Petrarch - Questa leggiadra e gloriosa Donna lyrics

The glorious Maid, whose soul to heaven is gone And left the rest cold earth, she who was grown A pillar of true valour, and had gain'd Much honour by her victory, and chain'd That god which doth the world with terror bind, Using no armour but her own chaste mind; A fair aspect, coy thoughts, and words well weigh'd, Sweet modesty to these gave friendly aid. It was a miracle on earth to see The bow and arrows of the deity, And all his armour broke, who erst had slain Such numbers, and so many captive ta'en; The fair dame from the noble sight withdrew With her choice company,—they were but few. And made a little troop, true virtue's rare,— Yet each of them did by herself appear A theme for poems, and might well incite The best historian: they bore a white Unspotted ermine, in a field of green, About whose neck a topaz chain was seen Set in pure gold; their heavenly words and gait, Express'd them blest were born for such a fate. Bright stars they seem'd, she did a sun appear, Who darken'd not the rest, but made more clear Their splendour; honour in brave minds is found: This troop, with violets and roses crown'd, Cheerfully march'd, when lo, I might espy Another ensign dreadful to mine eye— A lady clothed in black, whose stern looks were With horror fill'd, and did like hell appear, Advanced, and said, "You who are proud to be So fair and young, yet have no eyes to see How near you are your end; behold, I am She, whom they, fierce, and blind, and cruel name, Who meet untimely d**hs; 'twas I did make Greece subject, and the Roman Empire shake; My piercing sword sack'd Troy, how many rude And barbarous people are by me subdued? Many ambitious, vain, and amorous thought My unwish'd presence hath to nothing brought; Now am I come to you, while yet your state Is happy, ere you feel a harder fate." "On these you have no power," she then replied, (Who had more worth than all the world beside,) "And little over me; but there is one Who will be deeply grieved when I am gone, His happiness doth on my life depend, I shall find freedom in a peaceful end." As one who glancing with a sudden eye Some unexpected object doth espy; Then looks again, and doth his own haste blame So in a doubting pause, this cruel dame A little stay'd, and said, "The rest I call To mind, and know I have o'ercome them all:" Then with less fierce aspect, she said, "Thou guide Of this fair crew, hast not my strength a**ay'd, Let her advise, who may command, prevent Decrepit age, 'tis but a punishment; From me this honour thou alone shalt have, Without or fear or pain, to find thy grave." "As He shall please, who dwelleth in the heaven And rules on earth, such portion must be given To me, as others from thy hand receive," She answered then; afar we might perceive Millions of dead heap'd on th' adjacent plain; No verse nor prose may comprehend the slain Did on d**h's triumph wait, from India, From Spain, and from Morocco, from Cathay, And all the skirts of th' earth they gather'd were; Who had most happy lived, attended there: Popes, Emperors, nor Kings, no ensigns wore Of their past height, but naked show'd and poor. Where be their riches, where their precious gems, Their mitres, sceptres, robes, and diadems? O miserable men, whose hopes arise From worldly joys, yet be there few so wise As in those trifling follies not to trust; And if they be deceived, in end 'tis just: Ah! more than blind, what gain you by your toil? You must return once to your mother's soil, And after-times your names shall hardly know, Nor any profit from your labour grow; All those strange countries by your warlike stroke Submitted to a tributary yoke; The fuel erst of your ambitious fire, What help they now? The vast and bad desire Of wealth and power at a bloody rate Is wicked,—better bread and water eat With peace; a wooden dish doth seldom hold A poison'd draught; gla** is more safe than gold; But for this theme a larger time will ask, I must betake me to my former task. The fatal hour of her short life drew near, That doubtful pa**age which the world doth fear; Another company, who had not been Freed from their earthy burden there were seen, To try if prayers could appease the wrath, Or stay th' inexorable hand, of d**h. That beauteous crowd convened to see the end Which all must taste; each neighbour, every friend Stood by, when grim d**h with her hand took hold, And pull'd away one only hair of gold, Thus from the world this fairest flower is ta'en To make her shine more bright, not out of spleen How many moaning plaints, what store of cries Were utter'd there, when Fate shut those fair eyes For which so oft I sung; whose beauty burn'd My tortured heart so long; while others mourn'd, She pleased, and quiet did the fruit enjoy Of her blest life: "Farewell," without annoy, "True saint on earth," said they; so might she be Esteem'd, but nothing bates d**h's cruelty. What shall become of others, since so pure A body did such heats and colds endure, And changed so often in so little space? Ah, worldly hopes, how blind you be, how base! If since I bathe the ground with flowing tears For that mild soul, who sees it, witness bears; And thou who read'st mayst judge she fetter'd me The sixth of April, and did set me free On the same day and month. Oh! how the way Of fortune is unsure; none hates the day Of slavery, or of d**h, so much as I Abhor the time which wrought my liberty, And my too lasting life; it had been just My greater age had first been turn'd to dust, And paid to time, and to the world, the debt I owed, then earth had kept her glorious state: Now at what rate I should the sorrow prize I know not, nor have heart that can suffice The sad affliction to relate in verse Of these fair dames, that wept about her hearse; "Courtesy, Virtue, Beauty, all are lost; What shall become of us? None else can boast Such high perfection; no more we shall Hear her wise words, nor the angelical Sweet music of her voice." While thus they cried, The parting spirit doth itself divide With every virtue from the noble breast, As some grave hermit seeks a lonely rest: The heavens were clear, and all the ambient air Without a threatening cloud; no adversaire 'Durst once appear, or her calm mind affright; d**h singly did herself conclude the fight; After, when fear, and the extremest plaint Were ceased, th' attentive eyes of all were bent On that fair face, and by despair became Secure; she who was spent, not like a flame By force extinguish'd, but as lights decay, And undiscerned waste themselves away: Thus went the soul in peace; so lamps are spent, As the oil fails which gave them nourishment; In sum, her countenance you still might know The same it was, not pale, but white as snow, Which on the tops of hills in gentle flakes Falls in a calm, or as a man that takes Desir'ed rest, as if her lovely sight Were closed with sweetest sleep, after the sprite Was gone. If this be that fools call to die, d**h seem'd in her exceeding fair to be. Anna Hume.