The Sonnets Of Michael Angelo Buonarroti And Tommaso Campanella Part 8

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 circ.u.mscribed 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 a.s.sailed 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._

_Perche Febo non torce._

What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend His s.h.i.+ning 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, a.s.suagest 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 chastis.e.m.e.nt; 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 l.u.s.tihood Filling his heart and teaching it to glow, That love enfolds him with beat.i.tude.

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 G.o.d'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.