless to the intelligence of him | 
 SM Desirous that when seen she may be honoured. In whom Love dwells to give to others bliss. 
 if i f 
 t t 
 , ip f AT r, <] r. r . Ma 
 at ie No hope have I that she will ever deign | These words were written on the gentle brow 
 Wai | From pity to bestow a glance on man, | Of a fair angel who appeared to us; | 
 
 a sueannsmeaooeeenginmamnn nnn ene . 
 

 
 
 
 Whence I, to save myself, gazed full on her, 
 _ And hazarded the losing of my life ; 
 _ For so severe a wound | then received 
 
 From one whom I beheld within her eyes, 
 
 _ That ever since I weep, nor peace have known. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ee 
 
 BALLATA IV. 
 
 Deh nuvoletta, che ’n ombra d’ Amore. 
 
 O cLouD-LIKE phantom, that in Love’s sweet shade 
 So suddenly before these eyes appeared, 
 Have pity on the heart which thou hast wounded ; 
 Which hopes in thee, and in desiring dies. 
 
 " Phantom divine, excelling human form, 
 , | Thou hast implanted in my mind a fire, 
 
 With thy discourse, which kills. 
 
 And then, by virtue of thy fervent spirit, 
 
 | Thou hast created hope, which partly heals 
 
 Whene’er thou smil’st on me. 
 O heed not the presumption of my hope ; 
 _ But on the love which burns me turn thine eyes ; 
 For many a lady has been doomed to feel 
 Another’s pain, by comfort too late given. 
 
 ———- 
 
 BALLATA V. 
 Madonna, quel signor che voi portate. 
 
 | He whom you carry in your eyes, Madonna, 
 That sovereign who the mightiest overthrows, 
 Sweet confidence inspires 
 
 That I shall find in you compassion’s friend. 
 
 For where that sovereign fixes his abode, 
 And is accompanied by beauty’s train, 
 All goodness he attracts 
 Unto himself, as to the source of power : 
 Hence I am ever comforting my hope, 
 Which has been harassed in so many storm 
 It must have suffered wreck, 
 If it were not that Love 
 Still gives it strength ’gainst all adversity. 
 Both by his look, and by the memory 
 Of the sweet place, and of the modest flower, 
 Which with the glow of youth 
 Engarlandeth my mind, 
 Thanks lady to your gentle courtesy. 
 
 en aa 
 
 BALLATA VI. 
 
 Donne, io non so di che mi preghi Amore. 
 
 
 
 | Lapres, I know not what to ask of Love 
 For he destroys me, and I fear to die, 
 And yet to feel him less I dread still more. 
 
 5 
 
 Within my mind a light resplendent shines 
 
 ey those fair eyes of which Iam enamoured, 
 ant pete the sond content. 
 Tis true that there deseends from time to time 
 An arrow which dries up a very lake 
 
 Ere quenched within my heart, 
 
 Love serves me thus whenever he recalls 
 
 The hand so sweetly soft, and faith so pure, 
 Which from my life should every care remove. 
 
 Bo ; CANZONIERE. 23 | 
 
 ee 
 
 | | 
 BALLATA VII. 
 Poiche saziar non posso gli occhi miei. 
 
 Since I can never satiate mine eyes 
 With looking on the beauty of Madonna, | 
 On her so fixed I’ll gaze, 
 
 That by beholding her I shall be blessed. 
 
 Like as the angel, who of higher worth, 
 And placed in heaven’s realm, 
 By vision only of the Deity 
 Grows blessed, so | a human creature frail, 
 ‘By gazing on the form 
 Of her who holds possession of my heart, 
 Shall find angelic bliss even here on earth. 
 Such is the virtue which she freely sheds ; 
 Yet felt alone by him 
 Who pays her homage while he fondly loves. 
 
 nee 
 
 SONNET L. 
 Parole mie, che per lo mondo siete. 
 
 My mystic rhymes, wide-wandering through the 
 world, 
 Ye that have had your birth since I began 
 The song for her, the lady I had wronged, y 
 “ Ye who, intelligent, move the third heaven, 
 Go, seek and find her, for ye know her well, 
 Lamenting so, that she may hear our plaints: 
 Say to her: We are yours; younever then 
 
 Will see us more devoted than we are. 
 
 Stay not with her, if Love should not be there ; 
 But like your elder sisters, robed in sorrow, 
 Continue on your melancholy round. — 
 
 When ladies of true worth ye chance to find, 
 Fall at their feet with all humility, 
 
 Saying: Our duty is to do you honour. 
 
 SONNET II. 
 
 ES . 
 
 O dolci rime, che parlando andate. 
 
 Swexzt rhymes, whose theme is still the gentle lady 
 Who on all other ladies sheddeth honour, 
 To you will come, perchance ere now 1S comes 
 One whom you haii, and say: Chis is our 
 brother. 
 O by that lord who every lady’s breast 
 Enamours ; | conjure you turn your ear a 
 From his discourse, for in his mind there dwells 
 No sentiment which is the friend of truth. | 
 And should you by his language have been movet | 
 To journey to the lady whom you perve, = 
 Stay not your course ; but to her presence 1aste, 
 And say to her: Our errand 1s, Madonna, 
 To recommend one who in griei exclaims : 
 Ah me! Where is the desire of mime eyes. 
 
 
 
 Nemes Serge was 
 
 
 
 
 
 CO EE SF 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ee 
 wb einregheeete 
 
 oe 
 

 
 
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 aN ar | 
 \ , 6 ee es oft J 
 
 ——s———— 
 
 “bt ti +s . ¥ °3 
 * oy Wa penne ter ee te 
 — == ot Deere 
 
 <= - 
 
 ——— 
 
 re 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CANZ 
 
 SONNET III. 
 Per quella via che la Bellezza corre. 
 
 Aone that way which Beauty swiftly goes, 
 When bent to awaken Love within the mind, 
 A lady boldly speeds, in full belief 
 That surely I her captive shall be made. 
 
 || When at the foot of that high tower arrived 
 
 | Where all is silence when the mind consents, 
 She hears a warning voice in haste exclaim : 
 
 | Away, fair lady, do not enter there ; 
 
 | For she who sits aloft upon the tower, 
 
 | When she besought the sceptre of her sway, 
 
 | Love freely gave it her, as she desired. 
 
 | And when the lady sees herself dismissed, 
 With firmness, from the dwelling-place of Love 
 Blushing with shame she silently retires. 
 
 ———>—— 
 
 | SONNET IV. 
 | Due donne in cima de la mente mia. 
 
 | Two ladies, to the summit of my mind, 
 
 | Are come to hold discourse concerning love : 
 
 | Virtue and courtesy adorn the one, 
 
 | With modesty and prudence in her train ; 
 
 | Beauty, and lively elegance, the other ; 
 And gentleness combines to do her honour : 
 
 | And I, by favour of my gracious lord, 
 Stand at the footstool of their sovereignty. 
 
 Beauty and virtue both address the mind, 
 And question if a heart can truly serve 
 Two ladies, and with perfect love to each: 
 
 | The fountain of pure eloquence replies, 
 
 | That Beauty may be loved for her delights, 
 
 | And Virtue may be loved for lofty deeds. 
 
 
 
 ——< > —- 
 
 | SONNET V. 
 
 Di donne io vidi una gentile schiera. 
 
 A GENTLE train of ladies met my view, 
 This All Saints’ feast, that has but just passed by ; 
 And one advanced before them as their chief, 
 | Leading with her, upon her right hand, Love. 
 _ She darted from her eyes a dazzling light, 
 _ Which seemed a glorious spirit all of fire : 
 | And as emboldened on her cheer I gazed, 
 | 
 
 
 
 | I saw depicted there an angel form. 
 | Then with her eyes, benign and soft, she gave 
 A sweet salute to all who worthy were ; 
 Filling the heart of each with virtuous thoughts. 
 || In heaven, I ween, was born this sovereign lady, 
 And came for our salvation to the earth : 
 Then blessed is the soul that near her dwells, 
 
 a oe 
 
 SONNET VI. 
 Onde venite voi cosi pensose ? 
 
 ) 
 
 | thought ? 
 
 | Be pleased, in courtesy, to tell me whence ; 
 For I have fears my lady is the cause 
 
 Of your return, so pensive and so sad. 
 
 
 
 Wuence do ye come, with looks so full of | 
 
 
 
 ONTIERE. 
 
 
 
 Disdain not, gentle ladies, my request ; 
 Nor for a while refuse upon your way . 
 To tarry, and discourse with one in grief, ee 
 Who of his lady’s state desires to hear. < 
 
 Yet hearing it will adda load of pain; . ee 
 For Love has from his favour banished me, 
 So that his every act inflicts a wound. 
 
 O mark me well, how near I am consumed ; 
 For every spirit of life is prompt to fly, 
 Ladies, unless I comfort find from you. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ——-@—- - 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SONNET VIL. 
 Voi, donne, che pietoso atto mostrate. 
 
 O LapiEs, whose demeanour pity shows, 
 ; Who is this lady that lies so subdued ? 
 Can it be she whose image fills my heart ? 
 |  O, if it be the same, conceal it not. 
 Alas! her features are so sadly changed, 
 | So weak and so exhausted is her form, 
 That she no longer seems to represent 
 Angelic beauty in an earthly frame. 
 [f thou canst not our lady recognise, 
 Who is so fallen, to me it seems not strange, 
 For even to ourselves the same occurs : 
 But if the sweet expression of her eyes 
 Thou markest, then shall she be known: 
 O weep no more, thou art indeed undone. 
 
 -—~}- 
 
 SONNET VIII. 
 Da quella luce che ’l suo corso gira. 
 
 From that great planet which for ever rolls 
 Its course, at pleasure of the empyreal shrouds, 
 And midway poised, ’tween Marsand Saturn’sorb, 
 Sheds influence, as the astrologer declares, 
 
 She who her virtue, at her pleasure, breathes 
 In me, derives the art of sovereignty ; 
 Apollo, who the fourth heaven never leaves, 
 Bestows on her the effect of my desire. 
 
 The beauteous star of Mercury endues 
 Her-speech with soft persuasive tones ; 
 And Cynthia is not sparing of her gifts. 
 
 Celestial Venus, who the third heaven rules, 
 Refines her heart with all love’s eloquence ; 
 And thus by all the seven she is adorned. 
 
 ——»}—— 
 
 SONNET IX. 
 Poiché sguardando, il cor feriste in tanto. 
 
 O Love, since while I gazed you struck this heart 
 A blow so dire, that every nerve is pained, 
 In pity, lord, afford it some relief, 
 So that the sorrowing spirit may revive. 
 For see you not these mournful eyes consume 
 In weeping, through extremity of woe, 
 Which brings me to the verge of death so near 
 _ That my escape is barred on every side. 
 See lady what a load of grief I bear : 
 And hearken to my voice, how weak it is, 
 | With calling still for pity and your love : 
 | Yet if it be your pleasure, gentle lady, 
 | That by this grief my heart should waste away, 
 | Behold your servant humble and resigned. 
 
 ee open eee ——a 
 

 
 SONNET X.. 
 
 __ Dagli occhi della mia donna si muove. 
 ‘Fort from my lady’s eyes there streams a light 
 || So gentle, that wherever she appears 
 || Things are beheld that may not be described ; 
 eo il Such their sublimity and nature rare. 
 _ || And by their beams upon my heart is showered 
 || Such fear, as makes me tremble and exclaim : 
 Here will I never venture to return : 
 But soon are all my resolutions lost ; 
 And thither I return, again to fall ; 
 | Giving new courage to the timorous eyes 
 That had already felt her powerful beams. 
 : _ Alas ! when there arrived, my eyes are closed, 
 bk. _ And the desire which leads them perisheth : 
 | Hence let my state, O Love, engage thy care. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 % 
 
 a 
 wy he 
 
 
 
 ae 
 
 SONNET XI. 
 Chi guardera giammai senza paura, 
 
 _ Wuenre shall the man be found who without fear 
 
 _ Shall look upon this lovely maiden’s eyes, 
 Which have so treated me, that nought remains 
 For me, save death, the thought of which is pain ? 
 
 Mark how my evil fortune is severe ; 
 
 _ Which from all other lives doth mine select, 
 To give mankind a warning to retire, 
 Nor risk the admiration of her form. 
 
 To me this fatal end hath been decreed, 
 
 | Since it behoved one man should be destroyed 
 
 | That others might from peril be withdrawn ; 
 And therefore have I been, alas ! as prone 
 
 To attract to me the opposite of life, 
 
 As is Diana’s star to attract the sun, 
 
 
 
 -—_s——.- 
 
 SONNET XII. 
 Nulla mi parra mai pit crudel cosa. 
 
 Noruine more cruel can I e’er behold 
 Than her, in serving whom I waste my life ; 
 For her affections in an ice-bound lake 
 Abide, and mine in the fierce flame of Love. 
 _ I joy to contemplate the mighty charms 
 Of this unpitying and disdainful lady ; 
 | And of my torment am enamoured so, 
 That nought beside gives pleasure to my eyes. 
 _ Not she who ever turns to view the sun, 
 | And though transformed retains her love un- 
 changed, 
 Endured a fortune as perverse as mine. 
 Therefore, O Love, if thou mayst not subdue 
 This haughty lady, ere life’s breath expires, 
 For pity’s sake, O join with me, and sigh. 
 
 
 
 U ; 
 : 
 
 ——-—— 
 
 SONNET XIII. 
 
 E’ non é legno di si forti nocchi. 
 
 No gnarled oak was e’er so stubborn found, 
 Nor even rock so obdurately hard, 
 As she, the cruel one who hastes my death : 
 
 “4 ? ye 
 ay Love ne’ex place you near her beauteous 
 eyes. 
 
 
 
 : CANZONIERE. 25 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 If then she meet with one who shall regard her, 
 And he withdraw not, she his heart will pierce 
 And he shall surely die ; nor recompense 
 Obtain, howe’er abundant his deserts. 
 
 O why has so much virtue been bestowed 
 On eyes which grace a lady so unkind ; 
 
 Who no one faithful follower keeps alive ; 
 
 And who to pity is so proud a foe, 
 
 That if one dies for her, no more she heeds him, 
 But rather hides her beauties from his sight. 
 
 get) 06 i = gg ew 
 
 Fite CRT stn 
 
 
 
 ar tae 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ser = 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 —_@— 
 
 SONNET XIV. 
 
 Se 1 bello aspetto non mi fosse tolto. 
 
 
 
 
 —————SS SS 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Were not the beauteous presence taken from me 
 Of that loved lady, whom to see is joy, 
 And whom I sigh for mournfully, in tears, | 
 From her sweet countenance so far removed, 
 Those cares that weigh me down so heavily, 
 And make me feel such cruel martyrdom, 
 That though I breathe I scarcely am alive, 
 And am as one who has no hold of hope, 
 Would then seem light, and void of misery ; 
 But while I see her not, as I am wont, 
 Love brings affliction and my heart dismays ; 
 And of all comfort I am so bereft, 
 That things which to all others give delight, 
 To me are troubles, and a source of pain. 
 
 a 
 ee 
 
 ————S 
 
 a 
 
 ee ee eee 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 oe 
 
 eT tks 
 
 -—-—<-—— 
 
 SONNET XV. 
 
 Io son si vago della bella luce. 
 
 + oe 
 
 Tue beauteous light of those perfidious eyes, | 
 By which I have been slain, enchants me so, 
 That to the place, where I meet death and 
 
 scorn, 
 I still am carried by the potent charm: 
 
 And what distinct appears, and what confused, | 
 So daze my vision, both of eye and mind, 
 That drawn away from reason and from truth, 
 Desire alone I follow as my guide ; 
 
 Full of undoubting faith he leads me on | 
 To a sweet death, under delusion sweet, | 
 Discovered only when the ill is done. | 
 
 Strong is the grief endured by me through scorn, | 
 But more alas! I grieve that there is seen | 
 Pity with me defrauded of reward. 
 
 
 
 = i a8 Nii a ama AY Ne tS ape |, NE) Pi Ec ae 
 eke : pepe or 
 a a wie aoe AD - 
 
 ae en la 
 
 
 
 <<, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ne Ser 
 
 ee 
 
 TT 
 
 Ae 
 
 = 
 
 a ee : 
 
 eee a ore 
 a ow ee ee 
 4, y or ‘ t 
 
 SONNET XVI. 
 
 Io maladico il di ch’ io vidi imprima. 
 
 a hea 
 
 AccursED be the day when first I saw 
 The light which sparkles in your traitorous eyes ; | 
 The moment cursed, when to my heart you came 
 And gained the top, to draw from it the soul. 
 
 Accursed be Love’s labour, which my style 
 Has polished, and refined the beauteous tints 
 Of verse, for you invented and adorned, 
 
 To force the world to honour you for ever. 
 
 Acecursed be my stubborn memory, 
 
 Which holds so firmly what must cause my death, 
 The baneful lovely image of your form; — 
 
 Through which, doth Love so oft forswear himself, 
 That both of us derided are by all, 
 
 And I, for thinking to seize fortune’s wheel. 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 26 
 
 
 
 
 
 SONNET XVII. 
 
 Se vedi gli occhi miei di pianger vaghi. 
 
 
 
 Ir thou behold these eyes, that love to weep 
 O’er a new woe, that melts my heart to pity ; 
 I pray thee, Lord, by her who leaves thee not, 
 To disenamour them of such a pleasure. 
 
