Petrarch - Era sì pieno il cor di maraviglie lyrics

My heart was fill'd with wonder and amaze, As one struck dumb, in silence stands at gaze Expecting counsel, when my friend drew near, And said: "What do you look? why stay you here? What mean you? know you not that I am one Of these, and must attend? pray, let's be gone." "Dear friend," said I, "consider what desire To learn the rest hath set my heart on fire; My own haste stops me." "I believe 't," said he, "And I will help; 'tis not forbidden me. This noble man, on whom the others wait (You see) is Pompey, justly call'd The Great: Cornelia followeth, weeping his hard fate, And Ptolemy's unworthy causeless hate. You see far off the Grecian general; His base wife, with Ægisthus wrought his fall: Behold them there, and judge if Love be blind. But here are lovers of another kind, And other faith they kept. Lynceus was saved By Hypermnestra: Pyramus bereaved Himself of life, thinking his mistress slain: Thisbe's like end shorten'd her mourning pain. Leander, swimming often, drown'd at last; Hero her fair self from her window cast. Courteous Ulysses his long stay doth mourn; His chaste wife prayeth for his safe return; While Circe's amorous charms her prayers control, And rather vex than please his virtuous soul. Hamilcar's son, who made great Rome afraid, By a mean wench of Spain is captive led. This Hypsicratea is, the virtuous fair, Who for her husband's dear love cut her hair, And served in all his wars: this is the wife Of Brutus, Portia, constant in her life And d**h: this Julia is, who seems to moan, That Pompey lovèd best, when she was gone. Look here and see the Patriarch much abused Who twice seven years for his fair Rachel choosed To serve: O powerful love increased by woe! His father this: now see his grandsire go With Sarah from his home. This cruel Love O'ercame good David; so it had power to move His righteous heart to that abhorrèd crime, For which he sorrow'd all his following time; Just such like error soil'd his wise son's fame, For whose idolatry God's anger came: Here's he who in one hour could love and hate: Here Tamar, full of anguish, wails her state; Her brother Absalom attempts t' appease Her grievèd soul. Samson takes care to please His fancy; and appears more strong than wise, Who in a traitress' bosom sleeping lies. Amongst those pikes and spears which guard the place, Love, wine, and sleep, a beauteous widow's face And pleasing art hath Holophernes ta'en; She back again retires, who hath him slain, With her one maid, bearing the horrid head In haste, and thanks God that so well she sped. The next is Sichem, he who found his d**h In circumcision; his father hath Like mischief felt; the city all did prove The same effect of his rash violent love. You see Ahasuerus how well he bears His loss; a new love soon expels his cares; This cure in this disease doth seldom fail, One nail best driveth out another nail. If you would see love mingled oft with hate, Bitter with sweet, behold fierce Herod's state, Beset with love and cruelty at once: Enraged at first, then late his fault bemoans, And Mariamne calls; those three fair dames (Who in the list of captives write their names) Procris, Deidamia, Artemisia were All good, the other three as wicked are— Semiramis, Byblis, and Myrrha named, Who of their crooked ways are now ashamed Here be the erring knights in ancient scrolls, Lancelot, Tristram, and the vulgar souls That wait on these; Guenever, and the fair Isond, with other lovers; and the pair Who, as they walk together, seem to plain, Their just, but cruel fate, by one hand slain." Thus he discoursed: and as a man that fears Approaching harm, when he a trumpet hears, Starts at the blow ere touch'd, my frighted blood Retired: as one raised from his tomb I stood; When by my side I spied a lovely maid, (No turtle ever purer whiteness had!) And straight was caught (who lately swore I would Defend me from a man at arms), nor could Resist the wounds of words with motion graced: The image yet is in my fancy placed. My friend was willing to increase my woe, And smiling whisper'd,—"You alone may go Confer with whom you please, for now we are All stained with one crime." My sullen care Was like to theirs, who are more grieved to know Another's happiness than their own woe; For seeing her, who had enthrall'd my mind, Live free in peace, and no disturbance find: And seeing that I knew my hurt too late. And that her beauty was my dying fate: Love, jealousy, and envy held my sight So fix'd on that fair face, no other light I could behold; like one who in the rage Of sickness greedily his thirst would 'suage With hurtful drink, which doth his palate please, Thus (blind and deaf t' all other joys are ease) So many doubtful ways I follow'd her, The memory still shakes my soul with fear. Since when mine eyes are moist, and view the ground, My heart is heavy, and my steps have found A solitary dwelling 'mongst the woods, I stray o'er rocks and fountains, hills and floods: Since when such store my scatter'd papers hold Of thoughts, of tears, of ink; which oft I fold, Unfold, and tear: since when I know the scope Of Love, and what they fear, and what they hope; And how they live that in his cloister dwell, The skilful in their face may read it well. Meanwhile I see, how fierce and gallant she Cares not for me, nor for my misery, Proud of her virtue, and my overthrow: And on the other side (if aught I know), This lord, who hath the world in triumph led, She keeps in fear; thus all my hopes are dead, No strength nor courage left, nor can I be Revenged, as I expected once; for he, Who tortures me and others, is abused By her; she'll not be caught, and long hath used (Rebellious as she is!) to shun his wars, And is a sun amidst the lesser stars. Her grace, smiles, slights, her words in order set; Her hair dispersed or in a golden net; Her eyes inflaming with a light divine So burn my heart, I dare no more repine. Ah, who is able fully to express Her pleasing ways, her merit? No excess, No bold hyperboles I need to fear, My humble style cannot enough come near The truth; my words are like a little stream Compared with th' ocean, so large a theme Is that high praise; new worth, not seen before, Is seen in her, and can be seen no more; Therefore all tongues are silenced; and I, Her prisoner now, see her at liberty: And night and day implore (O unjust fate!) She neither hears nor pities my estate: Hard laws of Love! But though a partial lot I plainly see in this, yet must I not Refuse to serve: the gods, as well as men, With like reward of old have felt like pain. Now know I how the mind itself doth part (Now making peace, now war, now truce)—what art Poor lovers use to hide their stinging woe: And how their blood now comes, and now doth go Betwixt their heart and cheeks, by shame or fear: How they be eloquent, yet speechless are; And how they both ways lean, they watch and sleep, Languish to d**h, yet life and vigour keep: I trod the paths made happy by her feet, And search the foe I am afraid to meet. I know how lovers metamorphosed are To that they love: I know what tedious care I feel; how vain my joy, how oft I change Design and countenance; and (which is strange) I live without a soul: I know the way To cheat myself a thousand times a day: I know to follow while I flee my fire I freeze when present; absent, my desire Is hot: I know what cruel rigour Love Practiseth on the mind, and doth remove All reason thence, and how he racks the heart: And how a soul hath neither strength nor art Without a helper to resist his blows: And how he flees, and how his darts he throws: And how his threats the fearful lover feels: And how he robs by force, and how he steals: How oft his wheels turn round (now high, now low) With how uncertain hope, how certain woe: How all his promises be void of faith, And how a fire hid in our bones he hath: How in our veins he makes a secret wound, Whence open flames and d**h do soon abound. In sum, I know how giddy and how vain Be lovers' lives; what fear and boldness reign In all their ways; how every sweet is paid. And with a double weight of sour allay'd: I also know their customs, sighs, and songs; Their sudden muteness, and their stammering tongues: How short their joy, how long their pain doth last, How wormwood spoileth all their honey's taste. Anna Hume.