Voi che, intendendo, il terzo ciel movete.
YE who by intellect the third heaven move,
Give ear unto the reasoning in my heart,
Which none but you may hear, so strange it seems:
The heaven that obeys your influence,
Creatures who are all gentleness and love,
Hath drawn me to the state in which I am;
Hence the discourse upon the life I prove,
It seems, should meetly be address'd to you;
Therefore I pray you to attend to me.
I will unfold to you the heart's new cares,
How the dejected soul within it weeps;
And how a spirit against her reasoneth,
Which on the beams of your fair star descends.
The joyless heart was wont to be sustain'd
In life by a sweet thought, which often bent
Its flight unto the footstool of your Sire;
Where it beheld a lady glorified,
Of whom so sweetly it discoursed to me,
That the soul said, would I could follow her!
Now appears one which drives the thought away,
And rules me with such power, that it makes
The heart to tremble so as to be seen.
A lady this one makes me to regard,
And says, he who would see the bliss of heaven,
Let him intently view this lady's eyes,
Unless the painfulness of sighs he dread.
This rival spirit opposes and destroys
The humble thought, accustom'd to discourse
Of a bright angel who in heaven is crown'd.
The soul so mourns her loss that still she weeps,
And says, ah woe is me! how flees away
The pitying thought that was my comforter!
Again, the troubled soul says of mine eyes,
What was the hour this lady look'd on them?
And why believed they not my words of her?
I said, full surely in that lady's eyes
Must dwell the power that such as me destroys;
And it avail'd me not that I foresaw
They should not gaze on her, whence I am dead.
Thou art not dead, but in delusion strayest,
Poor soul, who so lamentest thy estate,
Exclaims a little gentle spirit of love;
For this fair lady, who disquiets thee,
Has so transform'd thy life, that thou hast fear
Of her, so spiritless thou art become.
Behold how piteous and how meek she is,
How courteous in her greatness and how sage;
And think to call her mistress evermore:
For thou shalt see, if not by self deceived,
The beauty of such lofty miracles,
That thou wilt say, O Love, my sovereign true,
Behold thy handmaid; do as pleaseth thee.
My Song, I do believe that there are few
Who will thy reasoning rightly understand,
To them so hard and dark is thy discourse.
Hence peradventure, if it come to pass
That thou shouldst find thyself with persons who
Appear unskill'd to comprehend thee well,
I pray thee then, my young and well beloved,
Be not discomforted, but say to them,
Take note at least how beautiful I am.
Amor, che nella mente mi ragiona.
LOVE, who discourses to me in my mind
With never-ceasing pleasure of my lady,
Often says things to me concerning her
On which the intellect reflects till lost.
The music of his words so sweetly sounds,
That the attentive soul, which hears and feels,
Exclaims, alas, why have I not the power
To tell what of my lady I do hear?
"Tis sure, that in the first place I must leave,
If I would treat of what I hear of her,
That which my reason cannot comprehend,
And of that understood
Great part, from inability of speech.
Hence if my verses shall defective prove,
Which fondly enter on this lady's praise,
The feeble understanding must be blamed,
And our deficient language, wanting power
To paint completely that which Love describes.
The sun, that all this world revolves around,
Sees not a thing so fair and excellent,
As when he shines upon the part where dwells
The lady for whom Love commands my song.
On her all heaven's intelligences gaze;
And they whom she enamours here below
Still find her image present to their thoughts,
When Love calms all emotions into peace.
With such complacency her Maker views
His work, that he still showers his gifts on her,
Beyond our nature's uttermost demand.
Her pure and spotless soul,
Which from his hand receives this heavenly grace,
Declares his power in her material frame;
For in her beauty things are seen so rare,
That from the eyes of those she shines upon,
Fly heralds to the heart, with wishes fill'd,
Which mount into the air and sighs become.
On her the virtue of the Deity
Descends, as on the angel that beholds him :
And this if gentle lady disbelieve,
Let her accompany her, and mark her ways.
Here, when she speaks, an angel boweth down
From heaven, who joyful testimony bears
How the high worth of which she is possess'd
Exceeds the endowments that to us belong.
The courteous acts which she bestows on all,
Rival each other in invoking Love,
With that persuasive voice which makes him hear.
Of her it may be said
Fair is in lady what is found in her,
And most is fair what most resembles her.
And truly we may say, her aspect aids
Belief in what appears a miracle,
Hence is our faith confirm'd, and she for this
Hath been created from eternity.
Things in her countenance appear which show
The ineffable delights of Paradise ;
In her sweet smile I say, and in her eyes,
Whither Love brings them as their proper home.
Our intellect they dazzle and subdue,
As the sun's rays o'erpower the feeble sight:
And since I may not view them stedfastly,
To say but little I must be content.
Her beauty showers little flames of fire,
With a benignant spirit animate,
Which is creator of all virtuous thought;
And they like thunder crush
The innate vices which make others vile.
The lady then who hears her beauty blamed,
For wanting a deportment calm and meek,
Should view this pattern of humility;
"Tis she that humbles every froward heart,
She, whom the mover of the world conceived.
My Song, thy words may seem to contradict
The language of a sister that thou hast ;
For she declares this lady, whom thou makest
So humble, to be scornful and severe :
Thou know'st that heaven is ever clear and bright,
And ever, as regards itself, serene;
But yet our eyes, from causes manifold,
Do sometimes call the sun itself obscure;
So when thy sister calls this lady proud,
She views her not according to the truth,
But forms her judgment on appearances:
For fearful was the soul,
And still has fear, so that she seems unkind
Whene'er I see that she observeth me.
Excuse thee thus, my Song, if there be need;
And when thou canst, present thyself to her,
And say, Madonna, if it pleaseth you,
Your praise I will rehearse throughout the world.
Le dolci rime d'Amor, ch' io solia.
THE pleasant rhymes of Love, that I was wont
To seek for in my thoughts,
I must forsake; not that I have not hope
Of a return to them,
But because signs of cruelty and scorn,
Which in my lady's looks
Are evident, have closed the way against
My customary strain.
And since it seems to me fit time to wait,
I will lay down my soft and tender style,
That I have held in treating upon Love,
And of the worth will speak
Which truly gives nobility to man;
With verse severe and keen
Reproving the opinion false and base
Of those who hold that of nobility
The principle is wealth.
And to begin, I here invoke that lord
Whose dwelling-place is in my lady's eyes,
Through whom she is enamour'd of herself.
A certain emperor held nobility,
As it appear'd to him,
To be possession of ancestral wealth
With generous manners joined:
And there was one of lighter judgment, who
The saying overthrew ;
And took the latter clause away, perchance
Because he had it not.
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