Chapter 4

Or if within the soul the vision bright Of her celestial home once more doth steal, Drawing our better thoughts with pure appeal To the true Good above all mortal sight:

This light I long for and unguided seek; This fire that burns my heart, I cannot find; Nor know the way, though some one seems to lead.

This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak: A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind; And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed.

XLI.

_LIGHT AND DARKNESS._

_Colui che fece._

He who ordained, when first the world began, Time, that was not before creation's hour, Divided it, and gave the sun's high power To rule the one, the moon the other span: Thence fate and changeful chance and fortune's ban Did in one moment down on mortals shower: To me they portioned darkness for a dower; Dark hath my lot been since I was a man. Myself am ever mine own counterfeit; And as deep night grows still more dim and dun, So still of more misdoing must I rue: Meanwhile this solace to my soul is sweet, That my black night doth make more clear the sun Which at your birth was given to wait on you.

XLII.

_SACRED NIGHT._

_Ogni van chiuso._

All hollow vaults and dungeons sealed from sight, All caverns circumscribed with roof and wall, Defend dark Night, though noon around her fall, From the fierce play of solar day-beams bright. But if she be assailed by fire or light, Her powers divine are nought; they tremble all Before things far more vile and trivial-- Even a glow-worm can confound their might. The earth that lies bare to the sun, and breeds A thousand germs that burgeon and decay-- This earth is wounded by the ploughman's share: But only darkness serves for human seeds; Night therefore is more sacred far than day, Since man excels all fruits however fair.

XLIII.

_THE IMPEACHMENT OF NIGHT._

_Perchè Febo non torce._

What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend His shining arms around this terrene sphere, The people call that season dark and drear Night, for the cause they do not comprehend. So weak is Night that if our hand extend A glimmering torch, her shadows disappear, Leaving her dead; like frailest gossamere, Tinder and steel her mantle rive and rend. Nay, if this Night be anything at all, Sure she is daughter of the sun and earth; This holds, the other spreads that shadowy pall. Howbeit they err who praise this gloomy birth, So frail and desolate and void of mirth That one poor firefly can her might appal.

XLIV.

_THE DEFENCE OF NIGHT._

_O nott' o dolce tempo._

O night, O sweet though sombre span of time!-- All things find rest upon their journey's end-- Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend; And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom's prime. Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime; For dews and darkness are of peace the friend: Often by thee in dreams upborne, I wend From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb. Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart, Whom mourners find their last and sure relief! Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength, Driest our tears, assuagest every smart, Purging the spirits of the pure from grief.

XLV.

_LOVE FEEDS THE FLAME OF AGE._

_Quand' il servo il signior._

When masters bind a slave with cruel chain, And keep him hope-forlorn in bondage pent, Use tames his temper to imprisonment, And hardly would he fain be free again. Use curbs the snake and tiger, and doth train Fierce woodland lions to bear chastisement; And the young artist, all with toil forspent, By constant use a giant's strength doth gain But with the force of flame it is not so: For while fire sucks the sap of the green wood, It warms a frore old man and makes him grow; With such fine heat of youth and lustihood Filling his heart and teaching it to glow, That love enfolds him with beatitude. If then in playful mood He sport and jest, old age need no man blame; For loving things divine implies no shame. The soul that knows her aim, Sins not by loving God's own counterfeit-- Due measure kept, and bounds, and order meet.

XLVI.

_LOVE'S FLAME DOTH FEED ON AGE._

_Se da' prim' anni._

If some mild heat of love in youth confessed Burns a fresh heart with swift consuming fire, What will the force be of a flame more dire Shut up within an old man's cindery breast? If the mere lapse of lengthening years hath pressed So sorely that life, strength, and vigour tire, How shall he fare who must ere long expire, When to old age is added love's unrest? Weak as myself, he will be whirled away Like dust by winds kind in their cruelty, Robbing the loathly worm of its last prey. A little flame consumed and fed on me In my green age: now that the wood is dry, What hope against this fire more fierce have I?