 Make thy right hand a scourge, and him repay 
 Who justice kills, and then protection finds 
 From the great tyrant, feasting on his gall, 
 Which wide is spread, and threats to flood the 
 
 world ; 
 
 Tyrant, who o’er thy faithful followers’ hearts 
 Seatters such icy dread, that all are mute. 
 But thou, O light of heaven, fire of Love, 
 
 Revive the virtuous spirit, which now lies 
 Naked and cold, and clothe it with thy veil ; 
 For without it there is no peace on earth, 
 
 
 
 ——~—— 
 
 SONNET XVIII. 
 
 Poich’ io non trovo chi meco ragioni. 
 
 SincE I find none with whom I may converse 
 Of him, the sovereign whom we both obey, 
 Thus must I satisfy the strong desire 
 To give expression to my honest thoughts. 
 The long and painful silence I have held 
 Towards you, my friend, hath had no other cause 
 But this bad place, where vice is so supreme 
 That goodness finds no welcome or abode. 
 No lady is there on whose face Love smiles, 
 Nor even man who ever sighs for Love ; 
 And if there were, a fool he would be called. 
 Alas, friend Cino, how the times are changed 
 To our sad loss, how changed our pleasant lays, 
 Since goodness makes us a return so scant. 
 
 
 
 SONNET XIX. 
 Io mi credea del tutto esser partito. 
 
 I rHovent, friend Cino, that these rhymes of yours 
 And I had separated, and for ever ; 
 For now my vessel is required to steer 
 An altered course, and further from the shore: 
 But since I many times have heard that you 
 Are caught with ease by every baited hook, 
 Be pleased to let thy wearied ear attend 
 A little to this counsel of my pen. 
 He who like you is readily enamoured, 
 And is by each new beauty chained and freed, 
 Shows that Love’s arrow lightly touches him : 
 If then your heart so pliant is and fickle, 
 Correct it, I beseech you, in God’s name ; 
 
 7 
 
 And let your deeds and your sweet words accord. 
 
 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 CANZONIERE, 
 
 
 
 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SONNET XX. 
 
 Togliete via le vostre porte ormai, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Unzarrep be all your gates, and opened wide, 
 And she who honours others shall come in ; 
 For this the lady is, in whom worth dwells, 
 And who in valour mighty is, and power. 
 
 ** Woe’s me, alas! woe’s me,” tell me thy grief? 
 “ T tremble so that I want power to speak.” 
 Be comforted ; for me thou still shalt find, 
 Thy succour and thy life, as thou shalt own. 
 
 “ I feel that all my faculties are bound 
 By a hidden spell, O Love, which drags me on ; | 
 And I perceive that it forebodes me woe.” 
 
 Turn thee to me, who fulness am of joy ; 
 
 By fleeing only thou receivest thy wounds, 
 And doubt not they shall quickly be removed, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SONNET XXI. | 
 Guido, vorrei che tu, e Lappo, ed io. | 
 
 Guipvo, I would that Lappo, thou, and I, 
 Were carried by some sweet enchantment hence, 
 And placed within a bark upon the sea, 
 Where wind and wave our bidding should obey ; 
 Where never storm, or other adverse weather, 
 To interrupt our course should have the power ; | 
 But wishes ne’er to part should still merease | 
 By ever living in one mind together. 
 And might the good enchanter set beside us, 
 Our Beatrice, and Vanna, and the lady 
 Whose place in beauty’s list is number thirty ; 
 And there, discoursing ever upon love, 
 I trust that each of them would be content, 
 As I am confident that we should be. 
 
 SONNET XXII. 
 
 Lo re che merta i suoi servi a ristoro. 
 
 
 
 Tue King of Kings whose goodness knows no 
 bounds, 
 In recompensing ills his servants bear, 
 Makes me discard all anger, care, and grief, 
 And to the court of heaven direct mine eyes. 
 And while I muse upon the glorious choir 
 Of citizens, who dwell where all is pure, 
 In praising my Creator, I his creature 
 Am more inflamed with love the more I praise, 
 For if I contemplate the promised bliss, 
 To which my God invites the Christian race, 
 For me there seems nought else to be desired. 
 But, friend beloved, for thee I truly grieve, 
 Who disregard’st the life and world to come, 
 And losest for a shadow bliss secure. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 nt 
 uy 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE CANZONIERE OF DANTE. 
 
 rART Ii: 
 
 CANZONE XIV. 
 
 Ahi faulx ris! per qe trai haves, 
 
 AX sourir faux, pourquoi trahissiez vous 
 | Oculos meos ? et quid tibi feci, 
 That thou with fraud so cruel has repaid me ? 
 Jam audissent verba mea Groeci. 
 Chacun le sait, et vous ne l’ignorez, 
 That a deceiver cannot merit praise. 
 Thou know’st if joy attend 
 Miserum ejus cor, qui preestolatur, 
 ey En vain j’espére, elle ne s’en soucie guere. 
 ; | Oh Dieu ! que de malheur, 
 ne Atque fortuna ruinosa datur 
 g To him who wastes time in expectancy, 
 Nor ever touches even the bud of hope. 
 
 Conqueror, cor suave, de te primo ; 
 Since, for a mad indulgence of the eyes, 
 Vous ne deviez perdre la loi de raison : 
 But I am pleased to see that in the strife 
 Semper insurgunt contra me de limo, 
 Je meurs done pour la foi que j’eus en toi, 
 Penser fatal ! Ah pauvre moi ! 
 For I am punished, and have done no wrong. 
 Nec dicit ipsa : Malum est de isto : 
 Unde querelam sisto. 
 Full well she knows whether my heart inclines 
 __ De plaire a d’autres, parce qu’Amour le sait, 
 Que le faux cceur grande peine en porterait. 
 
 _ Truly this lady’s heart must be of ice, 
 
 | Et si dur, que par ma foi et mon sort, 
 Nisi pietatem habuerit servo, 
 
 _ Amour, tu sais, si je ne trouve secours, 
 
 That I must die for her a woeful death, 
 
 Neque plus vitam sperando conservo. 
 
 Vae, omni meo nervo ! 
 
 Si elle ne fait, que par sa pitié, 
 
 I may again behold her face with joy : 
 
 Oh heaven ! how great its purity | 
 
 Mais j’en doute, et grande peine jen ai! 
 
 Amorem versus me non tantum curat, 
 
 Quantum spes in me de ipsa durat. 
 
 
 
 | Chanson, vous pourrez aller par tout le monde, 
 
 | oo in lingua trina, 
 
 _ The world may know, and every man may feel : 
 Perchance, she who torments may pity me. 
 
 CANZONE XV. 
 L’uom che conosce é degno ch’ aggia ardire. 
 
 THE man of knowledge may be wisely bold, 
 And dare to hazard, when he safety seeks 
 ’°Gainst what may fear excite, 
 Whether from natural or other cause. 
 Thus I resume my song, and will assert 
 It was not boldness made me give my thoughts 
 Unto this creature fair, 
 When I beheld the foe who came to wound me: 
 For never till that day had I seen Love, 
 Who is unknown to hearts that feel him not. 
 At first he seems a saving spirit of health, 
 
 Through power of whom celestial bliss is given ; 
 
 Then speedily withdraws, 
 Prepared to strike with an unerring dart 
 The moment a sweet look and he have joined. 
 
 Soon as the eyes on beauty fondly turn, 
 And find its pleasure, they awake the mind ; 
 Both heart and soul are moved, 
 And they contemplateeach peculiar charm ; 
 Whilst every wish departs save still to gaze: 
 Then if look joins with look in sympathy, 
 The burning heart is pierced 
 Swiftly by Love, who seems of brightness born : 
 Thus was I wounded while I gazed on her ; 
 
 Then trembling, backward turned, and sighing 
 
 said : 
 Ne’er must I look again, 
 Though never from my thrall can I escape : 
 For at the thought alone 
 I tremble, and am pale, and icy cold, 
 Signs whence I know the heart is quite destroyed. 
 
 Further, to show that boldness it was not, 
 Through which I risked the heart to gaze on her, 
 I can declare that then 
 Pity into my eyes directly came ; 
 And o’er my countenance a semblance spread 
 Which from the heart proceeds, when life has 
 
 borne 
 
 Such suffering that ’tis lost, 
 Because for it no succour was in store: 
 This pity comes obeying Nature’s will, 
 
 And shows by outward signs, the heart distressed, | 
 
 That mercy it may find ; 
 
 For which a prayer is offered, as behoves, 
 To where is never known 
 
 The force of weapons, or of any lord 
 Whose duty is to succour him who dies. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 28 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 My song, thy reasoning may be heard, but few 
 
 Will understand thee, so as to approve ; 
 
 Save the enamoured soul, 
 
 And gentle heart where Love has fixed his home. 
 
 Hence thou art well prepared with whom to 
 abide, 
 
 And whither go, that thou may’st honoured be. 
 
 When narrowly observed, 
 
 Be not alarmed, but thy opinion hold ; 
 
 For courtesy and reason make thee safe. 
 
 Take then thy way through bright and open 
 paths ; 
 
 To every one be humble, courteous, kind ; 
 
 Choose any designation that thou wilt ; 
 
 And say thou art a tale 
 
 Told by the wretched heart of one who saw 
 
 That sovereign who his fond beholder slays. 
 
 ——~}-—-- 
 
 CANZONE XVI. 
 
 Perché nel tempo rio. 
 
 SINCE here in evil days 
 
 I live, in expectation of still worse, 
 
 I know not how to hope 
 
 For consolation ever, if the aid 
 
 Of heaven relieve me not, 
 
 In sending death ; for which I do implore. 
 But wretches, such as I, 
 
 Are ever scorned, as now I see and prove. 
 Of her I will not plain who causes this ; 
 Since peace I yet expect 
 
 From her, when my last hour of life arrives ; 
 Because, alas ! I trust 
 
 To serve her by my death, 
 
 Whom living I but injure and displease. 
 
 would that I by Love 
 
 Had instantly been slain when first I saw him ! 
 For blame of such a wreng 
 
 Would then have honour brought to her and me : 
 Such is the shame I feel 
 
 Of this my life, which will not quickly die, 
 
 That it is worse to bear 
 
 Than is my woe, which frights Love’s followers : 
 For Love is one thing, Fortune is another, 
 Which nature overrules ; 
 
 The one by habit, and by force the other, 
 
 And me they both controul ; 
 
 Whence, as a smaller ill, 
 
 I nature’s will oppose and wish to die. 
 
 This my unnatural wish 
 
 Has strength so great, that many times I would, 
 Swayed by another’s power, 
 
 Inflict death’s lighter blow upon my heart ; 
 But pity of the soul, 
 
 Alas ! lest it should perish, nor return 
 
 To God the same it was, 
 
 Lets it not die ; but heavily it mourns : 
 
 Not that I deem it possible to hold 
 
 My purpose to the end, 
 
 So that excess of woe may not prevail 
 
 Over compassion new : 
 
 Haply the mighty lord 
 
 Who views this wretched state may pity me. 
 
 My Song, I shall detain thee with me here, 
 
 That I may weep with thee ; 
 
 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 
 
 For I have no safe refuge where to go ; 
 Compared with what I feel 
 
 All other pain is joy. : 
 
 I would not thou shouldst any ene offend. 
 
 na 
 
 CANZONE XVII. 
 
 Poscia ch’ i’ ho perduta ogni speranza. 
 
 SINCE every hope is lost of my return 
 To you, Madonna, nothing now remains, 
 Nor ever can arrive, 
 To bring alleviation to my grief. 
 Hope there is none that I shall more behold 
 Your countenance, for fortune has cut off 
 The way by which alone 
 I could return to your exalted worth. 
 Hence is my lonely heart so sorrowful 
 That I consume in weeping and in sighs : 
 And I am grieved to endure 
 So long, that death hath not extinguished life. 
 Ah me! What shall I do, my love still grows, 
 And hope falls off from me on every side. 
 I see not in what robe 
 To wrap myself, for everything torments ; 
 Unless, to kill me I should call on death, 
 And every spirit loudly joins my cry. 
 
 That hope which at far distance made me leave 
 Thy presence, which delighteth more and more 
 Hath cruelly deceived me, 
 
 Through death, the enemy of all that ’s good ; 
 
 For love, which had conferred all gifts on you, 
 
 Had promised to console my cares in peace : 
 
 With counsel strong and true, 
 
 He healed the destitute and wretched mind, 
 
 And urged it to a toil of pure delight : 
 
 In quest of honour made me part from you ; 
 
 Filled with desire to win 
 
 Esteem, and higher rank at my return. 
 
 A prince I served, of whom if man shall say 
 
 A better sovereign ever was on earth, 
 
 He vouches not the truth ; 
 For never was there one so wisely brave, 
 So bounteous, prudent, temperate, and firm, 
 And just, beyond all men that ever died. 
 
 This sovereign, by the hand of Justice formed, 
 
 Elected for his worth from all mankind, 
 More nobly exercised 
 
 Greatness of mind than ever prince before. 
 He never bowed to avarice nor pride, 
 
 And even in adversity grew strong ; 
 
 For magnanimity 
 
 Made him stand firm, whoever might assail. 
 Then reason and good-will just motives were 
 That I should serve a sovereign so beloved. 
 And if his foes have sinned, — 
 
 Who harmed him to the utmost of their power, 
 Duty forbade that I should aid their wrong. 
 Shunning his opposite, to him I came ; 
 
 Nor ever shall repent ; 
 
 Though death hath turned the sweet to bitter- 
 
 ness: 
 For good is to be done because ’tis good ; 
 And who does what becomes him cannot err. 
 
 | There are who rest their honour and esteem 
 
 On gifts alone which they to Nature owe ; 
 
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 | Whence these with little care 
 _ Pursue, as seems to me, the path of life ; 
 
 _ For ’tis not other’s gifts can deck the breast ; 
 _ Except the honour man may gain by deeds 
 
 || Performed in rectitude ; 
 
 This is his own, and pleasing is the work. 
 
 _ Wint glory then was raised, and brought to 
 
 nought, 
 By death of such a prince, so loved and prized. 
 Noi fancy’s lofty flight, - 
 Nor judgment sound, nor truth beholds his like. 
 Ohsaintly soul, now raised to highest heaven, 
 Thy subjects and thy foes should weep o’er thee ; 
 Ant if this world were ruled 
 Bymen of virtue and of noble hearts, 
 Hewho hath erred ’gainst thee would weep his 
 fault, 
 Ant all thy followers weep to be alive. 
 
 I weep that I still live ; for thou art dead, 
 
 My sovereign, whom I loved more than myself, 
 
 Anil by whose aid I hoped 
 
 Tobe restored where I should rest content. 
 
 Ani now, bereft of every cheering hope, 
 
 My life, beyond all else, is burdensome. 
 
 Oh guilty, cruel death ! 
 
 How hast thou robbed me of the sweet intent, 
 
 Toview again the loveliest countenance 
 
 Thit nature’s mighty power ever formed 
 
 In ady of high worth, 
 
 Whose beauty is the plenitude of virtue. 
 
 Ths hast thou robbed me of, whence such my 
 pain 
 
 Tht never was there grief of heart so deep 
 
 Asmy far absence brings. 
 
 Saty while life remains is past my hope, 
 
 For he is dead, and I am not restored, 
 
 Ard hence I languish living in despair. 
 
 My ong, to fair Etruria straight depart, 
 
 Urto the land of pleasure most refined ; 
 
 Ard, at thy journey’s end, 
 
 Rdate in plaintive notes my torturing grief. 
 But ere thou leavest the rich Lunigian lands, 
 Fal not to find the Marquis Franceschino ; 
 Ard with sweet eloquence 
 
 Tel him, that still in him I place some hope ; 
 Tel him, how distance is consuming me, 
 
 Ani pray him that he send me his reply. 
 
 CANZONE XVIII. 
 
 To non posso celar il mio dolore. 
 
 I amunable to conceal my grief, 
 
 Hace must my outward aspect mourn, 
 
 Asthe soul does within its dwelling place ; 
 For when Love took his station in my heart, 
 He stood before me and suggested thoughts 
 Urto my mind which since have seldom slept ; 
 But oft have added strength unto my flame, 
 Byconverse on the griefs to which they are heirs, 
 Wth those unhappy sighs, 
 
 Diconsolate, which flow so copiously 
 
 That they exhaust my powers, 
 
 Aid cause a trembling as they hurry fgrth, 
 Wien Love recalls the memory of Madonna. 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 [magination filled with sorrow wounds me, 
 
 
 
 Picturing before me every torturing ill 
 That I must suffer while my life endures. 
 My nature is distracted and assailed 
 
 By Death, whom I behold where’er I turn, 
 And the soul longs to bear him company ; 
 For Love hath cruelly contrived to wound 
 My heart in such a way that it hath died ; 
 Nor left the soul a wish 
 
 That ever can afford it consolation ; 
 
 For when I looked around, 
 
 I saw my lady, who compassion slew, 
 
 And Death then placed himself within my eyes. 
 
 By an effect attendant on the strife 
 
 Of Love, nature is conquered, and I find 
 
 My virtue helpless and discomfited. 
 
 A colouring new into my darkened visage 
 Enters, and from my eyes the tears are thrown. 
 The soul desires to pass to another’s reign. 
 Alas ! perceiving this, I oft become 
 
 The perfect likeness of a person dead ; 
 Weeping, that death should be 
 
 The only comfort offered to the mind ; 
 
 For nature’s dictates still, 
 
 And reason’s too, said I should grieve to die ; 
 Yet in that grief I seemed to feel a joy. 
 
