Part 8

Unhappy where we gaze, Unhappy where we turn or where we rest, Are man's disastrous days! It pleaseth thee that void And utterly destroyed Should be our youthful hope; that seas of woe Should part our years; to evil only shield Be Death; and that which we can never shun, The law stern and supreme, By thee is given us when our course is run. Ah me! But after our laborious way Why is, at least, the goal not fair and gay? Why her, who doth control Our future, looming darkly in our soul, Why her, who is the balm To these our days ne'er calm, In sable robes array, Involve in shadows grey? Why in our fancy form The harbour more terrific than the storm?

If this, indeed, be woe, This death which thou dost keep Impending o'er us all, whom, without guilt, Unconscious and unwilling, thou hast doomed To live; he who is wrapped in death's long sleep, Should more our envy rouse, Than he who liveth his beloved to weep. If, as I firmly think, Life is but misery And death a mercy, yet whoever could Desire, even as he should, The fatal day of those to him most dear, To find himself bereaved, Disconsolate and grieved, To see away from his deserted home The cherished figure borne That did for many years his life adorn? To utter an eternal fare-thee-well, Without hope finding birth To meet again on earth; Then lonely and abandoned in this world, Gazing around in wonted time and scene, To bear in mind the union that hath been? Ah I tell me, Nature, how hast thou the heart From the embrace to rend Of friend, the loving friend, From brother, brother dear, The offspring from the sire, And love from love; and bidding one expire, Doom the survivor to existence dire? How could thy ruthless deed Cause so much sorrow that the living bleed In heart for love entombed? But Nature's end, On her mysterious way, Is not to foster joy, or sorrow to allay.

THE SETTING OF THE MOON.

As in the lonely night O'er lakes and mountains bathed in silver light, When zephyr gaily plays, And visions meet our gaze, Strange forms that weave a power In the nocturnal hour, By distant shadows wrought O'er hill and dale and gently flowing streams: The Moon descends unto the sky's last verge Behind the ridge of Alp or Appenine, Or in the Tyrrhene sea her rays doth merge; And as she falls, no radiance more doth shine, The shadows fade, and all The world lies wrapped in one funereal pall; Bereaved the night remains; And singing in impassioned, mournful strains, The wanderer salutes the last, faint ray Of her who lit his way With argent crescent in the spheres divine:

Even thus youth wanes and flies, And every joyaunce dies, And Hope expires, the reed whereon we leant In happier days, ere every bliss was spent, And ere our life obscure And desolate became. The weary wanderer gazes on the scene Of sable hue that now doth intervene, And vainly asketh why So dire a path before him yet should lie; And as unto his eye The world appeareth changed, He finds himself no more what he hath been, But to the world and all its ways estranged.

Too happy and too gay Our span of mortal life Would seem unto the powers that rule above, If youthfulness were to endure for aye, Wherein a thousand sorrows yield one joy; Too gentle the decree Whence all that liveth doomed to death we see, Unless a gift were made, When men have finished half of their long way, Than death itself with greater terrors fraught; The worst of ills and the extreme of woe, Old age was found by an unswerving doom, Wherein desire doth glow, Hope wanes and pales and dwindles down to nought, The fountains of delight are frozen and quelled, The sorrow's greater, and all bliss withheld.

Ye mountains and ye plains, When fall the rays that in the West adorn I With silvery trace the sable veil of night, Ye shall not be forlorn For many hours: the Eastern skies ere long Ye shall perceive aglow With break of day and early rise of morn, Whom following, the Sun his fires doth show, And blazing all around In full effulgence strong, With seas of light invades The space above and the terrestrial glades. But life of man, when lovely youth is spent, No other light hath found, Nor to existence other dawn is lent: 'Tis lonely and bereaved even to its close: And to the night that weighs on later years, By the decree of doom, As goal is given the silence of the tomb.

THE GENISTA

OR

THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT.

"Men loved darkness rather than the light." ST. JOHN III., XIX.

Here on the barren soil Of Mount Vesuvius dread, That fell destroyer stern Who doth delight no other flower or tree, Thy solitary blossoms thou dost spread, Fragrant Genista sweet, Rejoicing in the deserts. I beheld Thy flowers adorn the lonely hills that stand Around the city grand, That was of yore the Empress of mankind, And for the reign resigned, They with their dumb solemnity austere Seem from the wanderer to claim a tear. Now I again behold thee on this shore; Fond of sad haunts, abandoned by the world, Companion of misfortune evermore. These regions, sprinkled o'er With showers of barren ashes and supplied With lava petrified,