XLVII.

_BEAUTY'S INTOLERABLE SPLENDOUR._

_Se 'l foco alla bellezza._

If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes Were equal with their beauty, all the snow And frost of all the world would melt and glow Like brands that blaze beneath fierce tropic skies. But heaven in mercy to our miseries Dulls and divides the fiery beams that flow From thy great loveliness, that we may go Through this stern mortal life in tranquil wise. Thus beauty burns not with consuming rage; For so much only of the heavenly light Inflames our love as finds a fervent heart. This is my case, lady, in sad old age: If seeing thee, I do not die outright, 'Tis that I feel thy beauty but in part.

XLVIII.

_LOVE'S EVENING._

_Se 'l troppo indugio._

What though long waiting wins more happiness Than petulant desire is wont to gain, My luck in latest age hath brought me pain, Thinking how brief must be an old man's bliss. Heaven, if it heed our lives, can hardly bless This fire of love when frosts are wont to reign: For so I love thee, lady, and my strain Of tears through age exceeds in tenderness. Yet peradventure though my day is done,-- Though nearly past the setting mid thick cloud And frozen exhalations sinks my sun,-- If love to only mid-day be allowed, And I an old man in my evening burn, You, lady, still my night to noon may turn.

XLIX.

_LOVE'S EXCUSE._

_Dal dolcie pianto._

From happy tears to woeful smiles, from peace Eternal to a brief and hollow truce, How have I fallen!--when 'tis truth we lose, Sense triumphs o'er all adverse impulses. I know not if my heart bred this disease, That still more pleasing grows with growing use; Or else thy face, thine eyes, which stole the hues And fires of Paradise--less fair than these. Thy beauty is no mortal thing; 'twas sent From heaven on high to make our earth divine: Wherefore, though wasting, burning, I'm content; For in thy sight what could I do but pine? If God himself thus rules my destiny, Who, when I die, can lay the blame on thee?

L.

_IN LOVE'S OWN TIME._

_S' i' avessi creduto._

Had I but earlier known that from the eyes Of that bright soul that fires me like the sun, I might have drawn new strength my race to run, Burning as burns the phoenix ere it dies; Even as the stag or lynx or leopard flies To seek his pleasure and his pain to shun, Each word, each smile of her would I have won, Flying where now sad age all flight denies. Yet why complain? For even now I find In that glad angel's face, so full of rest, Health and content, heart's ease and peace of mind Perchance I might have been less simply blest, Finding her sooner: if 'tis age alone That lets me soar with her to seek God's throne.

LI.

FIRST READING.

_LOVE IN YOUTH AND AGE._

_Tornami al tempo._

Bring back the time when blind desire ran free, With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight; Give back the buried face, once angel-bright, That hides in earth all comely things from me; Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, So toilsome-slow to one whose hairs are white; Those tears and flames that in one breast unite; If thou wilt once more take thy fill of me! Yet Love! Suppose it true that thou dost thrive Only on bitter honey-dews of tears. Small profit hast thou of a weak old man. My soul that toward the other shore doth strive, Wards off thy darts with shafts of holier fears; And fire feeds ill on brands no breath can fan.

LI.

SECOND READING.

_LOVE IN YOUTH AND AGE._

_Tornami al tempo._

Bring back the time when glad desire ran free With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight, The tears and flames that in one breast unite, If thou art fain once more to conquer me! Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, So toilsome-slow to him whose hairs are white! Give back the buried face once angel-bright, That taxed all Nature's art and industry. O Love! an old man finds it hard to chase Thy flying pinions! Thou hast left thy nest; Nor is my heart as light as heretofore. Put thy gold arrows to the string once more: Then if Death hear my prayer and grant me grace, My grief I shall forget, again made blest.

LII.