 At times, when confidence the mind resumes, 
 
 M 
 
 A 
 
 Madonna takes possession of my thoughts ; 
 Then instantly the sighs begin to flow ; 
 Love is awakened, and exclaims aloud : 
 
 O fly, my Spirits all, behold the lady 
 
 Through whom you must be pained in every limb. | 
 
 The Spirits all obey and fly in terror. 
 
 He who should hear from one who had escaped 
 His tale of miseries, 
 
 How they remain in life companionless, 
 
 Surely he could not have 
 
 A heart so cruel but he then must weep 
 Remembering that I am a human creature. 
 
 y song, I have composed thee of tears, 
 
 And in my sorrowing soul inscribed thee ; 
 With her and with the mind thou shalt depart ; 
 There shalt thou be disconsolate and sad ; 
 And places shun of mirth and revelry, 
 Discordant to the tenor of thy words. 
 
 If gentle heart should read thee, him entreat, 
 That to the lady by whose mighty worth 
 
 Love has o’erpowered me, 
 
 He lead thee faithfully ; so that she hear 
 
 Thy words, nor take offence. 
 
 At my name’s sound thou wilt perceive if she 
 Be kind, who wars against my wretched heart. 
 
 —_<— 
 
 CANZONE XIX. 
 
 Giovene donna dentro al cor mi siede. 
 
 LADY young and fair dwells in my heart, 
 
 And such the perfect beauty she displays, 
 That if I have not aid, 
 
 I shall attempt in vain to paint the charms 
 Which the enamoured spirits see, and whom 
 This their new life delights ; 
 
 For all their virtue hath towards her fled, 
 So that I find myself bereft of power 
 
 By their desertion, which afflicts yet soothes. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 CANZON 
 
 
 
 
 
 From him who in her bright, pure, face appeared 
 
 When I was captured through my fixed regard. 
 
 Then succour I implore 
 3 
 ; 
 
 Calm in the centre dwells that lady, fair, 
 Noble, with graceful modesty adorned, 
 And therefore brighter shines. 
 The soul sits humbly at her feet, and love 
 So fills it, that it contemplates but her ; 
 Nor other thing regards ; 
 And when inflamed, through the excess of plea- 
 sure, 
 Her beauteous eyes are raised with tenderness, 
 Her well beloved handmaid to console ; 
 From them are sent the dart, 
 Sparkling and cruel, which had stricken me, 
 Soon as I first became her prisoner. 
 
 Desire unbridled then in vigour grew 
 Incessantly, nor ever wearied seemed, 
 Until it brought me to the bourne 
 Where it is turned to bitterness and sighs 
 And I, while yet alive, am pale and wan, 
 And like a person dead ; 
 And if perchance some comfort I derive 
 From recollection of that angel face, 
 Yet it restores not confidence and ease ; 
 Fear still po sme ; 
 For victory itself is scarcely gain, 
 
 | When something in the spoil produces sorrow. 
 
 b 
 
 
 
 WIUPN 
 
 | Nobly, upon her splendid throne she shines, 
 
 And there commands with dignity and grace, 
 Becoming her who rules. 
 
 Then Love concentrates in her mind his power, 
 And smiles exulting in the blissful reign 
 
 Which she adorns and holds ; 
 
 So that the thoughts, which dwell on fleeting hope, 
 Reflecting on her eminence so proud, 
 
 Together crowd and anxiously debate ; 
 
 And thence a picture springs, 
 
 Of fancy born, which wastes me and unnerves, 
 Thinking that she so meek may prove unkind. 
 
 
 
 Thus good and evil meet in me conjoined ; 
 For reason, which the simple truth requires, 
 With such fate is content ; 
 
 And is converted to a natural sense : 
 
 For he on whom affliction falls still grieves, 
 And ever will lament : 
 
 And to whichever side I turn my thoughts, 
 My judgment is distracted more and more, 
 Nor ever, I believe, will fixed become. 
 
 But yet I call myself 
 
 A lover, subject to a face benign, 
 
 And if of that deprived no joy can know. 
 
 Haste thee, my song, I pray thee, go thy way 
 To those will give to thee a willing ear ; 
 And should they stop thee to discourse with 
 ~ them ; 
 Tell them I feel secure, 
 Nor from discovery danger apprehend, 
 For subtile is my veil and dark my robe. 
 
 
 
 I NEVER thought that sighs could such distress 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 TERE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CANZONE XX. | 
 
 
 
 
 Io non pensava che lo cor giammai. 
 
 
 
 
 Bring to the heart, and torture so severe, 
 
 That from my soul the tear would have its birth, 
 And to all eyes my face exhibit death. 
 
 Peace have I never known, nor even a smile, 
 Since with Madonna I first met, and Love, 
 Who said to me: Never wilt thou escape ; 
 
 For power in this lady is too strong. 
 My courage then disconsolate departed, | 
 And left the heart to bear ! 
 The battle’s hazard, where Madonna dwelled ; 
 Who from her eyes shot forth such fatal darts, 
 That Love prevailed, and all 
 
 My spirits routed and compelled to fly. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 All skill must fail this lady to describe ; ) 
 
 For with such varied beauties she is adorned, | 
 That earthly mind wants power to bear her light 
 So that our intellect may know her worth : 
 
 So gentle is she, that with thought of her, 
 
 [ feel the soul tremble within the heart ; 
 As if about to sink under the pain 
 
 That in her sight I never fail to show. 
 
 The brightness of her eyes inflicts such wounds, 
 That he who sees me says : 
 
 Regard’st thou not this piteous object here, 
 Who wears the semblance of a person dead, 
 Claiming our charity ? 
 
 And yet Madonna heeds not my distress. 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 | 
 
 | 
 Of her great worth to every gentle heart, | 
 i find myself endued with grace so small, / 
 That in the thought I dare not persevere : 
 
 For Love, whene’er her beauties are in view, 
 Alarms me so, that hearing her approach 
 
 The heart is overcome, dejected, and then 
 Love sighing says: Of thee I now despair ; 
 For from the quiver of her tender smile 
 
 I drew a sharpened dart, 
 
 Which has transfixed thy heart, and parted mine 
 O Love, thou knowest that then I said to thee : 
 Since I have seen Madonna, 
 
 It is decreed that thou, my heart, must die. 
 
 When by a thought possessed, which fain would tell 
 
 My song, thou know’st that from the lips of Love 
 
 I gathered thee, when I beheld Madonna ; 
 Therefore be pleased to win my confidence : 
 Go in such guise that she may list to thee ; 
 
 And humbly pray that thou may’st guide to her 
 The spirits, which were driven from my heart 
 By her excess of worth, and would be lost 
 Infallibly, should they not change their course : 
 Forlorn and unaccompanied they go, 
 Through ways of bitterness and dire distrust 
 Oh lead them back through ways of confiden 
 Then say to her, when in her presence come, 
 These spirits represent 
 
 One who is sad, and dying full of fear. 
 
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 CANZONE XXI. 
 
 L’alta speranza che mi reca amore, 
 
 i» 
 
 ign exalted hope awakened by the love 
 || Of one, a gentle lady whom I have seen, 
 With salutation sweetly greets my soul, 
 
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 ae. pe ——— 
 
 
 
 
 _ And makes it bound with joy within the heart ; 
 | Hence is it strangely changed from what it was, 
 And tells a novel tale, 
 
 As if it were returned from distant land ; 
 
 Tells how that lady is with meekness filled, 
 Is courteous and humane, 
 
 And in the arms of pity softly rests. 
 
 Such sighs this tale calls forth that I remain 
 
 Alone, that they may reach no other ear ; 
 
 And then I listen to Madonna’s praise 
 
 From Love, who makes me live beneath his star. 
 The gentle sovereign says: This spirit of health, 
 In praising, I will call 
 
 By every name that gentle virtue owns ; 
 
 For in adorning her all virtues join, 
 
 All are in her ehcreased, 
 
 And all in generous emulation strive. 
 
 What she resembles he alone can tell, 
 
 Or know, whose dwelling is in heaven above ; 
 For envious of her no heart can be ; 
 
 A miracle no envy can excite ; 
 
 That vice can only reign where rivals are ; 
 But she unrivalled is, 
 
 And I no type of her can give of her excelling. 
 Her gracious spirit descends into the heart _ 
 Of him who looks on her, 
 
 And suffers nought defective there to stay. 
 
 So great her virtue and her mental worth 
 
 She raises admiration in the sun ; 
 
 And to obey and please the Will Divine, 
 
 The knee is bent to her with reverence. 
 
 If then Supreme Intelligence can deign 
 
 To exaltand honour her, 
 
 How great must be the honour man should pay ! 
 
 All that is gentle is of her enamoured ; 
 
 In her the air rejoices, 
 
 And heaven its sweetness showers where she 
 dwells. 
 
 I am as one who listens, and desires 
 
 The joy of seeing her, and oft I sigh ; 
 
 For when I search into my inmost thoughts, 
 
 I find she is the mistress of my soul : 
 
 With this Love gladdens me, and makes’ me feel 
 Humility and pride : 
 
 For I am her’s who is all gentleness ; 
 
 And all whose words are gifts of life and peace ; 
 Whose wisdom sees so clear, 
 
 That she of everything unveils the truth. 
 
 Her form dwells in my mind as when I saw 
 
 Her sweet expression and humility : 
 
 Whence Love derives a hope with which he feeds 
 
 The heart, and bids itrest in confidence : 
 My whole delight is founded on this hope 5 
 Such is her nobleness 
 
 That merely seeing her creates the hope, 
 And courage gives to own it openly : 
 
 ee 
 
 | 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 Hence have I no delight 
 But to see her who is my life’s repose. 
 
 Thou seem’st to me so new and fair, my Song, 
 That I may hardly dare to eall thee mine. 
 
 31 
 
 Say that Love made thee, if the truth were told, 
 And wrote thee in my heart, which owns his sway. 
 He wills, that only in his name thou go, 
 
 To those who perfectly 
 Are his, although the number be but few ; 
 
 Thus shalt thou say: I come to stay with you, 
 
 And pray ye welcome me, 
 In reverence of the lord by whom I am sent. 
 
 —_——— 
 
 CANZONE XXII. 
 La bella stella che ’l tempo misura, 
 
 Tne star so beautiful which measures time, 
 The lady seems, who hath enamoured me, 
 Set inthe heaven of Love ; 
 
 And as the glorious presence of the star, 
 From day to day illuminates the world, 
 
 So she the heart of those 
 
 Who gentle are and valorous, illumes 
 
 With light which in her countenance abides. 
 And all men honour her, 
 
 For they behold in her that perfect light, 
 Which fullness brings of virtue to the mind 
 Of him who of her beauty is enamoured. 
 Tis this which gilds that heaven 
 
 With light that is a guide unto the good, 
 Shining with splendour by her beauty shed. 
 
 This lady, far more fair than I can paint, 
 Have | departed from, impressed with love 
 Great as her worth demands ; 
 
 And pictured in yy mind I bear her looks ; 
 Whence spring 4 
 
 eyes 
 Abundantly let fall. 
 O lovely lady, star that I should see 
 If I were there whence I am forced away ! 
 In sorrow and alarm, 
 The weeping heart within itself exclaims. 
 More beauteous is her image in my mind 
 Than ever by my language can be told ; 
 For I ungifted am 
 Of intellect to speak of things so high, 
 Nor even my woe can perfectly relate. 
 
 From her doth every thought of mine proceed ; 
 For from her lovely person hath my soul 
 Imbibed its quality ; 
 
 And meditation of her beauty brings _ 
 
 A strong desire to see her, which excites 
 My will to love her more ; 
 
 Nor ever leaves me, but without repose 
 Compels me to exclaim incessantly : 
 
 Alas ! I dare not die ; 
 
 And life I spend in sorrow and in tears. 
 And though my grief I cannot fully show, 
 
 I will not therefore keep it quite concealed ; 
 For I shall pity raise 
 
 In all who of my sovereign own the sway, 
 Though I should tell but part of what I feel. 
 
 Back to my mind returns each smallest thing 
 That I have ever chanced to see her do, 
 
 
 
 ie tears of sorrow that these 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Abate lad op 
 
 mal af ‘ = ~ «—o oie 
 RI (IP reas a at a re ed ee Kil 
 
 
 
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 CANZONIERE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 | Or ever heard her say. Then they confide in her ; 
 a Rest I have none ; but languish as a man Nor sgoner were they clasped i in her robe, 
 mt Whose weary life is wasting more and more Than she converted their sweet peace to tears. — 
 || In feebleness and tears. 
 Through her from everything I suffer pain ; I, who the sorrow shared of those who mourned, 
 4 For if in her I have compassion found, By kind affection led, 
 ey And have forsaken her, Oft hastened to the presence of Madonna ; 
 Brig) | Stronger the reason is that I should grieve : The soul that should be bold when truth requires, | 
 j | And if remembrance pictures her to seem Assisted me with strength 
 apa Displeased toward me, and with features dark, To look with steady gaze upon her eyes. 
 at Or fond expression gone, Thou must remember it 5 
 i I feel again as when I have seen her thus, For thou didst eall to me, with look so soft, 
 4 | And bitter tears are more disposed to flow. That from my heaviest load I hoped relief ; 
 7 / Nor sooner had she turned my prison’s key, 
 ae My life enamoured evermore pursues Than with benign regret ; | 
 Bl} The strong desire which draws me to Madonna ; Thou pitiedst me, and showedst such kind con- 
 at Nor obstacle regards, cern, 
 al | And the full tear, in which I melt away, That I, amid my torment burned with joy. 
 ; | To greater size is swollen, if my looks chance 
 . To attract fair lady’s eye ; Won by her gentle aspect, bright and lovely, 
 i And what I then become I could not tell : I was her subject true ; 
 ) | For well do [remember how I saw And her deportment met my utmost wish ; 
 Madonna sometimes look ; My glory was to serve a thing so noble : 
 mh | And her loved image, which within me dwells, All my most fond delights | 
 a Starts up with force so fearful that I die : I left to gaze upon that shining star : | 
 Hence of my state nought further can I say. Yes, but “her cruel scorn, | 
 Alas! I would not wish That which alone was wanting to consume me, 
 To find the being who shall comfort me, Covered the meekness of her noble features : 
 Until her lovely eyes shall be my guide. Hence flew the arrow down into my side 
 . Which gave a living death ; 
 1 Thou art not beautiful, my new-born song And she rejoicing looked upon my pain ; 
 But thou art piteous, and shalt go thy w ay ; Solely to prove if help might come from thee. 
 Where peradventure thou 
 Shalt make Madonna listen to thy strain. Alas ! enamoured thus, and quite subdued, 
 With reverence address her and with fear : Death fondly I desired, _ 
 Then after salutation, say to her, From other torment as it were to flee ; 
 That I can never hope For sorrow had so crushed and weakened me, 
 To see her more, before my days shall end : Beyond the lot of man, 
 For life I do not think will last so long. That every sigh I thought must be my last. 
 a Yet ardency of love 
 ‘Bl alii adie 
 
 Bi | Constrained me so to suffer, that I fell 
 Half de , , : 
 CANZONE XXIIL alf dead through bitte anguish on the earth 
 And to my fancy came a voice, which said, 
 
 Dacché ti piace, Amore, ch’io ritorni. That in this cruel strife 
 | Rene It was decreed by fate that I must die ; 
 Love, since it pleases thee that I return So that I shrunk from love through excess of fear. 
 
 Under the rod usurped 
 Of her whose beauty and whose pride thou | My sovereign thou hast heard / 
 
 
 
 Promised them speedily a safe retr Sint . Virtue still growing is in them displayed ; 
 
 hi: knowest, The life I have endured in being thine ; 
 O now enlighten and adorn her heart Not that I tell thee this rebelliously ; 
 With thy enamouring ray, No, thy commands I ever shall obey : 
 ai | | Nor let her joy for ever in my moans. Yet in this enterprise, 
 fi And if thou first wilt hear ; If I shall die, and thou abandon me, 
 i! | Our recent peace, and my devouring flame, I pray at least that thou mayest pardon her. 
 | | The scorn unmerited which tortured me, 
 . | And all my reason for invoking death, ee 
 BBA | | Thou wilt be full informed ; ; } 
 a} | Then if thou kill me, and such be thy will, CANZONE XXIV. 
 am | With mind unburdened I shall die less grieved. Io miro i crespi e gli biondi capegli. 
 ai _ Thou knowest, my lord, full well that I was made | I Gaze upon those crisped and flaxen locks, 
 il By thee of temper apt Of which with string of pearl or fairest flower, ) 
 oh) To serve thee, but as yet had felt no wound, Love hath contrived a net to capture me ; 
 Hi When under heaven I saw the face unveiled And I discover that the lure succeeds. 
 iH | By which I am enthralled ee And first, I look into those lovely eyes, 
 i Whose charm the tender spirits felt, and ran Which pass through mine, and penetrate the 
 Hi _ Impatient to Madonna. heart, 
 i | | That graceful being, whose surpassing worth With beams so animating and so bright, 
 ; i | Enamours her with beauty of herself, That from the sun itself they seem to flow. 
 

