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 London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place. 
 
SONNETS OF M. A. BUONARROTI 
 AND T. GAMPANELLA 
 
THE SONNETS 
 
 OF 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONARROTI 
 
 AND 
 
 TOMMASO CAMPANELLA 
 
 NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME TRANSLATED INTO RHYMED ENGLISH 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN ADDINGTONLS^MONDS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'RENAISSANCE IN ITALY* 'STUDIES OF THE GREEK POETS ' 
 
 'SKETCHES IN ITALY AND GREECE* 'INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THE STUDY OF DANTE ' 
 
 Xpv(rea>v x AKfta 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1878 
 
 All rights reserved] 
 
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 S. F. A. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 AFTER some deliberation, and at the risk of offending 
 the sensibility of scholars, I have adopted the old English 
 spelling of Michael Angelo's name, feeling that no 
 orthographical accuracy can outweigh the associations 
 implied in that familiar title. Michael Angelo has a 
 place among the highest with Homer and Titian, with 
 Virgil and Petrarch, with Raphael and Paul ; nor do I 
 imagine that any alteration for the better would be 
 effected by substituting for these time-honoured names 
 Homeros and Tiziano, Vergilius and Petrarca, Raffaello 
 and Paulus. 
 
 I wish here to express my heartiest thanks to Signore 
 Pasquale Villari for valuable assistance kindly rendered 
 in the interpretation of some difficult passages of 
 Campanella, and to Signore V. de Tivoli for calling my 
 attention to the sonnet of Michael Angelo deciphered 
 
viii PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 by him on the back of a drawing in the Taylor Gallery 
 at Oxford. 
 
 Portions both of the Introduction and the Transla- 
 tions forming this volume, have already appeared in the 
 ' Contemporary Review ' and the ' Cornhill Magazine.' 
 
 Davos Platz : 
 
 Dec. 1877. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction z 
 
 Proem ... 
 
 ' . 27 
 
 Michael Angelo's Sonnets . . , n 
 
 Campanella's Sonnets ..... 117 
 
 Notes to Michael Angelo's Sonnets 179 
 
 Notes to Campanella's Sonnets , . . , . . 188 
 
 Appendices .... 
 
 . . . 201 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I. 
 
 It is with diffidence that I offer a translation of Michael 
 Angelo's sonnets, for the first time completely rendered 
 into English rhyme, and that I venture on a version of 
 Campanula's philosophical poems. My excuse, if I can 
 plead any for so bold an attempt, may be found in this 
 that, so far as I am aware, no other English writer has 
 dealt with Michael Angelo's verses since the publication 
 of his autograph ; while Campanula's sonnets have 
 hitherto been almost utterly unknown. 
 
 Something must be said to justify the issue of poems 
 so dissimilar in a single volume. Michael Angelo and 
 Campanella represent widely sundered, though almost 
 contemporaneous, moments in the evolution of the 
 Italian genius. Michael Angelo was essentially an 
 artist, living in the prime of the Renaissance. Campa- 
 nella was a philosopher, born when the Counter-Refor- 
 mation was doing all it could to blight the free thought of 
 the sixteenth century ; and when the modern spirit of 
 
 B 
 
2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 exact enquiry, in a few philosophical martyrs, was open- 
 ing a new stage for European science. The one devoted 
 all his mental energies to the realisation of beauty : the 
 other strove to ascertain truth. The one clung to 
 Ficino's dream of Platonising Christianity : the other 
 constructed for himself a new theology, founded on the 
 conception of God immanent in nature. Michael Angelo 
 expressed the aspirations of a solitary life dedicated to 
 the service of art, at a time when art received the 
 suffrage and the admiration of all Italy. Campanella 
 gave utterance to a spirit, exiled and isolated, misunder- 
 stood by those with whom he lived, at a moment when 
 philosophy was hunted down as heresy and imprisoned 
 as treason to the public weal. 
 
 The marks of this difference in the external and in- 
 ternal circumstances of the two poets might be multi- 
 plied indefinitely. Yet they had much in common. 
 Both stood above their age, and in a sense aloof from 
 it. Both approached poetry in the spirit of thinkers 
 bent upon extricating themselves from the trivialities of 
 contemporary literature. The sonnets of both alike are 
 contributions to philosophical poetry in an age when 
 the Italians had lost their ancient manliness and energy. 
 Both were united by the ties of study and affection to 
 the greatest singer of their nation, Dante, at a time 
 when Petrarch, thrice diluted and emasculated, was the 
 Phcebus of academies and coteries. 
 
 This common antagonism to the degenerate genius 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 of Italian literature is the link which binds Michael 
 Angelo, the veteran giant of the Renaissance, to 
 / Campanella, the audacious Titan of the modern age. 
 
 II. 
 