Resounding to the pilgrim as he treads: Where we see twining in the sun the snake, And where in caverns dark The timorous hares their wonted refuge take: Were happy homes, and fields, Like those where harvest now its rich boon yields, Alive with lowing herds; They were palatial halls And wondrous gardens, dear Unto the great, and famous cities' walls: All which the haughty mountain with the torrents That from his fiery crater ruthless rolled, Crushed, while their inmates were by death destroyed. Now ruin makes a void Of all around where, beauteous flower, thou growest, And as in pity for the scene of woe Upon the air a perfume sweet bestowest, Consoling to the desert. To this shore Let him proceed whose wont it is to praise Our earthly state, and let him see how much Our race is held in care By loving Nature. And he here as well Can more exactly tell How far extends the power of human kind, Whom its harsh tyrant, when it least may fear, With slight exertion can destroy in part, And with a little more Could in an instant wholly sweep away, Annihilate, and slay. Upon these shores are seen Of our poor human race "The splendid fortunes and progressive pace."[9] Here gaze as on a mirror, Thou age unwise and proud, Who errest from the way That rising thought illumined with its ray, And as thy steps a backward course pursue, Art glad of thy return, Which seemeth progress to thy troubled view. Thy folly by all minds Whose evil destiny made thee their sire, Is pampered, even though They, when unheeded, throw Disdain on thee. Not I Will so inglorious sink into my grave, 'Twere easy enough, I know, For me to join the others in their wrong And to thine ears melodious make my song: But rather the disdain of thee that lies Within my bosom deep, I shall, as widely as I can, display, Although neglect for those Be held in store who much their age oppose. This evil which I've borne With thee in common, moved till now my scorn. Fair freedom is the subject of thy dreams: Yet thou enslavest thought, By whom alone we're brought From rudeness by degrees, by whom alone Is culture fostered, who alone can send The fate of nations to a better end. So much didst thou in horror hold the truth Of the harsh doom and dungeon-like abode That Nature gave us. Therefore didst thou turn, With craven soul, thy vision from the light That made it clear; and in thy flight dost spurn As vile who seek its rays, And him alone dost praise, Who, scornful of himself or of the rest, Above the stars says man's degree is blest.

He, poor of state and suffering of frame, Who has a generous and lofty soul, Doth not the homage claim That gold and strength procure, Nor of a splendid life and figure proud Maketh among the crowd An empty show absurd; But not with treasures or with vigour blessed He owns himself unfeigning, and is heard In discourse to be candid on himself, Still giving truth its due. Unwise I hold his mind, And not of loftier kind, Who, born to perish and in sorrow bred, ?Says: "I am made for joy;" And with unhallowed pride The annals of humanity supplied, Grand destinies and wondrous happiness, Which even to Heaven are strange, not to our globe Alone, predicting here To those whom stormy wave Or breath of air malignant, or the shock Of earthquake, so destroys That Memory scarcely lingers o'er their grave. A noble nature he Who with a spirit free Dares mortal eye to raise Upon our common fate; who with bold tongue, Debarring nought from truth, Owneth the evil Fortune bade prevail, And our low state and frail; Who in affliction dire Shows fortitude and lofty strength of soul, Nor the fraternal hatred and the ire So frequent on our earth, and worst of ills, Unto his misery addeth by declaring Man guilty of his woe, but casteth blame On her alone who merits all the shame, Who gives birth to mankind, But all whose deeds we harsh and cruel find. Her he calls hostile; and considering men, As truth itself declares, In union joined against her evil ways By social bonds of old, He as confederates doth all mortals hold Among themselves, and all With equal love surveys, And giveth aid where 'tis desired and needed In various peril and disastrous ways, Beset by common warfare. And to raise A vengeful hand for injuries of men, Our neighbour to destroy, So ill-advised he deems as on the field Of battle, close surrounded by the foe, When most the fight doth rage Against our friends to wage Disastrous war, oblivious of the rest, And with pernicious sword To spread dismay and slaughter 'mid their ranks. When thoughts like these are made, As once they were, unto the nations known, By real knowledge in its influence vast; And the dread horror shown That first 'gainst Nature bade Our humankind in social chain unite: Then shall the just, the honest and the right, And patriotic fire, And mercy find a more enduring source Than is supplied by haughty dreams and vain That now the vulgar righteousness sustain, Which proves itself even so As everything that doth from error flow.[10]

Full often on this shore, Clad by the hardened flood Of lava in a garment dark of hue That seems to surge, I seat myself at night, And shining on the saddened land, the stars In plains of purest azure meet my view, Reflected by the deep; And through the space serene in circles vast The sparkling Heavens open on my sight, And when my vision on those lights I cast, That seem so small to be, And are in truth so large That by their side would shrivel land and sea To nothingness; to whom Not humankind alone Is utterly unknown, But even this globe where man is less than nought; And when I gaze upon those clustering stars In greater distance without any end, Seeming to us like vapour, unto whom Not merely man and not the earth he treads, But all the stars, the neighbours of our world, And even the golden radiance of the Sun, Were never known, or else appear as they Unto our sight, a spot Of luminous mist: what then unto my thought, Becomest thou, mankind? And when I bear in mind Thy state below, whereof the signs are seen Upon the soil I tread: and when I think Thy pride doth call thee queen And end of all, and how thou lovest oft To fable that unto this grain obscure Of wretched dust which bears the name of earth, For love of thee, of universal things The lords descended, and were known to dwell Benignly in thy midst: and that the dreams So idle even the present age renews, Opprobrious to the wise, although it seems In knowledge and in deed Superior to the past: what passion fires, O hapless race of man, what thought inspires For thee my heart? In truth, I cannot say If mockery or if pity beareth sway.