 
 He nee I, who contemplate their gracefulness, 
 Thus commune with myself amid my sighs : 
 Alas! why am I not 
 
 Alone, with only her, where I would wish 3 
 
 ~~ 
 
 ) So that with those fair tresses I might play, 
 | And part them wave by wave ; 
 
 | = And of her beauteous eyes, which shine supreme, 
 || Might form two mirrors for delight of mine. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 lon 
 
 v, 
 
 7 
 
 Then I the fair and lovely mouth survey, 
 
 _ The spacious forehead, and the enamouring look, 
 
 4 
 ye 
 vt 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 | 
 
 1 
 
 || ; The fingers white, the nose correctly straight, 
 
 || ‘The eyebrow smooth and dark, that pencilled 
 seems. 
 
 Then wandering thought imagination stirs, 
 
 Saying : Observe the winning grace and joy 
 
 Mr Within that delicate and vermeil lip ; 
 
 Where all that’s sweet appears and yields de- 
 light. 
 
 O listen to the charms of her discourse, 
 
 What tenderness and goodness it reveals, 
 
 How skilfully her reasoning is arranged : 
 
 Admire, how when she smiles, 
 
 All other sights in sweetness are surpassed : 
 
 Thus does my fancy, thinking of that mouth, 
 
 . So urge me on, that I 
 
 Y, Have not on earth the thing I would not give, 
 
 ! To obtain from it one unreluctant yes. 
 
 Then I regard her white and flexile throat, 
 So aptly joined to shoulders and to breast ; 
 a) And little rounded chin, with dimple stamped, 
 | Fairer than which mine eyes cannot design ; 
 And thought, whose flight I ever turn to her, 
 Says to me: Contemplate the sweet delight, 
 To clasp within the arms that lovely neck, 
 " And on that throat a tender seal impress. 
 Then adds : Now give imagination wing ; 
 Think, if the outward features are so fair, 
 What must the others seem she hides and veils? 
 The glorious works we view 
 ih: Displayed in heaven, the sun and the other stars, 
 Alone persuade us Paradise is there ; 
 So, if on her thou gaze, 
 Thou must believe that every earthly bliss 
 Is found where eye is not allowed to pierce. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 I then observe her arms, full, round, and long ; 
 
 Her hand, white, tender, smooth, and soft as 
 down ; 
 
 Her fingers, long and delicately slight, 
 Proud of the ring which one of them enclasps ; 
 And my thought says to me: If thou wert now 
 Within those arms, thy life would pleasure know, 
 When shared with her, which aptly to deseribe, 
 In least degree, exceeds my utmost skill. 
 Observe, how every limb a picture seems ; 
 In size and beauty suited to her frame ; 
 And coloured with angelic hue of pearl 
 Grace is in every look, 
 And just disdain when cireumstance demands: 
 Humble and bashful, temperately gay 
 To virtue ever dear, "ales 
 O’er all her noble manners reigns a charm 
 Which universal reverence inspires. 
 
 > 
 
 Stately and soft she moves as Juno’s bird ; 
 rect and firmly poised as any crane. 
 ne charm remark, peculiarly her own, 
 
 The utmost grace with modesty combined ; 
 
 = Sea 
 
 
 
 
 
 CANZONIERE. 33 | 
 
 
 
 And wouldst thou see a lively proof of it, | 
 Says thought to me, observe her in thy mind, | 
 When with a lady, elegant and fair, 
 In sweet companionship she moves along ; 
 Then as the brightest stars seem chased away 
 By greater brightness of the advancing sun, 
 So vanish other charms when hers appear. 
 Think now, how she must please, 
 Whose loveliness and beauty are as one ; 
 And beauty past compare in her is found. 
 What pleases her alone | 
 Is virtue, and the habits of the noble ; | 
 | But on her own fair deeds she rests her hope. 
 | 
 My song, thou boldly mayst assert for truth, ' 
 That since on earth was beauteous lady born, | 
 No one hath ever pleased 
 So universally as this one doth ; | 
 For joined in her is found 
 Beauty of form and goodness of the soul ; 
 Nor wanting in her—but some grains of pity. | 
 | 
 | 
 
 ; 
 
 —o— 
 
 CANZONE XXV. 
 
 Oimeé lasso! quelle trecce bionde. | 
 FAREWELL, alas! farewell those tresses bright, | 
 From whence the hills around | 
 Drew and reflected tints of shining gold ; i 
 
 Farewell the beauteous cheer, and glances sweet, 
 Implanted in my heart 
 
 By those fair eyes on that thrice happy day ; 
 Farewell the graceful bloom 
 
 Of sparkling countenance ; 
 
 Farewell the soft sweet smile, 
 
 Disclosing pearls of snowy white, between 
 
 Roses of vermeil hue, throughout the year ; 
 Why without me, O Death, 
 
 These hast thou carried off in beauty’s spring ! 
 
 
 
 Farewell the endearing mirth, and wise reserve, 
 The welcome frank and sweet ; 
 The prudent mind, and well directed heart ; 
 “arewell the beautiful, meek, proud disdain, 
 Which strengthened my resolve 
 All baseness to detest, and greatness love. 
 Farewell desire, the child 
 
 Of beauty so abounding ; it 
 Farewell the aspiring hope, | 
 Which every other made me leave behind, 
 
 M4 hd ’ * / 
 And rendered light to me Love’s heaviest load ;_| 
 These hast thou broken, Death, 
 As glass, and me to living death exposed. | 
 
 Lady, farewell! Of every virtue queen, 
 Goddess, for whom, through Love, 
 I have refused all others to adore: _ 
 Farewell ! what column, of what precious stone 
 On earth were worthy found aaa 
 To build thy fane, and lift thee high in air! 
 Farewell ! thou vessel filled 
 With nature’s miracles. 
 By fortune’s evil turn | 
 High on the rugged mountains thou wast led, 
 Where death has closed thee in the cruel tomb ; 
 And of my eyes hath formed 
 Two fountains wearied with incessant tears. 
 
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 34 
 
 Farewell ! and O unpardonable Death, 
 Pity these sorrowing eyes, and own at least, 
 That till thy hand destroy me, 
 Endless should be my ery, Alas! Farewell ! 
 
 ens ate 
 
 BALLATA VIII. 
 Fresca rosa novella. 
 
 FRESH, young, and blooming rose, 
 Delight inspiring Spring, 
 Along the meads and streams, 
 In gay notes carolling, 
 Your charms I sing throughout the verdant 
 groves. 
 
 Your spotless charms again, 
 Shall joyfully be sung, 
 By old and by the young, 
 Wherever they may wend ; 
 And all the birds shall sing, 
 Each in his own blithe notes, 
 At evening and at morn, 
 On every verdant bough : : 
 The world shall be all song ; 
 For now the time is come, 
 To praise, as it behoves, 
 Your great exalted worth, 
 Who are created in an angel’s mould, 
 
 Features angelical, 
 Lady, repose in you. 
 O how by fortune blest 
 Hath been my soul’s desire ! 
 Your countenance of joy 
 So passes and excels 
 All nature and all wont, 
 That wondrous is its charm. 
 Goddess, by ladies hailed, 
 Goddess you truly are. 
 So gloriously adorned, 
 No words of mine can tell, 
 For whocan think what passes nature’s bounds? 
 
 Beyond man’s nature far, 
 Your spotless loveliness 
 Of heavenly mould was formed, 
 That you might be supreme ; 
 O may your presence then 
 Be never far from me ; 
 Nor may kind Providence 
 Be unpropitious now : 
 And if a wrong you deem 
 The privilege to love you, 
 To blame me, O forbear ! 
 For love constrains my will, 
 ’*Gainst whom nor force nor reason can prevail. 
 
 i 
 
 BALLATA IX, 
 Io non domando, Amore. 
 
 O Love,I ask no boon, 
 Beyond the power of ever pleasing thee ; 
 So do I love, dear lord, 
 To follow thee, all seasons of the year. 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 And in all seasons equal is my love, 
 Of that sweet gentle lady, 
 Whom thou, O Love, didst show me suddenly, 
 Upon a day, when in my mind sunk deep 
 Her humble countenance, 
 From seeing thee abide in her fair eyes. 
 For since that day the heart 
 Hath taken no delight in other thing, 
 But in remembering 
 Incessantly the lovely sight then seen. 
 
 This dear remiembrance, Love, delights me 80, 
 And imaged is so strong, 
 That ever do I see what then I saw ; 
 But to describe it, what I feel denies ; 
 Hence in my mind alone 
 It lies deposited, and I am mute ; 
 For its true colouring 
 No words of mine have power to display. 
 As best may seem to thee, 
 O Love, interpret for me, where I serve. 
 
 To thee, Love, I am bound 
 Ever to render honour, since desire 
 Thou gavest me to obey 
 That lady so pre-eminent in worth. 
 
 a ep 
 
 BALLATA X. 
 Quando il consiglio degli augei si tenne, 
 
 Once when a council of the birds was held, 
 It was decreed that all, 
 On hearing of the summons, must appear. 
 A roguish jackdaw, vain and full of guile, 
 Resolved to ¢ hange her garb, 
 And borrowed plumes from many various birds, 
 
 And when adorned in them to council came ; 
 But was not long endured ; 
 For fine beyond all others was her air : 
 And one bird asked another, Who is this ? 
 So that at last the daw 
 Was recognised. Now hear what then ensued. 
 
 Around her all the other birds collected, 
 And then without delay, 
 So stripped her plumes that naked she was left ; 
 And one said, Now the pretty minx admire ! 
 Another said, She moults ! 
 And thus they left her ridiculed and scorned. 
 
 | Such fate we daily see attend the man 
 Who knavishly assumes 
 The virtues of another and the fame ; 
 For many times he glows 
 With others’ warmth, soon after to be frozen : 
 Then blest is he who on himself depends, 
 
 a Sees 
 
 SONNET XXIIL 
 Molti volendo dir che fosse Amore. 
 
 Many who fain would tell us what is Love 
 Have lavished store of words, but still have failed 
 To tell of him in terms approaching truth, 
 And to define the nature of his worth. 
 
 Se 
 
 
 
CANZONTIERE. 
 
 ath described him as a mental flame, 
 agination’s offspring, born of Thought ; 
 ers have said he was Desire, the child 
 | Of Will, and born of Pleasure in the heart. 
 But I would say that Love no substance hath, 
 Nor is a thing corporeal having form ; 
 _ But rather is a passion in desiring ; 
 Pleasure from beauty springing, nature’s gift ; 
 uch that the heart’s wish every wish exceeds, 
 
 ——— 
 
 SONNET XXIV. 
 Deh ragioniamo un poco insieme, Amore. 
 
 Ou, let us, Love, converse a while together, 
 And draw me from the smart of painful thought ; 
 And for our mutual delight, dear lord, 
 Grant that our gentle lady be the theme. 
 Doubtless our journey shorter will appear, 
 Choosing so sweet a subject and so calming, 
 And joyful the returning seems already, 
 Hearing her praise and telling it again. 
 Begin then, Love ; to thee it best belongs, 
 And be thou moved to this, for she is cause 
 That thou hast deigned to bear me company. 
 And whether pity or thy courtesy 
 | Relieve my mind, and calm my troubled thoughts, 
 | To hear thee my impatience is the same. 
 
 
 
 ~~ <G-—---- 
 
 SONNET XXV. 
 Ora che 1’ mondo si adorna e veste. 
 
 Now that the world adorns itself in robes 
 Of leaves and flowers, and every meadow smiles, 
 And from its face the sky drives cold and mist, 
 And all that live commence a festival, 
 And each one seems to address itself to love : 
 The little birds send forth their voice in song, 
 And cease their loud laments and plaintive cries, 
 Cheering the mountainsand the plains and groves: 
 I, too, when the sweet season bright and blithe 
 f spring returns in verdant loveliness, 
 Awake to joy, and renovate my hope ; 
 Like him whose honour and whose life depend 
 Upon that lord beyond all sovereigns loved ; 
 And who to me his servant ne’er will fail. 
 
 -—~ 
 
 SONNET XXVI. 
 Giovinetta gentil, poiché tu vede. 
 
 Youn, tender, noble maiden, since you see 
 That Love, with your consent, has made me 
 yours, 
 And that for you I burn, and waste, and pine, 
 O let me not expire without reward. 
 0 Love, dear lord, haply thou disbelievest 
 How hard she is, and eruel is my pain ; 
 For in thy generous heart there must exist 
 The will to suecour my fidelity. 
 And, lady, every pain would be removed 
 f hope were realised, and I were blest 
 With joy which Love solicits you to grant. 
 
 O help me then, Madonna, ere I die ; 
 I live for that alone, and if denied, 
 A corse you soon will see me at your feet. 
 
 —— 
 
 SONNET XXVII. 
 Lo fin piacer di quello adorno viso. 
 
 Tue pure delight of that fair countenance 
 Composed the arrow, darted by the eyes 
 Into my heart, when they were turned on me, 
 Who, fixed in wonder, on their beauty gazed. 
 
 I then perceived the spirit taking flight 
 From every limb, that trembled with the smart ; 
 And as the sighs went forth, they mournfully 
 Exclaimed, with tears, that the fond heart was 
 
 slain. 
 
 Thenceforth each thought of my afflicted soul 
 Wept bitterly, for ever in my view 
 The image of her excellence remained : 
 
 One thought there is which thus bespeaks the heart : 
 Pity is not a virtue formed for us, 
 Thou find’st it so, and thence is my despair. 
 
 -— =f>—--— 
 
 SONNET XXVIII. 
 Nelle man vostre, 0 dolce donna mia. 
 
 Into thy hands, sweet lady of my soul ! 
 The spirit that is dying I commend ; 
 And which departs so sorrowful, that Love 
 Views it with pity while dismissing it. 
 
 3y yeu to his dominion it was bound 
 ‘So firmly, that it since hath had no power 
 To call on him, but thus : O mighty lord, 
 Whate’er thou wilt of me, thy will is mine. 
 
 I know that every wrong displeaseth thee ; 
 Therefore that death which I have not deserved 
 Enters my heart with much more bitterness. 
 
 O gentle lady, whilst this life remains, 
 
 That I may die in peace, with mind consoled, 
 Be pleased to be more bounteous to mine eyes. 
 
 SaaEey ee 
 
 SONNET XXIX. 
 Dagli occhi belli di questa mia dama. 
 
 Tur beauteous eyes of my sweet lady pour 
 Love’s influence in a stream so bright and full, 
 That every one who sees her bows the head 
 With awe, nor other object e’er desires. 
 
 Beauty and courtesy their goddess call her ; 
 And rightly so, for creature so refined 
 As she, appears not human but divine ; 
 And ever ever rising in her fame. 
 
 Who loveth her how can he hope content, 
 Seeing her manifold and heavenly gifts 
 Ask how I know them, I reply, } feel ; 
 
 But if thou ask their number, and how great, 
 Say, ’tis not to be told ; for more are they 
 Than infinite, and others all excel. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 INNET XXX. 
 Ben dico certo che non é riparo. 
 
 Wiru truth I say, ne’er was there shield so strong 
 Could save me from the darts of her fair eyes ; 
 And this their mighty power I do not blame, 
 But her hard heart, to every favour closed : 
 
 For from my sight she hides her lovely face, 
 Whose brightness heals the wounds of my sad 
 
 heart 
 That finds not in my tears the least relief ; 
 Nor does my bitterest lament affect her. 
 
 Thus is she ever beautiful and cruel, 
 
 The foe of pity and estranged from love ; 
 
 But most it pains me to declare these truths, 
 Wrung from my heart by violence of grief, 
 
 And not by anger, for I none can feel ; 
 
 But love her more ‘than self with faith unchanged. 
 
 —_—@-— 
 
 SONNET XXXI 
 Questa donna ch’ andar mi fa pensoso. 
 
 Tuts lady, who clouds all my ways with care, 
 Bears in her countenance the power of Love, 
 Which wakens in the chambers of the heart 
 The gentle spirit that is hidden there. 
 
 So fearful hath she made me, since I saw 
 Within her eyes my sweet ‘and sovereign lord 
 Enthroned in all the glory of his might, 
 
 That I approach, yet tremble to reg: ard her. 
 
 And when perchance upon those eyes I look, 
 
 I see that bliss and safety there abide 
 Which my weak intellect can ne’er attain : 
 
 Then all my mental power is so destroyed 
 That the desiring soul, which moves my sighs, 
 Prepares with willingness to leave the heart. 
 
 —_e--- 
 
 SONNET XXXII. 
 Ahi lasso! ch’ io credea troyar pietate. 
 
 Atas! I fondly thought that I should find 
 
 Compassion in my lady, when she knew 
 
 The deep affliction which my heart endures ; 
 
 And I find nought but cruelty and scorn, 
 And anger strong, in place of gentleness : 
 
 So that I deem myself a person dead ; 
 
 For what should give me confidence and rest 
 
 Discomforts me, and threatens me with woe. 
 Therefore a thought, reproaching me, demands 
 
 How I can longer live, having no hope 
 
 That she and pity will in peace be joined. 
 Hence it behoves me die ; and I may say, 
 
 In evil hour have I Bologna seen, 
 
 And that fair lady whom I there admired. 
 
 + 
 
 SONNET XXXITI. 
 Madonne, deh vedeste voi I’ altr’ ieri. 
 
 Tet me, kind ladies, have you seen of late 
 That gentle creature who my life consumes ? 
 To you I own, that if she do but smile 
 My thoughts dissolve as snow before the sun. 
 