_CELESTIAL LOVE._

_Non vider gli occhi miei._

I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found; But far within, where all is holy ground, My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies: For she was born with God in Paradise; Else should we still to transient loves be bound; But, finding these so false, we pass beyond Unto the Love of Loves that never dies. Nay, things that die, cannot assuage the thirst Of souls undying; nor Eternity Serves Time, where all must fade that flourisheth. Sense is not love, but lawlessness accurst: This kills the soul; while our love lifts on high Our friends on earth--higher in heaven through death.

LIII.

_CELESTIAL AND EARTHLY LOVE._

_Non è sempre di colpa._

Love is not always harsh and deadly sin: If it be love of loveliness divine, It leaves the heart all soft and infantine For rays of God's own grace to enter in. Love fits the soul with wings, and bids her win Her flight aloft nor e'er to earth decline; 'Tis the first step that leads her to the shrine Of Him who slakes the thirst that burns within. The love of that whereof I speak, ascends: Woman is different far; the love of her But ill befits a heart all manly wise. The one love soars, the other downward tends; The soul lights this, while that the senses stir, And still his arrow at base quarry flies.

LIV.

_LOVE LIFTS TO GOD._

_Veggio nel tuo bel viso._

From thy fair face I learn, O my loved lord, That which no mortal tongue can rightly say; The soul, imprisoned in her house of clay, Holpen by thee to God hath often soared: And though the vulgar, vain, malignant horde Attribute what their grosser wills obey, Yet shall this fervent homage that I pay, This love, this faith, pure joys for us afford. Lo, all the lovely things we find on earth, Resemble for the soul that rightly sees, That source of bliss divine which gave us birth: Nor have we first-fruits or remembrances Of heaven elsewhere. Thus, loving loyally, I rise to God and make death sweet by thee.

LV.

_LOVE'S ENTREATY._

_Tu sa' ch' i' so, Signor mie._

Thou knowest, love, I know that thou dost know That I am here more near to thee to be, And knowest that I know thou knowest me: What means it then that we are sundered so? If they are true, these hopes that from thee flow, If it is real, this sweet expectancy, Break down the wall that stands 'twixt me and thee; For pain in prison pent hath double woe. Because in thee I love, O my loved lord, What thou best lovest, be not therefore stern: Souls burn for souls, spirits to spirits cry! I seek the splendour in thy fair face stored; Yet living man that beauty scarce can learn, And he who fain would find it, first must die.

LVI.

FIRST READING.

_HEAVEN-BORN BEAUTY._

_Per ritornar là._

As one who will reseek her home of light, Thy form immortal to this prison-house Descended, like an angel piteous, To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright. 'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight, Not thy clear face of beauty glorious; For he who harbours virtue, still will choose To love what neither years nor death can blight. So fares it ever with things high and rare Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime: Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere More clearly than in human forms sublime; Which, since they image Him, alone I love.

LVI.

SECOND READING.

_HEAVEN-BORN BEAUTY._

_Venne, non so ben donde._

It came, I know not whence, from far above, That clear immortal flame that still doth rise Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies, And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new love. This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof; Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes: For love that is not love for aught that dies, Dwells in the soul where no base passions move. If then such loveliness upon its own Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth, The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within. To gain our love God hath not clearer shown Himself elsewhere: thus heaven doth vie with earth To make thee worthy worship without sin.

LVII.

FIRST READING.

_CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL LOVE._

_Passa per gli occhi._

Swift through the eyes unto the heart within All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray; So smooth and broad and open is the way That thousands and not hundreds enter in. Burdened with scruples and weighed down with sin, These mortal beauties fill me with dismay; Nor find I one that doth not strive to stay My soul on transient joy, or lets me win The heaven I yearn for. Lo, when erring love-- Who fills the world, howe'er his power we shun, Else were the world a grave and we undone-- Assails the soul, if grace refuse to fan Our purged desires and make them soar above, What grief it were to have been born a man!

LVII.

SECOND READING.

_CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL LOVE._

_Passa per gli occhi._

Swift through the eyes unto the heart within All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray; So smooth and broad and open is the way That thousands and not hundreds enter in Of every age and sex: whence I begin, Burdened with griefs, but more with dull dismay, To fear; nor find mid all their bright array One that with full content my heart may win. If mortal beauty be the food of love, It came not with the soul from heaven, and thus That love itself must be a mortal fire: But if love reach to nobler hopes above, Thy love shall scorn me not nor dread desire That seeks a carnal prey assailing us.

LVIII.

_LOVE AND DEATH._

_Ognor che l' idol mio._

Whene'er the idol of these eyes appears Unto my musing heart so weak and strong, Death comes between her and my soul ere long Chasing her thence with troops of gathering fears. Nathless this violence my spirit cheers With better hope than if she had no wrong; While Love invincible arrays the throng Of dauntless thoughts, and thus harangues his peers: But once, he argues, can a mortal die; But once be born: and he who dies afire, What shall he gain if erst he dwelt with me? That burning love whereby the soul flies free, Doth lure each fervent spirit to aspire Like gold refined in flame to God on high.

LIX.

_LOVE IS A REFINER'S FIRE._

_Non più ch' 'l foco il fabbro._

It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue Unto fair form, the image of their thought: Nor without fire hath any artist wrought Gold to its utmost purity of hue. Nay, nor the unmatched phoenix lives anew, Unless she burn: if then I am distraught By fire, I may to better life be brought Like those whom death restores nor years undo. The fire whereof I speak, is my great cheer; Such power it hath to renovate and raise Me who was almost numbered with the dead; And since by nature fire doth find its sphere Soaring aloft, and I am all ablaze, Heavenward with it my flight must needs be sped.

LX.

FIRST READING.

_LOVE'S JUSTIFICATION._

_Ben può talor col mio._

Sometimes my love I dare to entertain With soaring hope not over-credulous; Since if all human loves were impious, Unto what end did God the world ordain? For loving thee what license is more plain Than that I praise thereby the glorious Source of all joys divine, that comfort us In thee, and with chaste fires our soul sustain? False hope belongs unto that love alone Which with declining beauty wanes and dies, And, like the face it worships, fades away. That hope is true which the pure heart hath known, Which alters not with time or death's decay, Yielding on earth earnest of Paradise.

LX.

SECOND READING.

_LOVE'S JUSTIFICATION._

_Ben può talor col casto._

It must be right sometimes to entertain Chaste love with hope not over-credulous; Since if all human loves were impious, Unto what end did God the world ordain? If I love thee and bend beneath thy reign, 'Tis for the sake of beauty glorious Which in thine eyes divine is stored for us, And drives all evil thought from its domain. That is not love whose tyranny we own In loveliness that every moment dies; Which, like the face it worships, fades away: True love is that which the pure heart hath known, Which alters not with time or death's decay, Yielding on earth earnest of Paradise.

LXI.

AFTER THE DEATH OF VITTORIA COLONNA.

_IRREPARABLE LOSS._

_Se 'l mie rozzo martello._

When my rude hammer to the stubborn stone Gives human shape, now that, now this, at will, Following his hand who wields and guides it still, It moves upon another's feet alone: But that which dwells in heaven, the world doth fill With beauty by pure motions of its own; And since tools fashion tools which else were none, Its life makes all that lives with living skill. Now, for that every stroke excels the more The higher at the forge it doth ascend, Her soul that fashioned mine hath sought the skies: Wherefore unfinished I must meet my end, If God, the great artificer, denies That aid which was unique on earth before.

LXII.

AFTER THE DEATH OF VITTORIA COLONNA.

_LOVE'S TRIUMPH OVER DEATH._

_Quand' el ministro de' sospir._

When she who was the source of all my sighs, Fled from the world, herself, my straining sight, Nature who gave us that unique delight, Was sunk in shame, and we had weeping eyes. Yet shall not vauntful Death enjoy this prize, This sun of suns which then he veiled in night; For Love hath triumphed, lifting up her light On earth and mid the saints in Paradise. What though remorseless and impiteous doom Deemed that the music of her deeds would die, And that her splendour would be sunk in gloom, The poet's page exalts her to the sky With life more living in the lifeless tomb, And death translates her soul to reign on high.