 My translation of Michael Angelo's sonnets has been 
 made from Signor Cesare Guasti's edition of the auto- 
 graph, first given to the world in 1863. 1 This master- 
 piece of laborious and minute scholarship is based upon 
 a collation of the various manuscripts preserved in the 
 Casa Buonarroti at Florence with the Vatican and other 
 Codices. It adheres to the original orthography of 
 Michael Angelo, and omits no fragment of his in- 
 dubitable compositions. 2 Signor Guasti prefaces the 
 text he has so carefully prepared, with a discourse upon 
 the poetry of Michael Angelo and a description of the 
 manuscripts. To the poems themselves he adds a 
 prose paraphrase, and prints upon the same page with 
 each composition the version published by Michelangelo 
 Buonarroti in 1623. 3 
 
 1 Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarroti, Pittore, Scultore e Archi- 
 tetto, cavate dagli Autograft e pubblicate da Cesare Guasti, Accademico 
 della Crusca. In Firenze, per Felice le Monnier. MDCCCLXIII.' 
 
 2 See, however, page xlvii. of Signor Guasti's Discorso. 
 
 8 I have so fully expressed my admiration for Signor Guasti's edition 
 in the text that I may allow myself to point out in a note what seems to 
 me its chief defect, and why I think there is still, perhaps, room for another 
 and more critical edition. The materials are amply and conscientiously 
 supplied by Signor Guasti ; indeed, I suppose we are justified in believing 
 that his single volume reproduces all the extant manuscript authorities, 
 with the exception, perhaps, of the British Museum Codex. But, while it 
 is so comprehensive, we are still left in some doubt as to the preference of 
 
 b 2 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Before the publication of this volume, all studies of 
 Michael Angelo's poetry, all translations made of it, 
 and all hypotheses deduced from the sculptor's verse in 
 explanation of his theory or his practice as an artist, 
 were based upon the edition of 1623. It will not be 
 superfluous to describe what that edition was, and how- 
 its text differed from that now given to the light, in 
 order that the relation of my own English version to 
 those which have preceded it may be rightly under- 
 stood. 1 
 
 one reading rather than another in the large type text presented to 
 us as the final version of each composition. It is true that when this was 
 possible, Signor Guasti invariably selected one of the autographs, that is, 
 a copy in the poet's own handwriting. But when we consider that 
 very frequently Michael Angelo's own autographs give twice as many 
 various readings as there are lines in a sonnet, when we reflect that we 
 do not always possess the copies which he finally addressed to his friends, 
 and when, moreover, we find that their readings {e.g. those of the 
 Riccio MS. and those cited by Varchi) differ considerably from Michael 
 Angelo's rough copies, we must conclude that even the autographs do not 
 invariably represent these poems in the final form which he adopted. There 
 is therefore much room left for critical comparison and selection. We are, 
 in fact, still somewhat in the same position as Michelangelo the younger. 
 Whether any application of the critical method will enable us to do again 
 successfully what he so clumsily attempted that is, to reproduce a correct 
 text from the debris offered to our selective faculty I do not feel sure. 
 Meanwhile I am quite certain that his principle was a wrong one, and that 
 he dealt most unjustifiably with his materials. For this reason I cordially 
 accept Signor Guasti's labours, with the reservation I have attempted to 
 express in this note. They have indeed brought us far closer to Michael 
 Angelo's real text, but we must be careful to remember that we have not 
 even now arrived with certainty at what he would himself have printed 
 if he had prepared his own edition for the press. 
 
 1 As far as I am aware, no complete translation of Michael Angelo's 
 sonnets lias hitherto been made in English. The specimens produced by 
 Southey, Wordsworth, Harford, Longfellow, and Mr. Taylor, moreover, 
 render Michelangelo's rifacimento. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 " ! 
 Michael Angelo seems to have entertained no thought 
 
 of printing his poems in his lifetime. He distributed 
 them freely among his friends, of whom Sebastiano del 
 Piombo, Luigi del Riccio, Donato Giannotti, Vittoria 
 Colonna, and Tommaso de' Cavalieri were in this respect 
 the most favoured. In course of time some of these 
 friends, partly by the gift of the originals, and partly by 
 obtaining copies, formed more or less complete collec- 
 tions ; and it undoubtedly occurred to more than one to 
 publish them. Ascanio Condivi, at the close of his 
 biography, makes this announcement : ' I hope ere long 
 to make public some of his sonnets and madrigals, 
 which I have been long collecting, both from himself and 
 others who possessed them, with a view to proving to 
 the world the force of his inventive genius and the 
 beauty of the thoughts produced by that divine spirit.' 
 Condivi's promise was not fulfilled. With the exception 
 of two or three pieces printed by Vasari, and the extracts 
 quoted by Varchi in his ' Lezione/ ! the poems of 
 Michael Angelo remained in manuscript for fifty-nine 
 years after his death. The most voluminous collection 
 formed part of the Buonarroti archives ; but a large 
 quantity preserved by Luigi del Riccio, and from him 
 transferred to Fulvio Orsini, had passed into the Vatican 
 Library, when Michelangelo the younger conceived the 
 