 
 
 Hence on my heart such cruel blows arrive 
 
 a 
 
 CANZONIERE., 
 
 That they would seem to threaten me with death : 
 Kind ladies then, wherever ye may see her, 
 If you by chance should meet her on your way, — 
 
 O rest with her awhile for pity’s sake, 
 
 And with humility make known to her 
 That my life bears for her the weight of death : 
 
 And if in mercy she will comfort me, 
 
 And ease the mind deep laden with my griefs, — 
 O send to me, far distant, the glad news. 
 
 —@— 
 
 ONNET XXXIV. 
 
 Se gli occhi miei saettasser quadrella. 
 
 IF arrows could be darted by my eyes, 
 Or, there were poison in them of such power, 
 That they must kill whatever they regard, 
 As of the fabled basilisk is told ; 
 The wrong would be too cruelly ave nged 
 Of her who robs me of my heart and mind : 
 Who now when I would fondly gaze on her, 
 Her person hides and all her loveliness. 
 But well I know that when I look on her, 
 No darts but those of love the eyes can throw, 
 Such pleasure to my heart her looks convey. 
 O, would to heaven, that for the sufferings 
 Inflicted on my heart for love of her, 
 I could but draw from her one gentle sigh. 
 
 BR 
 SONNET XXXV. 
 Bicci, novel figliuol di non so cui. 
 
 Bicci, strange offspring of I know not whom, 
 Unless the secret Monna Tessa tell, 
 Vile gluttony thy substance has devoured, 
 And now from others thou art forced to steal. 
 
 From Bicci every man guards well his purse, 
 If he approach the side at which it hangs, 
 Saying ; This fellow, with his double face, 
 In all ‘his actions is an open robber. 
 
 And one I know, who wretched lies in bed 
 For fear it should be slyly stolen by him ; 
 For ravenous as Antichrist is Bicci. 
 
 Of Bicci and the brothers I can say ; 
 Brothers in law most rare their wives may boast, 
 Kindred alike in blood and villany. 
 
 — - ~h-- 
 SONNET XXXVI. 
 Chi udisse tossir la mal fatata. 
 
 He whom the ill-starred wife of him we name 
 Bicci Forese should distract by coughing, 
 Would say she must have w intered near the Pole, 
 Where frost eternal binds the crystal wave. 
 
 Oppressed with rheums she shivers in mid AUgEaES 
 Think then her sufferings in each cooler month ! 
 To her avails not sleeping in her hose, 
 
 And wrapt in downy quilt of soft Cortona, 
 
 The cough, the cold, and all her other ills 
 Proceed not from the humours chilled by age, 
 But from defect of comfort felt at home. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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 it 
 
 nother weeps, distressed with many a grief, 
 
 : Alas! rather on figs to feed, 
 
 Would, in Count Guido’s house, that | had placed 
 her. 
 
 ia 
 
 SONNET XXXVII. 
 
 Non conoscendo, amico, vostro nome, 
 
 }| THoven unacquainted with thy name, my friend, 
 
 | 
 
 _ And what thy motive for addressing me, 
 Yet well a great man’s knowledge I discern, 
 Who speaks like none of all the learned I know. 
 Reasoning the touchstone is to know a man ; 
 If he have sense in speaking *twill appear : 
 To praise thee then were a superfluous task, 
 And worse than vain by such a tongue as mine. 
 Know this, my friend, of which I who have loved, 
 And have been loved, am sure, that he who loves 
 And is not loved, endures of woes the greatest : 
 For that affliction holds within its grasp 
 All others, and of every one is chief, 
 And is the source of Love’s severest pangs. 
 
 Savete giudicar vostra ragione. 
 
 You who of knowledge bear the palm away, 
 Can best expound the enigma of your vision ; 
 But yet, not to dispute your wish, I answer, 
 As best I may to your well polished rhymes. 
 
 True love, of which an end is rarely found, 
 Which has its source in beauty and in worth, 
 And which supposes a return of love, 
 
 Was by the gift implied which first was offered. 
 
 The garment of the lady whom you love 
 Gives you a hope well founded, and herein 
 Your mind a true prophetic spirit shows. 
 
 Reflecting on her courtesy which followed, 
 
 And on the apparition of one dead, 
 These I deem tokens of a faithful heart. 
 
 Qe 
 SONNET XXXIX. 
 
 ——~ 
 SONNET XXXVIITI. 
 Qual che voi siate, amico, vostro manto. 
 | Wuor’er thou art, my friend, thy knowledge seems 
 
 An ample robe, and of no common kind : 
 Hence at my want of talent I am vexed, 
 Ill able to content thee, less to praise. 
 
 Well must thou know, for I myself well know, 
 Compared with thine my knowledge is a mite ; 
 Nor in the path of wisdom do I walk, 
 
 Like thee, who seem’st,in wisdom panoplied. 
 
 Since ’tis thy pleasure then to know my heart, 
 
 I show it to thee here without deceit, 
 
 As best becomes the prudent in discourse. 
 1s tomy mind seems certainly a truth, 
 That he who is a lover, and unloved, — 
 Bears in his heart a grief beyond compare. 
 
 SE ca ee = 
 
 
 
 CANZONTERE. 37 
 
 
 
 SONNET XL. 
 
 Oime, Comun, come conciar ti veggio. 
 
 Unnappy Commonwealth ! how do I see 
 Thee spoiled by neighbours and transalpine foes ! 
 But more than all by thine own citizens, 
 Whose duty is to lift thee up on high. 
 
 Who most should honour thee, ill treats thee most ; 
 Perverted or rejected are thy laws : 
 
 iach one to rend a shiver from thy trunk 
 
 Plies hard his hook, his talons, and his saw. 
 
 A soul remains not who thy welfare heeds : 
 One takes thy staff from thee, thy sandals one, 
 Another strips thee tearing off thy robe. 
 
 The sins of all are visited on thee ; 
 No one bestows a thought upon thy grief, 
 Or thy debasement if himself he raise. 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 ——<— 
 SONNET XLI. 
 Se nel mio ben ciascun fosse leale. 
 
 Ir all were loyal, and my welfare sought 
 
 As zealously as all to rob me strive, 
 
 Not even Rome herself, when governed best, 
 
 With Florence would in majesty compare. 
 But be assured that time has yet in store, 
 
 Early or late, a vengeance for this guilt. 
 
 Who robs me, from a living fund shall pay 
 
 Back to the commonwealth his guilty spoil. 
 For erst I gave the summit of my wheel 
 
 To one who wronged and plundered me as now ; 
 
 And afterwards we saw his seat left void. 
 And thou who hast ascended on his fall, 
 
 My words remember and example take, 
 
 And wisdom’s lesson learn at his expense. 
 Thou see’st that justice can avenge my wrongs, 
 © then be warned, nor traffic with my treasure. 
 
 —_—_—>>—— 
 
 SONNET XLII. 
 Messer Brunetto, questa pulzelletta. 
 
 Brunerro, this my pretty little maiden 
 Is come to keep the feast of Easter with you ; 
 Not that on Easter dainties she would fare, 
 No feaster she, but rather would be studied, 
 To comprehend her, leisure 1s required, 
 A place removed from noise and revelry : 
 Nor will she, until after much caressing, 
 Deign to reveal to any one her meaning. 
 If in this guise you understand her not, 
 Among your friends are many friar Alberts 
 Able to solve whatever I propound them : 
 With them in sober seriousness confer ; 
 And should the rest by sundry doubts be puzzled, 
 Then have recourse at last to Messer Giano. 
 
 — ~~ 
 
 SONNET XLIII. 
 
 che si muore. 
 
 
 
 Non v’accorgete voi d’ un 
 
 Taxes you no heed of one who is a dying 
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 And weeping goes, such his discouragement 
 
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 Grief too so heavily weighs down his eyes, 
 
 He has not power to raise them from the earth. 
 And when with pity one does look on him, 
 
 His heart with weeping wholly melts away, 
 
 And his soul’s sorrow vents itself in cries : 
 And if he shunned not then the haunts of man, 
 
 So loud he calls on you, amid his sighs, 
 
 The world might say: Who kills him now we 
 
 know. 
 
 —~}—— 
 SONNET XLIV. 
 Per villania di villana persona. 
 
 Never should vulgar thoughts of vulgar minds, 
 Or words of scandal by the wicked spread, 
 Disturb the peace of her who knows her worth, 
 And wears a crown of honour and esteem. 
 
 Never should she believe that her good fame, 
 Which bright and spotless shines on every side, 
 Can be denied, since conscience makes her feel 
 That truth affords no ground for a reproach. 
 
 You lady, like a rose amidst the thorns, 
 
 And like the purest gold within the fire, 
 Are prized and loved wherever you are seen. 
 
 
 
 Then let the fools indulge the venomed tongue ; 
 For more refined your virtues will appear 
 Than if such wretches noticed you with praise. 
 
 —_-_?>---— 
 
 SONNET XLV. 
 
 
 
 Se 'l Dio d’Amor venisse fia la gente. 
 
 Ir to the earth the God of love should come, 
 So that I could complain to him of you, 
 I instantly would throw me at his feet 
 And tell my wrong ; but dare not say from whom. 
 Or should there come some other mighty lord, 
 Who had the power and wisdom to decide 
 Between us two, to him should be referred 
 The justice due to those who steal the heart. 
 Stolen is my heart by the sweet look of her 
 Whose sudden apparition captured me, 
 | And that I leave it with her she insists. 
 | O be not jealous that I love another ; 
 For ’tis not any proof of her high merit 
 If I commit an error by her fault. 
 
 —-—— 
 SONNET XLVI. 
 
 Savere e cortesia, ingegno ed arte. 
 
 Wispom and courtesy, genius and art, 
 Beauty and wealth, and true nobility, 
 Courage and meekness, and a liberal “heart, 
 Prowess and excellence, conjoined and singly, 
 Virtues and graces are that everywhere 
 By their sweet power of pleasing conquer Love : 
 One than another more of worth may have 
 In Love’s regard, but each one has a part. 
 
 CANZONIERE. 
 
 | 
 : 
 | 
 
 Hence if thou wish, my friend, to make avail 
 Thy virtues, whether native or acquired, 
 Employ them loyally in pleasing Love ; 
 
 Never oppose his gracious ministry, 
 
 Assured that nothing can defend the man 
 Who wages battle wilfully with him. 
 
 —- 
 
 SONNET XLVIL. 
 Quando la notte abbraccia con fosch’ ale. 
 
 WUuEN night with sable wing the earth enshrouds, 
 And day departs, and hides itself in heaven, 
 In ocean, and in grove ; and bird and beast 
 Amid the boughs, or in the byre find rest ; 
 
 And sleep o’er every limb its gentle balm 
 Diffuses, undisturbed by care or thought, 
 Until Aurora with her tresses fair 
 Returns, and day’s fatigue again renews ; 
 
 I, wretched, am an outcast of my kind, 
 
 For grief and sighs, the enemies of rest, 
 My eyes keep open and my heart awake ; 
 
 And like a bird enveloped in a net, 
 
 The more | seek and struggle to escape, 
 The more I am entangled and am lost. 
 
 ——_~»—- 
 SONNET XLVIII. 
 Alessandro lascid Ja signoria, 
 
 ALEXANDER hath the world’s dominion left, 
 Samson his mighty strength, and Absalom 
 His grace and beauty without parallel, 
 
 A banquet to the still dev ouring worm. 
 
 The Stagyrite has left Philosophy, 
 
 And Charlemagne his princely qualities, 
 Octavius his empire and his wealth, 
 Arthur his kingdom and his valiant knights. 
 
 All these things wait the general doom of death ; 
 Therefore let every one prepare his mind 
 To endure the heavy burden of his lot ; 
 
 Deferring not good works if he be old, 
 
 Pe rforming ‘them if in the stre ngth of youth, 
 And serving Him the mirror of all light. 
 
 —— 
 XLIX. 
 O madre di virtute, luce eterna, 
 
 PARENT of virtue, light eternal, thou, 
 Of whom was aes the meek benignant fruit 
 That suffered on the cross a bitter death, 
 To save us sinners from the dark abyss : 
 Thou, queen of heaven, and of this w orld, supreme, 
 Vouchsafe to entreat thy ever-w orthy son 
 To bring me to his heave nly kingdom’s joys, 
 3y virtue of his never- failing grace, 
 Thou knowest my hope was ever placed in thee ; 
 Thou knowest in thee was ever my delight ; 
 O goodness infinite, support me now ; 
 Help me, for at the bourn I am arrived 
 Which : must soon inevitably pass ; 
 ‘ O now, chief comforter, forsake me not: 
 For every fault committed here on earth 
 My soul deplores, and contrite is my heart. 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 CANZONIERE, 
 
 
 
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 oR salute him ; but thy counsel keep 
 Till thou hast drawn him privately aside ; 
 
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 Remain with him, nor hithermore return. 
 
 ~——<---- —_—<}—— 
 F SONNET LI. SONNET LILI. 
 4 Tu che stampi lo colle ombroso e fresco. Un di si venne a me Melanconia. 
 
 Skirting the river, which so softly glides 
 That gentle Linceus ’tis by natives called, 
 In the Italian, not the German name, 
 Contented sit thee down at morn and eve, 
 For thy beloved child already bears 
 The fruit desired, and his growth hath been 
 Rapid in Grecian and in Gallic lore. 
 Genius, alas ! no longer holds her throne 
 In that Hesperia, now the abode of woe, 
 Whose gardens once such noble promise gave. 
 Yet, my Bossone, well mayst thou rejoice, 
 For thou shalt see thy son amid the learn’d | 
 Swim proudly as a galliot on the wave. 
 
 DANTE, 
 
 ALTERED FROM BOCCACCIO. 
 
 SONNET. 
 Dante Alighieri son, Minerva oscura. 
 
 Txov Dante art my author, bard obscure, 
 Sublime, intelligent, whose genius sung 
 Mysterious truth, and gave the Tuscan tongue 
 
 Beauty and strength for ever to endure. 
 
 Thy fancy, prompt and darmgly secure, 
 
 Roamed thoughtfully the spiritual worlds among 
 Of woe and bliss, whence, to thy glory, sprung 
 : The Sacred Vision, written to allure 
 Mankind to win all joy in earth and heaven. 
 Fair Florence was a parent most unjust 
 
 T'6 thee her pious son, to exile driven 
 And penury. Ravenna was thy trust, 
 
 And guards thy ashes. May thy soul have flown 
 
 Where justice reigns and envy is unknown ! 
 
 
 
 
 
 la nr ae a taal niente tina ht OE TL TOOLS CO ee 
 
 
 
 SONNET L. — SONNET LII. 
 : ae Sonetto, se Meuccio t 8 mostrato. Volgete gli oechi a veder chi mi tira. 
 met, if Meuccio thou shouldst meet, O rurN thine eyes, and see the attractive power 
 lute him when thou seest him instantly, Through whom I can no longer live with thee, 
 d haste thee at his feet to throw thyself, And render him all honour, for tis he 
 at thy respect and breeding may appear. Who tortures man by gentle lady’s charms. 
 er tarrying with him for awhile, His power benign which kills, but not in wrath, 
 
 Beseech, that he permit me to return : 
 And let me warn thee that his ways are such, 
 
 Then speak, and with thy embassy proceed. He listens most to him who sighs the most. 
 | And say, Meuccio, he who loves thee much For by a lady is my mind possessed, 
 ‘|| Presents thee with the choicest of his gems, Who rules me with such gentle cruelty, 
 || That thou mayst hold him near thy noble heart. That to her feet my willing service runs, 
 _ || But, as my first of gifts, make him accept And silently I hear a voice which says : 
 . These thy fair brothers ; and commend that they Wouldst thou of one so lovely rob my eyes, 
 
 Nor for the theft the smallest forfeit pay ? 
 
 0 rou who tread’st the cool and shady hill One day came Melancholy to my door, 
 And said: With thee I would abide awhile 
 
 And, as it seemed to me, she led with her 
 Anger and Grief, to bear her company. 
 I instantly cried out, Away, begone ! 
 She with a Greek’s persuasive tongue replied 5 
 And while discoursing with me at her ease, 
 I looked, and Love beheld approaching us. 
 Full strangely was he clad in mantle black, 
 And with a mourner’s hat upon his head, 
 And truly wept in all sincerity. 
 Poor little rogue, I said, what ails thee now 4 
 He answered me, I pensive am and sad, 
 For, my sweet brother, our lady ’s dying. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 —— nee 
 
 Tue works of Fraticelli have been mentioned in 
 the Preface as indispensable to the student of the 
 Lyrical Poems of Dante. There are many other 
 works which are most desirable ; and an enumera- 
 tion of them, with characters and specimens of 
 each, may be seen in the recent excellent edition 
 of the Vita Nuova, by Alessandro Torri (Livorno, 
 1843). From them, and from the labours of Pro- 
 fessor Rossetti, it were an easy task to select notes 
 that might fill a volume, which the critic would 
 admit to be useful and highly interesting ; but I 
 fear it would be very unprofitable to an English 
 publisher. At all events, it would be unsuitable to 
 the present publication, which can afford but few 
 pages for illustrations ; and these shall be devoted, 
 therefore, chiefly to matter connected with Dante, 
 that is not to be found elsewhere. 
 
 ———_}>-—— 
 VITA NUOVA. 
 
