  A SHEAF OF TRANSLATIONS. The Revenge. [Ronsard.] Fair rebel to thyself and Time, Who laugh’st at all my tears, When thou hast lost thy youthful prime, And Age his trophy rears, Weighing thy inconsiderate pride,5 Thou shalt in vain accuse it: ‘Why beauty am I now denied, Or knew not then to use it?’ Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair, Thou in like flames may’st burn!10 Venus, if just, will hear my prayer, And I shall laugh my turn. Claim to Love. [Guarini.] Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a pain Above its power to lay. Love moves not as thou turn’st thy But here doth firmly rest: He long ago thine To revel in my breast. Thy power on him why hop’st thou more Than his on me should be?10 The claim thou lay’st to him is poor To that he owns from me. His substance in my heart excels, His shadow, in thy sight: Fire where it burns more truly dwells15 Than where it scatters light. The Sick Lover. [Guarini.] My sickly breath Wastes in a double flame, Whilst Love and Death To my poor life lay claim; The fever in whose heat I melt5 By her that causeth it Canst, yet wilt grant no ease, Why slight’st thou one, To feed a new disease?10 Unequal Fair! the heart is thine: Ah, why then should the pain be mine? Time Recover’d. [Casone.] Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspires With the warmth of our desires! Envious Time about thee watches, And some grace each minute snatches: Now a spirit, now a ray5 From thy eye he steals away; Now he blasts some blooming rose Which upon thy fresh cheek grows; Gold now plunders in a hair; Now the rubies doth impair10 Of thy lips; and with sure haste All thy wealth will take at last; Only that of which thou mak’st Use in time, from Time thou tak’st. Song. [De Voiture.] I languish in a silent flame: For she to whom my vows incline Doth own perfections so divine, That but to speak were to disclose her name. Of Nature’s graces doth comprise, (The love and wonder of all eyes,) Who will not guess the Beauty I adore? Or though I warily conceal The charms her looks and soul possess,10 Should I her cruelty express, And say she smiles at all the pains we feel, Among such suppliants as implore Pity, distributing her hate, Inexorable as their fate,—15 Who will not guess the Beauty I adore? Apollo and Daphne. [Marino.] When Phoebus saw a rugged bark beguile His love, and his embraces intercept, The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile, Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept, ‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,5 When these, His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d, From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough, And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d, With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.10 Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives: Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves. Song: Torment of Absence and Delay. [Montalvan.] Torment of absence and delay That thus afflicts my memory! Why dost thou kill me every day, Yet will not give me leave to die? Why dost thou suffer me to live5 All hope of life in life denying, Or to my patience tortures give Never to die, yet ever dying? To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyes I was by Love’s instruction guided,10 (A happiness I long did prize,) But now am from their light divided. Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d, But envious Fate would now destroy them, Which if to lose I only gain’d,15 What greater pain than to enjoy them? A Lady Weeping. [Montalvan.] As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray, And, as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver ribbon binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,5 Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,— So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars, Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses, Melts into jasmines here, there into roses. To his Mistress in Absence. [Tasso.] Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope. O when will Fate restore5 The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more! The Hasty Kiss. [Secundus.] Song: When thou thy pliant arms. [Secundus.] When thou thy pliant arms dost wreathe About my neck, and gently breathe Into my breast that soft sweet air With which thy soul doth mine repair; When my faint life thou draw’st away,5 (My life which scorching flames decay,) O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils, Whose fever thy kind art beguiles, And with the breath that did inspire Doth mildly fan my glowing fire.10 Transported, then I cry: ‘Above All other deities is Love! Or if a deity there be Greater than Love, ’tis only thee.’ Song: ’Tis no kiss. [Secundus.] ’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows! Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows. All the sweets which nimble bees In their osier treasuries With unequall’d art repose,5 In one kiss, her lips disclose. These, if I should many take, Soon would me immortal make, And the banquets of the gods.10 Be not, then, too lavish, Fair! But this heavenly treasure spare, ’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be: For without thy company What to me were the abodes15 Or the banquets of the gods? Translated from Anacreon. I. The Chase. With a whip of lilies, Love Swiftly me before him drove: On we cours’d it through deep floods, Hollow valleys, and rough woods, Till a snake that lurking lay5 Chanc’d to sting me by the way. Now my soul was nigh to death, Ebbing, flowing, with my breath, When Love, fanning with his wings, Back my fleeting spirit brings:10 ‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day, Love without constraint t’obey!’ II. Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit. Teach me Venus’ blithe delights. Jove That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have. There’s no drinking in the grave!10 III. The Spring. See, the Spring herself discloses, And the Graces gather roses; See how the becalmed seas Now their swelling waves appease; How the duck swims; how the crane5 Comes from ’s winter home again; See how Titan’s cheerful ray Chaseth the dark clouds away! Now in their new robes of green Are the ploughman’s labours seen;10 Now the lusty teeming earth Springs, each hour, with a new birth; Now the olive blooms; the vine Now cloth with plump pendants shine, And with leaves and blossoms now15 Freshly bourgeons every bough. IV. The Combat. Now will I a lover be! Love himself commanded me. Full at first of stubborn pride, To submit, my soul denied.20 Bids defiance: forth I go. Armed with spear and shield we meet: On he charges: I retreat, Till, perceiving in the fight25 He had wasted every flight, Into me, with fury hot, Like a dart himself he shot. And my cold heart melts; my shield Useless, no defence could yield;30 For what boots an outward screen, When, alas, the fight’s within? V. On this verdant lotus laid, Underneath the myrtle’s shade, Let us drink our sorrows dead, Whilst Love plays the Ganymed. Life like to And, ere long, we underground Ta’en by death asunder, must Moulder in forgotten dust. Why then graves should we bedew, Why the ground with odours strew?10 Better, whilst alive, prepare Flowers and unguents for our hair. All our cares behind us lay, That these pleasures we may know,15 Ere we come to those below. E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum]. A small well-gotten stock, and country seat I have, yet my content makes both seem great. My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d, And from the sins of idleness secur’d. Others may seek the camp, others the town,5 And fool themselves with pleasure or renown; Let me, unminded in the common crowd, Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d! Seven Epigrams. [Plato.] I. Upon One named Aster. The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee. II. Upon Aster’s Death. A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now. III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse. Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,5 Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast. IV. On Alexis. ‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so? V. On Archaeanassa. To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light? VI. Love Sleeping. Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,5 He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made. VII. On a Seal. Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold. |
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