LXIII.

AFTER THE DEATH OF VITTORIA COLONNA.

_AFTER SUNSET._

_Be' mi dove'._

Well might I in those days so fortunate, What time the sun lightened my path above, Have soared from earth to heaven, raised by her love Who winged my labouring soul and sweetened fate.

That sun hath set; and I with hope elate Who deemed that those bright days would never move, Find that my thankless soul, deprived thereof, Declines to death, while heaven still bars the gate.

Love lent me wings; my path was like a stair; A lamp unto my feet, that sun was given; And death was safety and great joy to find.

But dying now, I shall not climb to heaven; Nor can mere memory cheer my heart's despair:-- What help remains when hope is left behind?

LXIV.

AFTER THE DEATH OF VITTORIA COLONNA.

_A WASTED BRAND._

_Qual maraviglia è._

If being near the fire I burned with it, Now that its flame is quenched and doth not show, What wonder if I waste within and glow, Dwindling away to cinders bit by bit?

While still it burned, I saw so brightly lit That splendour whence I drew my grievous woe, That from its sight alone could pleasure flow, And death and torment both seemed exquisite.

But now that heaven hath robbed me of the blaze Of that great fire which burned and nourished me, A coal that smoulders 'neath the ash am I.

Unless Love furnish wood fresh flames to raise, I shall expire with not one spark to see, So quickly into embers do I die!

LXV.

TO GIORGIO VASARI.

_ON THE BRINK OF DEATH._

_Giunto è già._

Now hath my life across a stormy sea Like a frail bark reached that wide port where all Are bidden, ere the final reckoning fall Of good and evil for eternity.

Now know I well how that fond phantasy Which made my soul the worshipper and thrall Of earthly art, is vain; how criminal Is that which all men seek unwillingly.

Those amorous thoughts which were so lightly dressed, What are they when the double death is nigh? The one I know for sure, the other dread.

Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest My soul that turns to His great love on high, Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread.

LXVI.

TO GIORGIO VASARI.

_VANITY OF VANITIES._

_Le favole del mondo._

The fables of the world have filched away The time I had for thinking upon God; His grace lies buried 'neath oblivion's sod, Whence springs an evil crop of sins alway.

What makes another wise, leads me astray, Slow to discern the bad path I have trod: Hope fades; but still desire ascends that God May free me from self-love, my sure decay.

Shorten half-way my road to heaven from earth! Dear Lord, I cannot even half-way rise, Unless Thou help me on this pilgrimage.

Teach me to hate the world so little worth, And all the lovely things I clasp and prize; That endless life, ere death, may be my wage.

LXVII.

_A PRAYER FOR FAITH._

_Non è più bassa._

There's not on earth a thing more vile and base Than, lacking Thee, I feel myself to be: For pardon prays my own debility, Yearning in vain to lift me to Thy face.

Stretch to me, Lord, that chain whose links enlace All heavenly gifts and all felicity-- Faith, whereunto I strive perpetually, Yet cannot find (my fault) her perfect grace.

That gift of gifts, the rarer 'tis, the more I count it great; more great, because to earth Without it neither peace nor joy is given.

If Thou Thy blood so lovingly didst pour, Let not that bounty fail or suffer dearth, Withholding Faith that opes the doors of heaven.

LXVIII.

TO MONSIGNOR LODOVICO BECCADELLI.

_URBINO._

_Per croce e grazia._

God's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied, Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know: Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below Why need a little solace be denied?

Though seas and mountains and rough ways divide Our feet asunder, neither frost nor snow Can make the soul her ancient love forgo; Nor chains nor bonds the wings of thought have tied.

Borne by these wings with thee I dwell for aye, And weep, and of my dead Urbino talk, Who, were he living, now perchance would be,

For so 'twas planned, thy guest as well as I: Warned by his death another way I walk To meet him where he waits to live with me.

LXIX.

WAITING FOR DEATH.