The Sonnets Of Michael Angelo Buonarroti And Tommaso Campanella Part 9

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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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 sh.o.r.e 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 G.o.d in Paradise; Else should we still to transient loves be bound; But, finding these so false, we pa.s.s beyond Unto the Love of Loves that never dies.

Nay, things that die, cannot a.s.suage 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 e 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d._

_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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d and make death sweet by thee.

LV.