English

OF HIS FOOLISH PASSION FOR LAURA

So wayward is the madness of desire
In following her who turns from me in flight,
And who, at liberty, like air or light,
My love-encumbered chase eludes like fire,
That when the more I call, the more aspire
To point the safer path by left or right,
The less it heeds; to curb or to excite
Avails not: Love drives faster, fiercer, higher!
Thus, the triumphant bit between its teeth,
I must remain incapable and mute,
The while against my will it speeds my death

WHEREIN HE WEAVES UPON THE NAME LAURETA OR LAURA

And when I move my sighs on you to call
And that dear name which Love wrote in my heart,
LAUding the which, one hears the first bells start,
The first sweet notes, the first sweet accents fall;
Your REal state, your essence actual,
Comes next to double ardour and my art;
But TAcit peace prevents the end: that part
To honour is not for my strength at all.
So that to LAUd and to REvere must teach
Your very name, if one dare call it loud,

WHEREIN HE SINGS THE BIRTHPLACE OF LAURA

He who revealed such infinite care and pride
In His miraculous activity;
Who ordered hemispheres melodiously,
Lit Jupiter softly, poured a ruddier tide
Through Mars; who came on earth to open wide
The secret Scriptures and prove prophecy;
Took John and Peter from the nets at sea
And stationed each to stand, a starry guide,
Choosing the lowliest — so, for His birth
Humility honoured not imperial Rome,
But gentle little Judea, gem of earth!

WHEREIN HE CHIDES LOVE THAT COULD WOUND HIM ON A HOLY DAY (GOOD FRIDAY)

It was the morning of that blessed day
Whereon the Sun in pity veiled his glare
For the Lord's agony, that, unaware,
I fell a captive, Lady, to the sway
Of your swift eyes: that seemed no time to stay
The strokes of Love: I stepped into the snare
Secure, with no suspicion: then and there
I found my cue in man's most tragic play.
Love caught me naked to his shaft, his sheaf,
The entrance for his ambush and surprise

WHEREIN HE RELATES THE STORY OF HIS FALL

By one delicious headlong doom to harrow
My soul for crimes too small for designation,
As might some crafty coward take his station,
Once more by stealth Love seized his bow and arrow;
My courage watched with glances swift and narrow,
Guarding the too weak eyes without cessation,
When his proud dart, with sudden penetration
Where earlier foes had failed, pierced the heart's marrow.
Thrown off my guard by that assault I found
No will to strive, no respite in the fight,

WHEREIN PETRARCH CONFESSES HIS FOLLY

O ye that hear in vagrant rhymes the sighing
On which the headlong heart of youth went feeding,
When, still unseasoned, still at folly's leading
I turned from fears in sudden terror flying
To hopes whose glitter proved no less a lying —
As variously related for your reading —
If ever from Love's arrow ye fled bleeding,
Pity, and pardon me this anguished crying!
But well I know how I must walk derided,
A jest, a syllable in tavern chatter;

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can he who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,

Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an Emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, "wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:

"O my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me."

Pitying, I dropped a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: "What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

I have no name.
I am but two days old.
What shall I call thee?
I happy am,
Joy is my name.
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty Joy!
Sweet Joy but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee!
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while.
Sweet joy befall thee!

When the voices of children are heard on the green
My heart is at rest within my breast
And every thing else is still

Then come home my children, the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Come come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies

No no let us play, for it is yet day
And we cannot go to sleep
Besides in the sky, the little birds fly
And the hills are all covered with sheep

Well well go & play till the light fades away
And then go home to bed