 Sonetto I.—Three answers only to this Sonnet, 
 from contemporary poets—Cavalcante,* Cino, and 
 Dante da Majano, have been preserved. That by 
 Cino da Pistoja is as follows :— 
 
 Naturalmente chere ogni amadore. 
 
 Nature prompts every lover to impart 
 Unto his lady-love his heart’s desire ; 
 A truth, which in the vision you relate, 
 "Twas Love’s intention to recall to you. 
 This he expressed, when with humility 
 He fed your lady with your burning heart, 
 Who, in his mantle wrapt, had long enjoyed 
 Freedom from every care in gentle sleep ; 
 Love showed his joy, as he advanced to you, 
 To give you that which most your heart desired, 
 In the combining two fond hearts in one; 
 And knowing well the pains of love and cares 
 That were engendered in the lady’s breast, 
 He pitied her, and went his way in tears. 
 
 The reply of Dante da Majano is as follows :— 
 Di cid che stato sei dimandatore. 
 
 To you, my friend, unknowing in snch matters, 
 I send a brief reply to your request ; 
 
 With my opinion on your wondrous dream ; 
 Exhibiting its import faithfully. 
 
 This, at your service then, is my response. 
 Should you be sound in body, sane in mind, 
 Then copiously your stomach lave and cleanse, 
 The vapours to extinguish and expel 
 
 Which generate such dreams and idle whims; 
 But if you labour under sore disease 
 I really must suppose your brain disordered. 
 
 Thus do I tender you my written thoughts; 
 Nor will my judgment change until I learn 
 What light the doctor’s aqueous test affords. 
 
 * See p. 1, Vedesti, al mio, &c. 
 
 
 
 ‘ guise in the Commedia. 
 
 
 
 This coarse production, and the better verses of 
 Cino and of Cavalcante, are of some value, as they 
 seem to show that the writers had no idea of the 
 mysteries concerning Beatrice, in the first sonnet 
 of the Vita Nuova, which are imagined by Profes- 
 sor Rossetti, (see Sp. Antip. 318, Am. Plat. p. 319, 
 457, 1265). Some years ago (May, 1834) I sent 
 
 the following lines to Professor Rossetti, as a sup- 
 posed answer to Dante by one who considered that 
 he had merely to interpret a lover’s dream, and 
 invited him to compose one of an opposite charac- 
 ter, expressing the mysterious sense which Dante 
 intended to convey. 
 
 In reply to Sonnet I., Vita Nuova. 
 
 Dante, thy mystic dream appears to me 
 A faithful, shadowy picture of the state 
 Of youthful poet ardently in love, 
 Who hopes and doubts and joys and weeps by turns. 
 Love, filled with joy, oft comes at night’s still hour 
 And shows the lady to his raptured mind ; 
 He sees an angel form, unveiled as truth, 
 Artless as sleep, in Love’s own vesture robed; 
 Then fondly dreams she wakes to Love and him, 
 And takes the humble offering of his heart 
 With virgin fear, and lives on it alone. 
 Blest is he then, nor change nor ill forebodes; 
 But Love is wayward as an April morn, 
 And clouds and showers succeed brief gleams of joy. 
 
 Professor Rossetti, in return, with the readiness 
 of an improvisatore, in which talent his power is 
 very remarkable, sent me immediately the fol- 
 lowing sonnet, in the same rhymes as that of Dante, 
 and desired it to be imagined the reply of a sound 
 Catholic, who saw with displeasure the same anti- 
 papal spirit (though skilfully concealed) in. the 
 Lyrical Poems of Dante, as is shown without dis- 
 
 SONETTO, 
 
 Ben al membrar I’ essenzia dell’ Amore 
 Che si t’ apparve, orror n’ ha la tua mente! 
 Che quando essenzia tal fu altrui parvente 
 Morte ne venne sempre all’ amatore. 
 Le sette stelle t’ atterzaron I’ ore 
 Per fare alto mistero a te presente, 
 Mistero ¢é Amor, Madonna, e ’] cor ardente, 
 Mistero é il drappo, il gaudio ed il dolore. 
 Tai mistiche figure io ben comprendo, 
 Ma rivelarne altrui l’ interna idea 
 Gran misfatto saria, misfatto orrendo ! 
 E chi gl’ intende appien com’ io gl’ intendo, 
 Preso da quel orror che il cor t’ empiea 
 Ai detti tuoi rispondera tacendo. 
 
 The following is a literal translation : 
 Dante, Love’s vision well might fill thy mind 
 With horror, when his essence thou recall’st ; 
 
 For when that essence to the world is shown, 
 Death to the lover never fails to come, 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SE Sa 
 
 ere guilt, a deed of danger and of shame : 
 he who knows their meaning well as I, 
 
 
 
 This sonnet is in accordance with the theory of 
 Professor Rossetti, who considers the essence of 
 || love in the poems of the Ghibelines of the middle 
 }| ages to be anti-papalism ; a meaning which, if it 
 had been known to the Inquisition, would inevi- 
 tably, as the sonnet expresses, have brought down 
 death on the lover. It is probable that the anti- 
 papal sentiments of Dante, the boldness and danger 
 || of which astonish us in the Commedia, were divulged 
 ~ |} to few till after his death ; or it may be, that pru- 
 
 dential motives induced the Inquisition to overlook 
 
 them. Even at this day every true Romanist 
 
 must read them with a portion of the horror ex- 
 | pressed in Professor Rossetti’s sonnet, from their 
 direct tendency to shake the very foundations of 
 his church, 
 
 Guido Cavaleante’s interpretation of the dream, 
 Dante informs us, was not the true one ; and he 
 adds, that the true solution was afterwards known 
 to every one. Unfortunately, he has not thought 
 proper to record it ; and, as that of the only C&dipus 
 who has attempted to give it, is disputed, we have 
 still to invoke a Magnus Apollo. 
 
 
 
 
 
 | Benedetto Varchi, in the Florentine Academy, 
 1553. In it he has made the vehicle of his ideas 
 4 comment on the following sonnet of Petrarch. 
 
 8’ amor non é, che dunque é quel ch’ io sento? 
 
 If love this is not, what then do I feel ? 
 But if ’tis love, who shall its nature tell ? 
 t If good, whence its effect so deadly and severe ? 
 ‘| If ill, whence in its torments is such sweet ? 
 If willingly I burn, whence tears and plaints? 
 
 If in the will’s despite, ’tis vain to grieve ! 
 
 2 living death! O evil full of joy! 
 
 If I oppose thee, whence thy mighty power ? 
 If I consent, most wrongfully I mourn. 
 
 In a frail bark, ‘midst winds so contrary, 
 . I float on the deep sea without a helm; 
 it With sense so light, with error heavy laden, 
 
 | That to myself my wishes are not known, 
 Freezing in summer, while I burn in frost. 
 
 
 
 
 
 pla lecture, Varchi notices every beautiful 
 rt ie extravagant fancy which Petrarch and 
 . oh Be a the first age have connected with the 
 a : ot love ; but we do not observe the slightest 
 at political sentiments were ever secretly 
 conveyed under that symbol. 
 Sonnet VIII. of the Vita Nuova is a reply to the 
 
 question, What is Love? and Dante in the two 
 es, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Love and the 
 
 i gentle heart are but one thing ; 
 
 iiys the wise man in his apophthegm ; 
 
 allu | 
 
 7 het oF aia BPN of Guido Gui- 
 : » 44/9), tO whom he pays | pres 
 
 Compliment of saying, _ ey rte 
 
 
 
 The completest discourse on the essence or | 
 ' nature of love, of the immense number that have | 
 | appeared, is one of eight lectures, delivered by | 
 
 - NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 41 
 
 
 
 He was a father to me, and to those 
 My betters, who have ever used the sweet 
 And pleasant rhymes of love. 
 
 Purg. xxvi. 92. 
 
 Cary has translated some pleasing specimens of 
 his poetry, and given them in a note (Purg. xi. 
 97). Weshall add the Canzone to which Son. VIII., 
 V. N., refers, as being interesting in itself, and in 
 order to bring it in contrast with another, on the 
 same subject, by Guido Cavalcante, to whose poeti- 
 cal talents Dante gives a preference in the following 
 passage of the Commedia : 
 
 Cimabue thought 
 To lord it over painting’s field ; and now 
 The cry is Giotto’s, and his name eclipsed. 
 Thus hath one Guido from the other snatched 
 The letter’d prize. Purg. xi. 94, 
 
 ae ——————————————— 
 
 —~< — 
 CANZONE OF GUIDO GUINICELLI. 
 
 Al eor gentil ripara sempre Amore. 
 
 Love finds a refuge in the gentle heart, 
 As bird his safety in the verdant bough. 
 Before the gentle heart Love was not made ; 
 Nor Nature made the gentle heart ere Love. 
 Soon as the Sun came forth, 
 So soon the splendour of its brightness shone ; 
 Nor was before the Sun. 
 And Love assumes his place in gentleness 
 By a peculiar right, 
 As heat takes place in brightness of the fire. 
 The fire of Love in gentle heart is caught, 
 As is the virtue in the precious stone ; 
 For from the star its worth doth not descend 
 Till by the Sun ’tis made a gentle thing : 
 When everything that’s vile 
 The Sun from it hath by its power drawn forth, 
 The star then gives it worth ; 
 Just so the heart by Nature fashioned pure, 
 Sincere, and generous, 
 A gentle lady, like the Star, enamours. 
 Love by his nature rests in gentle heart, 
 As on the taper’s summit rests the flame : 
 There bright and subtile happily it shines; 
 Nor could its pride another place endure. 
 But Nature when depraved 
 Opposes Love, as fire with water strives, 
 Or heat eontends with cold. 
 Love in the gentle heart finds an abode 
 As his congenial place, 
 Like as the diamond in the mine of iron. 
 The mire all day is stricken by the Sun 
 Yet vile remains, nor is the Sun less bright. 
 The proud man says: Gentle am I by birth. 
 The mire is he; nobility the Sun ; 
 For man must not believe 
 That noble he can be whose heart is base, 
 Though regal were his state, 
 If virtue there is not and noble heart. 
 The lake retains no ray ; 
 But heaven retains its splendour and the stars. 
 Midst heaven’s Intelligences shines our God 
 More than to eyes of man the splendid Sun. 
 Without a veil the angel sees his Maker, 
 And heaven finds in wishing to obey him. 
 He worships and obtains . 
 Fulness of bliss from a just Deity : 
 So should the bliss of truth 
 Be by the lovely lady given, whose eyes 
 Express their generous will, 
 To him who from her love can never swerve. 
 Spirit, our Judge will say, when stands the soul 
 Before his throne: Greatly hast thou presumed ! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 Thou heaven hast passed, to me at length hast come, 
 And given thy love to beauty, not to me ; 
 
 For unto me all praise 
 
 Belongs, and to the Queen of heaven’s realm, 
 
 In whom is perfect truth. 
 
 Then shall I say : She had an angel’s features 
 
 Who to thy realm belonged ; 
 
 My fault it was not if she won my love. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 The above poem of Guinicelli is far more pleasing 
 and intelligible than the famous canzone on the 
 same subject of Guido Cavalcante, 
 
 Donna mi prega, perché voglio dire, 
 
 which is believed to have been written in reply to 
 the following sonnet, addressed to him in name of 
 a lady, by Guido Orlandi. 
 
 Onde si muove, e d’ onde nasce Amore? 
 
 Tell me whence Love proceeds, and whence its birth ? 
 What the appropriate place wherein it dwells ? 
 Is it remembrance? substance? accident? 
 Caused by the eye or by the heart’s desire? 
 
 From what proceeds its state of rest? or rage 
 When it is felt as a devouring fire ? 
 
 What is its nourishment? Again I ask 
 Of whom becomes it lord? and how and when? 
 
 What thing, I say, is Love? Hath it a shape? 
 Form of its own? or likeness of some other ? 
 
 Is life this Love, or is it truly death ? 
 
 He who Love serves should best his nature know. 
 Guido, I ask concerning him of you, 
 
 For you I hear frequent much at his court. 
 
 The canzone, in reply, is a dry, obscure, meta- 
 physical treatise in verse, perfectly unsuited to 
 poetry, and so foreign to modern taste that the 
 fame it once obtained must surprise every reader 
 of the present day ; but being a literary curiosity 
 which shows in a striking manner the taste of that 
 age, in treating a subject on which, two centuries 
 later, Pico di Mirandola, Ficino, Varchi, and so 
 many eminent men employed, and in the opinion 
 of Tiraboschi, wasted time and talents ; and its 
 having drawn forth not only extraordinary praise, 
 but a comment from several writers remarkable 
 for critical power, and never having been trans- 
 lated, we shall attempt to give it in English as 
 literally as possible ; adopting the interpretation 
 we deem most intelligible, and taking the latest 
 commentator, Frachetta, as our principal guide. 
 
 Dante, in his De Vulgari Eloquio, (Cap. x1!.) 
 quotes this canzone as an example of the regular 
 introduction of an intermediate rhyme, or echo of 
 the rhyme, in a stanza where the verse is of eleven 
 syllables. Petrarch introduces the first lime, in 
 compliment to the author, in his canzone, 
 
 Lasso me! ch’io non so in qual parte pieghi. 
 
 Lorenzo de’ Medici, in a letter to Don Ferdinand 
 of Arragon, says of Guido Cavaleante, “If his 
 poetical talents had been exercised in a wider field, 
 he would without doubt have obtained the highest 
 honours. Of all his works, the most admirable is a 
 canzone in which this graceful poet has subtilely 
 described every quality, virtue, and accident of 
 love. It was esteemed of such value in his day, 
 that three of his contemporaries, most distinguished 
 philosophers, wrote learned comments upon it ; 
 one of whom was Egidio Romano.” 
 
 There are four printed comments. 1. That of 
 Egidio Colonna, called Egidio Romano, also Giles 
 
 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 de Rome, Archbishop of Bourges, who died 1316. 
 He was styled Doctor Fundatissimus, and the. 
 
 
 
 
 
 epitaph on his tomb, in the church of the Augus- 
 tines at Paris, describes him “ perspicacissimus 
 commentator lux in lucem reducens dubia, &e. &e.” 
 
 It was printed, Siena 1602, with notes by Celso if 
 
 Cittadini. 2. That of Dino del Garbo, physician 
 
 to Pope John XXIL., who died 1327, published in | 
 zatin, Venetiis 1492 ; translated into Italian in the |} 
 
 fourteenth century by Mangiatroja, and first pub- 
 lished, together with the Rime di Cavalcante, 
 Firenze 1813. 3. That of Fra Paolo del Rosso, 
 who died about 1567, published Firenze 1568. He 
 dedicates it, in the following sonnet, to Cosmo de’ 
 Medici, the first Grand Duke of Tuscany. 
 
 Poiche lo stile, ond’ orna il Cavalcante. 
 
 The style, poetic skill, and beauty which adorns 
 The far-famed ode of Cavalcante’s muse, 
 
 And its high sentiments are such, that some 
 In him a Petrarch, some a Dante see. 
 
 His portrait midst the worthies you have placed, 
 Illustrious Cosmo, where his outward form 
 Shall live for ages; and his countenance 
 There speaks his bright and penetrating soul. 
 
 His mind I long have studied, which a frame 
 Of diamonds clasped ; and here present its fair 
 And faithful picture, mighty Prince, to you: 
 
 That men may own your judgment, and still more 
 Admire our Guido’s portrait, when they see 
 His wisdom in this mirror of his mind. 
 
 4. That of Girolamo Frachetta, who died 1620, 
 published Venetia 1585. In these comments the 
 great authority referred to is constantly Aristotle, 
 and not Plato. There is no allusion to the sym- 
 posium, and the love discoursed of is not divime 
 love, but human, intermediate between earthly and 
 celestial love ; a passion resulting, like the human 
 
 being itself, from a compound of matter and spirit, _ 
 
 of sense and reason, desire and free will. 
 
 To the names of these commentators we may 
 add the celebrated preceptor and friend of Lozenzo 
 de’ Medici, Marsilio Ficino, who died 1499, whose 
 work, “ Sopra lo Amore o ver’ Convito di Platone,” 
 Firenze 1544, is considered by Crescimbeni to be 
 virtually a comment on the canzone, “ Donna mi 
 prega.”” In the Orazione VII., Cap. 1, he takes 
 the following general view of Cavalcante’s poem. 
 
 “Guido Cavalcante surpassed all men of his 
 time in the subtleties of logic : he was a follower 
 of the Socratic doctrine of love in his life and 
 writings, and has briefly comprehended in his 
 verses what is said of love in the banquet of Plato. 
 
 ** Pheedrus has there related that it sprung from 
 chaos. Pausanias has divided it into two kinds, 
 celestial and terrestrial. Erisymachus has declared 
 its universality, and shown that the two kinds of 
 love pervade all things. Aristophanes has explained 
 what the power of this universal love can effect, 
 and shows how mankind, who were at first biform 
 and united, and were afterwards divided in two, 
 may through love become one again. : Agatho has 
 treated of the great power and virtue of love, 
 showing that it alone can make men _ blessed. 
 Lastly, Socrates has, in a summary manner, 
 answered the inquiry: What is love? what are 
 its qualities ? whence its origin? how many dis- 
 tinctions it has, to what end it is directed, and how 
 great is its worth. 
 