As from its tree a ripened apple falling, By Autumn's power, nought else, Cast on the earth in full maturity, Crushes and overwhelms The populous abode of busy ants, Destroying all their hoarded treasures vast, The fruit of summer toil, Which they had piled in those elaborate caves Formed by their cunning in the yielding soil: Even thus in dread and thundering fury cast From the deep rumbling womb Of yon destructive mountain in its ire, Night and destruction in a cloud of ashes, Of rocks and lurid fire, Fall on the land devoted to its doom; And boiling torrents run And down the mountain flow With rapid wrath and all-consuming rage; And o'er the verdure falls A furious rush and grand Of liquid metal and of fiery sand, Such as o'erwhelmed the cities on the shore, And in an instant they were seen no more. On their deserted site We see the browzing goat, And other cities we behold arise, Beneath whose splendid domes Full many a vast and ancient ruin lies; And even these lofty walls The haughty mountain threatens and appals. Nature no more doth hold In tenderness and love The race of man than insects of the earth; And if we in mankind May less destruction find, 'Tis that of offspring it has greater dearth.

One thousand and eight hundred years have passed Since by the force of subterranean fire The peopled cities found an end so dire; And still the peasant full of anxious fears For what he planted on the arid soil, Amid the death-like ashes and the stones, Suspicious turns his eye To where he sees, aspiring to the sky, The fatal peak, as cruel as of yore, For ever threatening ruin to his home. And oft at night, alarmed, Lying for sleepless hours, In terror listening to the wandering wind, At last he rises and ascends his roof, And gazes thence upon the dreaded course Of boiling lava, rushing from the womb Of the unexhausted mount, O'er sandy ridge, and casting lurid light On Capri's distant strand, On Naples' bay and Mergellina's land. He wakes his children and his trembling wife, If he perceives it coming, or within His household well heats seething waters boil; And with whatever they can snatch in haste, Away they rush, and witness from afar Their dwelling and their field, From hunger and despair their only shield, By the disastrous torrents soon laid waste, That fiercely rush and cruelly invade, And lie for ever on the wreck they've made. Even as a skeleton that from its grave Is brought to light by piety or greed, The dead Pompeii to the realms of day From old oblivion doth again proceed: And from the ruined Forum and the file Of shattered columns tall, The wanderer gazes on the cloven peak And on the smoky crest, Still threatening even the ruins in their fall And in the horror of the secret night, Among theatres empty and forlorn, Among the mouldering temples and among The shattered houses where the bat doth hide, Like an ill-omened torch In empty fanes and halls untenanted, The terrors run of the funereal stream, Which in the shade doth gleam And tinges all around with fiery red. Of man unconscious and of all the years That he calls old, and offspring laid by sire, Thus Nature stands in ever-blooming youth; Or rather, she proceeds Upon a path so long, a course so wide, That to our eyes she never seems to move. Meanwhile realms fall, and tongues and nations wane She seeth nought, and man doth still presume Eternity to claim in haughty pride.

And thou, slow-spreading flower, With many an odorous wood, Who dost adorn these regions desolate; Thou too ere long shalt sink beneath the power Of the unpitying subterranean fire, Which will extend its ire, Returning to the scene it knew of old, Unto thy gentle forests, and beneath The fatal weight thou wilt thy head incline, Though innocent, without a murmuring wail, But not till then in cowardice cast down With supplication and imploring prayer Before the future tyrant, but not raised With frenzied pride unto the very stars, Nor on the desert where Thou hadst thy dwelling-place, Not by thy will, by the decree of Fate:

But wiser far, and less Ill-starred than man, because thou didst not think.

Thy race endowed by Doom, Or by thyself, with an immortal bloom.

[Footnote 9: Words of a modern writer to whom mil their elegance is due. (Leopardi's note.)]

[Footnote 10: In these verses we perceive the germ of a whole system of ethics.]

FINIS.

POEMS

TO ITALY. ON THE MONUMENT OF DANTE ABOUT TO BE ERECTED IN FLORENCE. TO ANGELO MAI ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS SISTER PAOLINA. THE SOLILOQUY OF BRUTUS. TO SPRING; OR, THE FABLES OF ANTIQUITY. HYMN TO THE PATRIARCHS. THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO. THE FIRST LOVE. THE LONELY BIRD. THE INFINITE. THE HOLIDAY NIGHT. TO THE MOON. SOLITUDE. TO HIS LOVE. THE REVIVAL. TO SILVIA. THE MEMORIES. THE NOCTURNAL SONG OF A NOMADIC SHEPHERD IN ASIA. THE RULING THOUGHT. LOVE AND DEATH. TO HIMSELF. ASPASIA. ON AN ANCIENT SEPULCHRAL BASSO RILIEVO REPRESENTING A MAIDEN TAKING LEAVE OF HER FRIENDS. THE SETTING OF THE MOON. THE GENISTA OR THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Leopardi, by Giacomo Leopardi