 “The philosopher, Guido Cavalcante, has in- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ay 
 — 
 
 
 
 ee 
 
 
 
a a 
 
 : NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 , eeunnennntteEtEemeenere SE ieee Ee = = 
 
 _ cluded and answered all these inquiries skilfully in 
 | his verses. He begins his exposition with a simile, 
 || imagining that in like manner as a ray of the sun 
 
 striking upon a mirror is reflected, and by that 
 
 reflection of splendour may inflame a flock of wool 
 
 '}| which is near it, so that part of the soul which is 
 
 called by him dark faney, and memory, like the 
 | mirror, may be stricken by the image of beauty, 
 which holds the place of the sun, as by a ray which 
 hath entered through the eyes ; and that it may be 
 |} stricken in such a manner that, by means of the 
 said image, it may fabricate of itself another image, 
 as reflected splendour of the first, by which splen- 
 dour desire is kindled, in like manner as the wool, 
 and being kindled becomes love. He adds, that 
 this first love, kindled in the appetite of sense, is 
 created by corporeal form, comprehended by the 
 eyes ; but he says that that form is not impressed 
 on the fancy in the same manner as it is on corpo- 
 real matter, but immaterially ; nevertheless it is 
 so impressed that it may be the image of a certain 
 human being, in a certain place, at a certain time ; 
 and that from this image there suddenly flashes on 
 the mind, one of another species, which is no longer 
 the similitude of a particular human body as it 
 existed in the fancy, but is a general term and 
 definition, equally applicable to the whole human 
 race. Then, like as from the fancy, after that it 
 has comprehended the image proceeding from body, 
 there springs in the appetite of sense, which is the 
 slave of the body, the love which is applicable to 
 the senses, so from this mental species and general 
 term, as from a thing most remote from body, there 
 springs in the will another love, much alienated 
 from the companionship of body. The first love 
 has its place in sense, the second in contemplation ; 
 and he considers that the first is concerned in the 
 particular form of an individual body, and that 
 the second is directed to the universal beauty of 
 the whole human race ; and that these two loves 
 oppose each other in man. The first inclines him to 
 a life of irrational pleasure ; the second raises him 
 to an angelic and contemplative life. The first is 
 full of passion, and found in many people; the 
 second is without perturbation, and is found in few. 
 Cavaleante, moreover, has mingled in the creation 
 of love a certain darkness of chaos, when he said 
 that the dark fancy was illuminated, and that from 
 the mixture of that darkness and of the light of 
 beauty love was born. Again, he places the first 
 source of love in the beauty of divine things, the 
 second in the beauty of bodies ; for when in his 
 verses he speaks of the sun and ray, by the sun he 
 means the light of the Divinity, by the ray corpo- 
 real forms ; and he teaches that the end of love 
 corresponds to its origin ; so that the imstinct of 
 love, which inclines men to material beauty, causes 
 them also to mount even to the vision of the Deity.”’ 
 
 Egidio Colonna has introduced his comment on 
 the canzone of Guido Cavalcante, with the follow- 
 ing apologue :— 
 
 “7 was in a dark wood, and wandering along a 
 difficult and rugged path; and being overcome 
 with fatigue, I laid myself down to rest and fell 
 asleep, and during my sleep I dreamed as follows. 
 
 “7 seemed to be climbing up a very lofty moun- 
 tain, from which there was a view of almost the 
 whole world ; and beyond this there was Another 
 mountain that was loftier, whence things might be 
 seen that were still more distant. 
 
 *‘ Upon the first mountain stood a lady of extra- 
 ordinary beauty, and before her there was a fire 
 so great that it gave heat to all the world. Upon 
 the other mountain that was loftier stood two ladies; 
 and in the midst of them was a very beautiful foun- 
 tain, to which I was accustomed to go frequently 
 and satisfy my thirst. 
 
 “ And having a desire to go there and drink as 
 I was wont, it behoved me to pass before the first- 
 mentioned lady ; and as I went along I saw a young 
 man kneeling before her, to whom she was address- 
 ing these words : ‘Thou knowest me well, both by 
 my features and my manners, and seest that I am 
 Love :’? And he answered her, ‘ Madonna, it is most 
 true.’ And the lady said to him, ‘ Now hear me, 
 and listen attentively to what I shall tell thee. In 
 times past I sent forth into the world two messen- 
 gers, Solomon and Ovid ; the one made me known 
 throughout the world with music and song; the 
 other composed the art by which I should be won 
 and retained. From that time to the present I 
 have sent no other messenger, and they who have 
 written concerning me have done so either from 
 desire of displaying their own inventions, or from 
 being over-heated by this fire. Now I have made 
 choice of thee for my third messenger, and have 
 done so advisedly; for whereas the first was 
 a teacher most melodious and divine, and the 
 other a most perfect poet, so thou art a philo- 
 sopher who aboundest in wisdom; and because 
 thou art not the slave of love, but art the friend, I 
 do not command thee, but I entreat thee, that 
 thou wouldst renew the remembrance of me in the 
 vorld, and relate my properties and hidden quali- 
 ties which have not been discoursed upon by other 
 writers.’ 
 
 * The noble youth having heard this, answered 
 the lady and said, ‘ Madonna, that which you re- 
 quire of me shall be done ; but since the world is 
 full of different opinions, tell me the mode that you 
 would wish me to observe in my discourse. And 
 the lady replied, ‘I must reveal to you one of my 
 qualities, which is, that I have only power to give 
 the will to discourse, but the sentiments and mode 
 I cannot give ; but repair to those two ladies on 
 the mountain above, who are the two sister philo- 
 sophies, moral and natural, and they will teach the 
 mode of thy discourse.’ Having heard these things, 
 I went forward in haste that I might observe the 
 completion of this matter ; and when I was near 
 the two ladies, the young man came and stood be- 
 fore them and delivered his embassy as follows : 
 ‘ The lady who is there on the mountain below you 
 entreats me that I should renew the remembrance 
 of her in the world, and sends me to you, that 
 you may instruct me in the mode in which I may 
 fitly deliver what I ought to say. And they an- 
 swered him,‘ Wise young man, give ear to our 
 advice, and hear this truth concerning us. We are 
 not adverse to love ; but we temper it that it may not 
 be hurtful, in the same manner as the medical art 
 tempers poisons and renders them useful ; hence, 
 they who have not recourse to our guidance perish 
 through love, like a vessel in a tempest without a 
 pilot. The mode thou shalt observe is this: In the 
 first place, let thy discourse be brief ; for, by how 
 much the less there is in it to be remembered, so 
 much the greater will be its speed and effieacy in 
 bestowing health on the world. Let the sentiments 
 which thou shalt deliver be clothed with our vest- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Se at eet >= 
 — —- t te 
 
 Pn ee oe 
 mathe orecmig tes, 
 
 ~ nen 
 es 
 
 
 
 ke ee he 
 
 oe Se 
 
 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. | 
 
 ments, so that they may not te understood by any 
 one who is unacquainted withus ; and this we say, 
 because the rest of mankind are incapable of being 
 rightly governed in love.’ 
 
 “ Having heard this, the yang man inquired of 
 the ladies, and said, ‘ And who shall expound my dis- 
 course ?’ and they replied, ‘ That young man shall 
 
 CANZONE 
 I. 
 
 Donna mi prega: perche viglio dire 
 D’un accidente, che sovmte é fero: 
 Et é si altero, che é chianato amore, 
 Si chi lo niega possa il wr sentire. 
 Et al presente conoscent chero ; 
 Perchée non spero, ch’ uon di basso core 
 A tal ragione porti conowenza : 
 Che senza natural dimostramento 
 Non ho talento di voler srovare, 
 La dove posa; et chi lo [fa creare ; 
 Et qual sia sua virtute ; et sua potenza ; 
 L’ essenza poi; et ciascm movimento ; 
 E ’1 piacimento, che il fe dir amare ; 
 Et se huomo per veder }) pud mostrare. 
 
 Il, 
 
 In quella parte, dove sta memora 
 Prende suo stato, si fornato, come 
 Diaphan da lome, da un: Oscuritate, 
 La qual da Marte viene,et fa dimora. 
 Egli é creato ; et ha sersato nome ; 
 D’ alma costome, et di ca volontate. 
 Vien da veduta forma, me s’ intende : 
 Che prende nel possibil’intelletto, 
 Come in suggetto, loco, :t dimoranza. 
 In quella parte mai nonha pesanza ; 
 Perche la qualitate non discende. 
 Risplende in se, perpetuile effetto. 
 Non ha diletto, ma consderanza, 
 Si che non puote largir iimiglianza. 
 
 Ii. 
 
 Non ée vertute ; ma da qualia viene 
 Ch’ é perfettione, che sipone tale ; 
 Non rationale, ma che snte dico. 
 Fuor di salute giudicar nantiene, 
 Che la intentione per rarione vale ; 
 Discerne male in cui é vitio amico. 
 Di sua potentia segue hiom spesso morte ; 
 Se forte la vertu fosse inpedita 
 La qual aita la contrari: via: 
 Non perche opposita a ratura sia ; 
 Ma quanto che da buonperfetto tort’ é. 
 Per sorte non pud dir hiom ¢’ haggia vita 
 Che stabilita non ha sigioria 
 A simil pud valor, quanio huom I’ oblia. 
 
 IV. 
 
 L’ essere, quando lo volere > tanto 
 Fuor di natura, di misua torna. 
 Poi non s’ adorna di ripGo mai. 
 Move cangiando color, eriso, e pianto ; 
 Et la figura con paura sbrna. 
 Poco soggiorna: anchordi lui vedrai 
 Ch’ in gente di valor lo jiu si trova. 
 La nova qualita move sepiri ; 
 Et vuol ce’ huom miri noi fermato loco ; 
 Destandosi ira, la qual nanda foco. 
 Imaginar no’l puote hwm che no’'l prova: 
 Ne mova gia, perché a hi si tiri ; 
 Et non si giri per trovaivi gioco, 
 Ne certamente gran sap:r, ne poco, 
 
 V. 
 
 Di simil tragge complessioie is guardo, 
 Che fa parere lo piacere :erto. 
 Non pud coperto star quindo é sorgiunto. 
 
 expound it; he who is yonder, and who comes 
 often to drink at this fountain.’ 
 
 «¢ And when the dream had vanished, and I awoke, 
 and was out of the dark wood, I hastened to seek for 
 this discourse ; and having obtained it, 1 proceeded 
 to expound it, under the influence of the water of 
 the said fountain. 
 
 CANZONE. 
 Il. 
 
 A lady sues, therefore I will discourse 
 Upon an accident, which oft torments, 
 Yet is so proudly great that love ’tis called. 
 He who shall this deny may feel its truth. 
 And the experienced I invite to hear ; 
 For I despair that man of vulgar heart 
 May knowledge bring for argument so high : 
 Since without proof deduced from nature’s laws, 
 I have not power or will to demonstrate 
 Where is Love’s seat, and how it is produced ; 
 And what may be its virtue, and its power ; 
 Its essence ; and each change it undergoes ; 
 What the delight to which love owes its name ; 
 And whether to the eye it can be shown. 
 
 lI. 
 
 Within the soul’s recess where memory dwells 
 Love has its seat, there formed as brightness is 
 By light, in thing transparent that was dark ; 
 Which darkness is from Mars, and permanent. 
 Love is produced, and has its name from sense ; 
 A habit of the soul, a will of the heart ; 
 
 It springs from beauty seen and contemplated ; 
 Which takes, in the receptive intellect, 
 
 A dwelling place, as in a subject fit. 
 
 There, matter it has none, nor has it weight; 
 
 For purely spiritual is its quality, 
 
 Love shines transplendant, long as beauty charms. 
 In contemplation is its whole delight, 
 
 Hence it can yield no likeness of itself. 
 
 I. 
 A virtue love is not, but springs from that 
 Which perfect is, and is a virtue deemed ; 
 Not of the intellect, but sense I say. 
 ‘Tis prone to guide the judgment wide of health ; 
 For the intention holds right reason’s place 
 He discerns ill in whom vice has a friend. 
 The power of love leads frequently to death, 
 If strong impediment the virtue meets, 
 Which aids life’s course by way to death opposed : 
 Not that Love’s nature hostile is to life ; 
 But only as ’tis bent from perfect good. 
 Perchance man may not rightly say he lives 
 Who has not o’er his will supreme command. 
 So, valour is as dead, exerted not. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love’s essence is, that as the will exceeds 
 The bounds of nature, so is its measure filled. 
 It then no more is with repose adorned ; 
 "Tis restless, changing colour, smiles and tears ; 
 And the fair image drives away with fear. 
 Brief does it sojourn ; yet thou shalt observe 
 That it is oftenest found in noble minds. 
 Love wills that new seen beauty call forth sighs, 
 And that man’s eye should find no resting place; 
 Awakening anger oft that sends forth fire. 
 He can conceive it not who proves it not ; 
 Let not man move near Love’s attracting sphere, 
 Nor play around it, thinking to find joy, 
 Whether in knowledge he be rich or poor. 
 
 v. 
 Like minds begat reciprocal regard, 
 
 Which makes love’s mutual pleasure seem secure. 
 When thus impressed it cannot lie concealed. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Non gia selvagge le belta son dardo ; 
 Che tal volere per temere é sperto : 
 Consegue merto spirito, ch’ é punto. 
 Et non si pud conoscer per lo viso 
 Compriso, bianco in tal obietto cade : 
 Et chi ben aude forma non si vede . 
 Dunque egli ¢ meno che da lei procede. 
 Fuor di colore, d’ essere diviso, 
 
 Assiso, mezzo oscuro luce rade. 
 
 Fuor d’ ogni fraude dice degno in fede, 
 Che solo di costui nasce mercede. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Canzon mia, tu poi gir sicuramente 
 
 ’ Dove to piace ; ch’ io t’ ho si adornata, 
 Che assai laudata sera tua ragione 
 Da le persone, c’ hanno intendimento : 
 Di star con I’ altre tu non hai talento. 
 
 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Beauties that are not gentle are not darts ; 
 For love’s fond wishes are repelled by fear : 
 The spirit that is pierced obtains reward. 
 
 Love cannot be discerned by eye of man, 
 
 For in such object colour is a blank : 
 
 Not form itself is object of the sight ; 
 
 Then less can that which flows from it be seen. 
 Separate from matter, and of colour void, 
 Dark seated, love shines only in effects. 
 These are a guileless faithful lover’s thoughts 
 True love alone will love’s return obtain. 
 
 > 
 
 vI. 
 My song, thou mayst securely take thy way 
 Where pleaseth thee; for thou art so adorned, 
 That greatly shall thy reasoning be praised 
 By persons who have understanding meet : 
 To stay with others thou hast no desire. 
 
 
 
 NOTES ON THE CANZONE. 
 “Donna mi prega, perché voglio dire.” 
 
 Oss.—This whole canzone is a complete illus- 
 tration of the Horacian aphorism, “ Brevis esse 
 laboro obscurus fio.” To make it intelligible an 
 
 extended paraphrase would be necessary ; but the 
 
 author’s meaning, even with the assistance of the 
 
 four commentators, is not made sufficiently clear 
 and rational to me to induce me to attempt one. 
 
 A few notes, however, may be acceptable to the 
 reader. 
 
 Stanza I.—Proposes eight inquiries respecting 
 love ; two of which are answered in each of the 
 four following stanzas :— 
 
 l. 1. “Donna mi prega,” &e. By Donna, is meant 
 Guido Orlandi, in the opinion of Professor Ros- 
 setti. Donna, in the old Italian poets, being often 
 
 only a personification of Anima; but implying a 
 superior mind, “ Anima dominante.” Dante, com- 
 
 menting on the words, “ Donna gentile,’’ (Convito, 
 
 'Canz. II., Stanza 3) says, “Per donna gentile 
 > so 9 
 
 
 
 
 
 _Iean only the poet himself. 
 Donna, in the introductory apologue of Egidio 
 
 s’ intende la nobile anima d’ ingegno e libera nella 
 
 sua propia potesti, che é la ragione.” (Conv. 
 Trat. III. Cap. XIV.) So, in the canzone of 
 
 Guinicelli, “ Al cor gentil, &e.,” of which we have 
 given a translation, St. 6,7.1, “Donna, Dio mi 
 dira, che presumesti?”? Donna, which we have 
 translated “ Fair spirit,’ can, from what follows, 
 We have seen that 
 
 Colonna, is put for the divinity Love, made female, 
 to adapt it to this canzone. See the ingenious 
 arguments on this subject in Rossetti’s Com. Anal. 
 della Div. Com. vol. ii., Disamina, cap. x. 
 
 l. 2, “D’ un accidente,” ¢.¢., accident, not sub- 
 
 | west 
 stance, a mental affection here. 
 
 l. 3. “Che é@ chiamato amore ;” 7.¢., is called 
 
 love improperly ; meaning, Frachetta says, that 
 the name should be exclusively confined to divine 
 love. Del Garbo observes. “Della cagione il 
 perché questa passione si chiami amore, non mi 
 curo di parlare, peroeché de’ nomi non debbe 
 essere niuna cura, conciosiacosaché noi conosciamo 
 la essenzia della cosa ; perocché, secondo el filosofo, 
 i nomi alle cose si pongono a beneplacito.” 
 
 1. 5. “Conosecente chero ;” 7.¢., I invite the 
 experienced in love. “ Chi per pruova intenda 
 amore.” Petr. : 
 
 «. 1. 8. “ Natural dimostramento ;” 7. ¢., Demon- 
 stration drawn from natural and moral philosophy. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 STANZA I].—Replies to questions 1 
 “ Where is love’s seat, and how is it produced ?” 
 
 l. 4. “Da Marte viene, e fa dimora.”? The com- 
 ment of Egidio Colonna on the first four lines, 
 showing the propriety of the simile, is excellent ; 
 but too long for insertion. He finishes with ob- 
 serving, that darkness is the usual symbol of evil, 
 light of good ; that the influence of Mars generates 
 strife and disquiet ; and that disquietude is per- 
 manent in love. 
 
 1. 5. “Sensato nome ;” 7.¢., l’ appetito concu- 
 piscibile dell’ anima, E.C. Del Rosso prefers and 
 defends the reading, “ Creato da sensato Nume.” 
 
 1.7. “ Vien da veduta forma, che s’intende ;” 
 vz. é “Vimagine della cosa prima contemplata.” 
 E.C. Beauty first seen, then contemplated by the 
 mental eye. 
 
 1. 8. “ Possibile,” and “ passibile intelletto,” are 
 disputed readings ; and whether an imaginative or 
 reasoning, a receptive or operative faculty, is 
 meant in this place is also disputed. 
 
 1.10. “Pesanza,” “posanza,” “possanza,” are dis- 
 puted readings. Frachetta’s explanation has been 
 
 here followed ; but the connecting an idea of | 
 
 weight, descent, and gravity with love seems so 
 absurd, that E. C.’s reading, “posanza,” may be 
 preferred; and 7. 10 and 11 might be thus 
 translated :— 
 
 A place in which it never has repose, 
 For constant is its nature still to change. 
 
 We shall refer the reader to the various and 
 widely differing interpretations given by the com- 
 mentators of the remainder of this stanza, which 
 seem to be obtained by great violence done to 
 grammatical construction, and to the common 
 meaning of words ; as may indeed be said of most 
 of the obscurities of the canzone. 
 
 Sranza III.— Replies to questions 3 and 4, 
 “ What may be love’s virtue and its power ?” 
 
 l. 1. “Non é virtute.” It is not strictly one of 
 the moral virtues, but is often a virtue in its 
 effects. 
 
 l. 2. “Che @ perfezione ;” 7%.¢., beauty, cor- 
 poreal and intellectual. 
 
 1.4. “ Fuor di salute,” &e. Love is strictly not 
 only not a virtue, but often partakes in its effects 
 of the nature of vice. 
 
 l.7. “Di sua potenza,” &c. He shows that its 
 power may induce death; both corporeal and 
 intellectual. The physician Del Garbo’s comment 
 
 
 
 and 2, 
 
 
 
 
 Vie DE eo GE te 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Rane 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 >) eae 
 a 
 errr el eRe se 
 
 
 
 ry 
 
 St 
 
 67a a ee ere 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 46 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 is minute on describing the fatal consequences to 
 health of being crossed in love. Passioni sono 
 vere passioni quando sono sfrenate. Ottimamente 
 prova che amore sente del vizio. Frachetta. 
 
 SranzalV.—Replies to questions 5 and 6. “ What 
 is love’s essence, and each change it undergoes ?”’ 
 
 i. 2. “ Di misura torna.” Cioé, diventa misura- 
 bile. Del Rosso. Cioé, ha suo compimento all’ hora 
 che nostro volere é molto fuori di sua natura. 
 Frachetta. 
 
 1. 3. “Non s’adorna, &c.” L’animo nel quale é 
 amore non ha posa né termine in niun grado. 
 L’ adornimento dell’ animo é la temperanza delle 
 passioni. E. C. 
 
 1. 5. Frachetta understands this line differently, 
 and to mean that beauty and strength, and the 
 whole figure may suffer and fall away from con- 
 tined apprehension of losing the beloved. The 
 interpretation of E. Colonna has been followed. 
 His justification of it is too long for admission. 
 
 1.7. “Che in gente di valor,” &c., adopting the 
 sentiment of Guinicelli. “Al cor gentil ripara 
 sempre amore.” 
 
 1. 8. “La nuova qualita,” &c. Del Rosso under- 
 stands this differently from Frachetta, and as 
 follows :—Questa nuova qualita, cioé maravigliosa 
 e strana qualita, muove ancora la parte irascibile ; 
 che yeramente strano merita d’esser chiamato 
 questo affetto, poiché avendo nome, amore, odia ; 
 e regnando nella parte concupiscibile si tragetta 
 nella contraria, che é I’ irascibile. 
 
 The three last lines of the stanza are understood 
 by the Archbishop to represent love’s captive as a 
 prisoner, in a dungeon, chained to a pillar, and 
 trying in vain to find relief in change of position. 
 
 Sranza V. Replies to the two last questions, 7 
 and 8, What the delight to which love owes its 
 name, and whether to the eye it can be shown.” 
 Or, in the words of Del Rosso, Quando acquista 
 qualita d’ amore ; e se é visibile. 
 
 i. 1. “ Disimil tragge,” &c. ; 2.¢., The sentiment 
 does not deserve the rame of love unless there be 
 reciprocal regard, E. C. Egli acquista natura e 
 condizione d’ amore mediante simile sguardo, Del 
 Rosso. 
 
 1. 3. “ Non puo coperto star,’ &c. Come I’ im- 
 pressione della luna si manifesta quantungue sia 
 occulta, per li nuovi muovimenti del mare, cosi é 
 dell’ amore, il quale non é altro se non una im- 
 pressione nell’ animo della cosa amata. E.C. 
 
 1. 5. “Che tal voler,” &e. The Archbishop says, 
 True love is proved by fear in three ways; the 
 fear of not obtaining the object beloved : the fear 
 of losing her if obtained ; and the fear of losing 
 her love. He adds, Quando l’animo per isperienza 
 spesse volte, e duramente € punto pur da paura, 
 allhora l’ amore é provato ed esperto esser verace. 
 A questo cotale amore, il quale di simil comples- 
 sione é tratto, il quale non puo star coverto, e 7] 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 qual é da dette paure esperto, si conviene propia- 
 mente questo nome amore: ove nota, che amore 
 tanto é a dire, quanto cosa che é senza amarore ; 
 ed anché tanto é a dire, quanto cosa che é sempre 
 
 con amarore ; ed anché quanto dir cosa senza | 
 
 costume ; ed anché tanto é a dire, quanto cosa a 
 cui é congiunto morte ; perciocché per esso ogni 
 
 altra virti nell’ animo muore ; ed anché tanto é a | 
 dire, quanto cosa senza morte, e questo s’ intende | 
 
 specialmente dell’ amor divino. 
 
 1.7. “Nonsi pud conosceer per lo viso.”” Che tanto 
 é a dire, non si pud mostrarlo, né additarlo si che 
 gli occhi di colui a cui tu lo mostri lo veggano. Le 
 cose si conoscono per due vie ; l’ una é de’ sensi, e 
 V altra dell’ intelletto ; non niega che per via dell’ 
 intelletto ’ uomo non possa conoscerlo. Del Rosso. 
 Frachetta observes that this query, the eighth, is 
 reserved for the last, because the other seven have 
 valled for an affirmative answer, and this fora 
 negative. He adds, E noi sappiamo, che |’ affirma- 
 tione va innanzi alla negatione. He observes also 
 that it is called for to refute a vulgar error, ori- 
 ginating in the fancy of poets and painters, who 
 have represented Love as a boy, naked, and with 
 wings, and armed with a bow and quiver. A 
 statue, in the beautiful gardens of Ermenonville 
 near Chantilly, before the Revolution, represented 
 Love differently, his only emblem being a burning 
 heart which he held in his hand, like Love in the 
 first sonnet of the Vita Nuova: on the pedestal 
 were these pretty lines— 
 
 N’offrant qu’un cceur a la Beauté, 
 Nud comme la Vérité, 
 Sans armes comme ]’Innocence, 
 Sans ailes comme la Constance, 
 Tel fut Amour dans le siécle d’or, 
 On ne le trouve plus, quoiqu’on le cherche encore. 
 
 1. 9. “Forma non sivede.” Forma, o ver figura, 
 non si vede per se stessa. Del Rosso. 
 
 i. 11. “ D’ essere diviso.” Cioé seperato da mate- 
 ria. Del Rosso. 
 
 /. 14. “Che solo dicostui nasce mercede.” The 
 Archbishop explains the line thus: Sempre da 
 costui, dalla parte della cosa amata nasce mercede, 
 cioé rendesi il prezzo, lo quale é debito e mercede 
 di detto amore, lo qual debito é perfetta riamatione. 
 
 Other interpretations of the concluding lines of 
 this celebrated canzone are necessarily omitted ; 
 the notes and illustrations having reached the 
 prescribed limit, although they have not proceeded 
 beyond the first sonnet of the Vita Nuova. The 
 reader who has been sufficiently interested to wish 
 for further information, must have recourse to the 
 old authors, whose works have been mentioned, 
 and who have laboriously travelled over the same 
 curious, obscure, uninviting, but to me not unin- 
 teresting road. Finis charteeque vieeque. 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SONETTI. 
 A ciascun’ alma presa e gentil core (v. N.). 
 Ahi lasso ! ch’ io credea trovar pietate 
 Alessandro lascid la signoria ‘ 
 | Amore e’! cor gentil sono una cosa (v. N.) 
 Ben dico certo che non é riparo 
 Bicci, novel figliuol di non so cui . : 
 | Cavaleando I’ altr’ ier per un camino (Vv. N.) 
 | Chi guardera giammai senza paura 
 Chi udisse tossir la mal fatata 
 
 
 
 | Cid che m’ incontra nella mente more (v. N.) 
 Color d’ amore e di pieta sembianti (v. N.) 
 | Con I altre donne mia vista gabbate (v. nN.) . 
 Dagli occhi belli di questa mia dama. 
 | Dagli occhi della mia donna si muove 
 | Da quella luce che 7] suo corso gira . 
 | Deh peregrini che pensosi andate (v. Nn.) 
 | Deh ragioniamo un poco insieme, Amore 
 Di donne io vidi una gentile schiera . . 
 | Due donne in cima de la mente mia . 
 
 EK 5 . ‘ 7 . . 
 | £’ non é legno di si forti nocchi 
 
 | Era venuta ne la mente mia GY. 7s). : 
 Gentil pensiero che parla di voi (v. N.) . Ft 
 Giovinetta gentil poiché tu vede . . ie 
 
 Guido, vorrei che tu, e Lappo, ed io . 
 
 Io maladico il di ch’ io vidi imprima 
 
 Io mi credea del tutto esser partito . : : 
 fo mi sentii svegliar dentro a lo core(v.n.) . . 
 To son si vago della bella luce . ; ; ; 
 Lo re che merta i suoi serviaristoro . i 
 L’ amaro lagrimar che voi faceste (v. N.) ; 
 
 Lasso ! per forza di molti sospiri (v. nN.) . 
 
 Lo fin piacer di quello adorno viso ° 
 Madonne, deh vedeste voi I altr’ ieri . 
 
 Messer Brunetto, questa pulzelletta . ae 
 Molti volendo dir che fosse Amore , R . 
 Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore (v.N.) . 
 Nelle man vostre, o dolce donna mia : : 
 
 Non conoscendo, amico, vostronomo . aa 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 
 oa 
 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 34 
 
 35 
 a7 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 ——@ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Non v’ accorgete voi d’ un che si muore 
 
 Nulla mi parra mai pit crudel cosa 
 
 O dolci rime, che parlando andate ‘ : 
 Oltre la spera che pit larga gira (v. N.). 
 O madre di virtute, luce eterna . , ‘ 
 Oime, Comun, come conciar ti veggio 
 
 Onde venite voi cosi pensose ? ; . 
 Ora che l’ mondo si adorno e veste_ . : 
 Parole mie, che per lo mondo siete . 
 
 Per villania di villana persona , ‘ , 
 Poich’ io non trovo chi meco ragioni_. . 
 Per quella via che la bellezza corre . ‘ 
 Piangete amanti, poiché piange Amore (v. N.) 
 Poiche’ sguardando il cor feriste in tanto 
 
 Qual che voi siate, amico, vostro manto. 
 Quando la notte abbraccia con fosch’ ale 
 Questa donna ch’ andar mi fa pensoso . 
 Savere e cortesia, ingegno ed arte. : 
 Savete giudicar vostra ragione . 
 
 Se nel mio ben ciascun fosse leale 
 
 Se’ tu colui ch’ hai trattato sovente (v. N.) 
 
 Se vedi gli occhi miei di pianger vaghi 
 
 Se °l bello aspetto non mi fosse tolto . . 
 Se °l Dio d@ Amor venisse fra la gente ; 
 Se gli occhi miei saettasser quadrella : 
 Si lungamente m’ ha tenuto Amore (v. N.) 
 Sonetto, se Meuccio t’ é mostrato. ‘ 
 Spesse fiate vennemi alla mente (v. N.) ‘ 
 Tanto gentile, e tanto onesta pare (Vv. N.) 
 Togliete via le vostre porte ormai__- : 
 Tu che stampi lo colle ombroso e fresco ; 
 Tutti li miei pensier parlan d’ Amore (Vv. N.) 
 Un di si venne ame Melanconia . : 
 Vede perfettamente ogni salute (v. N.) 
 
 Venite a intender li sospiri miei (v. N.) 
 Videro gli occhi miei quanta pietate (v. N.) 
 Voi che portate la sembianza umile (v..N.) - 
 Voi, donne, che pietoso atto mostrate 
 
 Volgete gli occhi a veder chi mi tira. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 37 
 25 
 23 
 
 7 
 38 
 37 
 
 37 
 38 
 
 
 
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 48 INDEX, 
 
 PAGE 
 CANZONI. 
 
 Ahi faulx ris! per qe trai haves 
 Amor, che muovi tua vertii dal cielo 
 
 Amor, che nella mente mi ragiona (conv. ) 
 Amor, dacché convien pur ch’ io mi doglia 
 Amor, tu vedi ben che questa donna 
 Cosi nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro 
 Dacche ti piace, Amore, ch’ io ritorni 
 Doglia mi reca nello core ardire . ‘ 
 Donna pietosa e di novella etate (v. N.) - 
 Donné che avete intelletto d Amore (v. N.) . 
 E’ m’ incresce di me si malamente 
 Giovene donna dentro al cor mi siede . 
 Gli occhi dolenti per pieta del core (v. N.) 
 fo miro i crespi e gli biondi capegli 
 To non pensava che lo cor giammai 
 Io non posso celar il mio dolore 
 fo sento si d’ Amor la gran possanza 
 lo son venuto al punto della rota 
 La bella stella che ’l tempo misura 
 La dispietata mente, che pur mira 
 L’ alta speranza che mi reca amore 
 Le dolei rime d’ Amor, ch’ io solia (conv.) . 
 L’? uom che conosce e degno ch’ aggia ardire . 
 
 Morte, poich’ io non truovo a cui mi doglia 
 Oimé lasso quelle trecce bionde 
 O patria degna di trionfal fama. 
 
 Perché nel tempo rio. . ‘ 
 Poscia ch’ Amor del tutto m’ ha lasciato 
 Poschia ch’ 7 ho perduta ogni speranza 
 Tre donne intorno al cuor mi son venute — ee 
 
 Voi che, intendendo, il terzo ciel movete (conv.) 
 
 BALLATE. 
 
 Ballata, io vuo’ che tu ritrovi Amore (v. N.) 
 Deh nuvoletta, che ’n ombra d’ Amore 
 Donne, io non so di che mi preghi Amore 
 Fresca rosa novella . j : 
 
 Io mi son pargoletta bella, e nova 
 
 lo non domando, Amore . ; 
 
 Madonna, quel signor che voi portate 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Morte villana e di pieta nemica (v.N.) 
 O voi che per la via d’ Amor passate (v. N.) . 
 Per una ghirlandetta ° ; . . 
 Poiché saziar non posso gli occhi miei. ; 
 Quando il consiglio degli augei si tenne . ‘ 
 Quantunque volte, lasso, mi remembra (Vv. N.) 
 
 Voi che sapete ragionar d’Amore - ; : 
 
 SESTIN A. 
 Al poco giorno ed al gran cerchio d’ ombra. 
 Amor mi mena tal fiata all’ ombra 
 Gran nobilta mi par vedere all’ ombra 
 GUIDO CAVALCANTI. 
 Donna mi prega, perché voglio dire (canz.) . 
 
 Vedesti al mio parere, ogni valore (son.) 
 
 CINO DA PISTOJA. 
 
 Naturalmente chere ogni amadore (son.) 
 
 ANGELO DE COSTANZO. 
 
 Nell’ assedio crudel, che l'empia sorte (son.) 
 
 DANTE DA MAJANO. 
 
 Di cid che stato sei dimandatore (son.) 
 
 GUIDO GUINICELLI. 
 
 Al cor gentil ripara sempre Amore (canz.) 
 
 GUIDO ORLANDI. 
 
 Onde si muove, e d’onde nasce Amore ? (son.) 
 RANCESCO PETRARCA. 
 S'amor non é,che dunque é quel ch’io sento? (son). 
 
 GABRIELE ROSSETTI. 
 
 Ben al membrar I’ essenzia dell’ Amore (son.) 
 
 PAOLO DEL ROSSO. 
 
 Poiche lo stile, ond’ orna il Cavalcante (son.) 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
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