 1 'Lezione cli Benedetto Varchi sopra il sottoscritto Sonetto cli 
 Michelagnolo Buonarroti, fatta da lui pubblicamente nella Accademia 
 Fiorentina la Seconda Domenica di Quaresima l'anno MDXLVL' The 
 sonnet commented by Varchi is Guasti's No. xv. 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 plan of publishing his granduncle's poetry. Michel- 
 angelo obtained leave to transcribe the Vatican MSS. 
 with his own hand ; and after taking pains to collate all 
 the autographs and copies in existence, he set himself to 
 compare their readings, and to form a final text for 
 publication. Here, however, began what we may call 
 the Tragedy of his Rifacimento. The more he studied 
 his great ancestors verses, the less he liked or dared to 
 edit them unaltered. Some of them expressed thoughts 
 and sentiments offensive to the Church. In some the 
 Florentine patriot spoke over-boldly. Others exposed 
 their author to misconstruction on the score of personal 
 morality. 1 All were ungrammatical, rude in versifica- 
 tion, crabbed and obscure in thought the rough-hewn 
 blockings-out of poems rather than finished works of 
 art, as it appeared to the scrupulous, decorous, elegant, 
 and timorous Academician of a feebler age. While 
 pondering these difficulties, and comparing the readings 
 of his many manuscripts, the thought occurred to 
 Michelangelo that, between leaving the poems unpub- 
 lished and printing them in all their rugged boldness, 
 
 1 I have elsewhere recorded my disagreement with Signor Guasti and 
 Signor Gotti, and my reasons for thinking that Varchi and Michelangelo 
 the younger were right in assuming that the sonnets addressed to Tommaso 
 de' Cavalieri (especially xxx., xxxi. , lii. ) expressed the poet's admiration for 
 masculine beauty. See ' Renaissance in Italy, Fine Arts,' pp. 521, 522. 
 At the same time, though I agree with Buonarroti's first editor in 
 believing that a few of the sonnets ' risguardano, come si conosce chiara- 
 mente, amor platonico virile,' I quite admit as what student of early 
 Italian poetry will not admit? that a woman is generally intended under 
 the title of Signore' and 'amico.' 
 
INTRODUCTION. f 
 
 lay the middle course of reducing them to smoothness 
 of diction, lucidity of meaning, and propriety of senti- 
 ment. 1 In other words, he began, as Signor Guasti pithily 
 describes his method, ' to change halves of lines, whole 
 verses, ideas : if he found a fragment, he completed it : 
 if brevity involved the thought in obscurity, he ampli- 
 fied : if the obscurity seemed incurable, he amputated : 
 for superabundant wealth of conception he substi- 
 tuted vacuity ; smoothed asperities ; softened salient 
 lights.' The result was that a medley of garbled 
 phrases, additions, alterations, and sophistications was 
 foisted on the world as the veritable product of the 
 mighty sculptor's genius. That Michelangelo meant 
 well to his illustrious ancestor is certain. That he took 
 the greatest pains in executing his ungrateful and 
 disastrous task is no less clear. 2 But the net result of his 
 meddlesome benevolence has been that now for two 
 centuries and a half the greatest genius of the Italian 
 Renaissance has worn the ill-fitting disguise prepared 
 for him by a literary ' breeches-maker.' In fact, Michael 
 Angelo the poet suffered no less from his grandnephew 
 than Michael Angelo the fresco painter from his follower 
 Daniele da Volterra. 
 
 Nearly all Michael Angelo's sonnets express personal 
 feelings, and by far the greater number of them were 
 
 1 Ridurle is his own phrase. He also speaks of trasmutare and riso- 
 luzione to explain the changes he effected. 
 
 2 See Guasti's ' Discorso,' p. xliv. 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 composed after his sixtieth year. To whom they were 
 addressed, we only know in a few instances. Vittoria 
 Colonnaand Tommaso de'Cavalieri,thetwo most intimate 
 friends of his old age in Rome, received from him some 
 of the most pathetically beautiful of his love-poems. 
 But to suppose that either the one or the other was the 
 object of more than a few well-authenticated sonnets 
 would be hazardous. Nothing is more clear than that 
 Michael Angelo worshipped Beauty in the Platonic 
 spirit, passing beyond its personal and specific manifes- 
 tations to the universal and impersonal. This thought 
 is repeated over and over again in his poetry ; and if 
 we bear in mind that he habitually regarded the loveli- 
 ness of man or woman as a sign and symbol of eternal 
 and immutable beauty, we shall feel it of less importance 
 to discover who it was that prompted him to this or that 
 poetic utterance. That the loves of his youth were not 
 so tranquil as those of his old age, appears not only from 
 the regrets expressed in his religious verses, but also 
 from one or two of the rare sonnets referable to his 
 manhood. 
 
 The love of beauty, the love of Florence, and the 
 love of Christ, are the three main motives of his poetry. 
 This is not the place to discuss at length the nature of 
 his philosophy, his patriotism, or his religion ; to enquire 
 how far he retained the early teaching of Ficino and 
 Savonarola ; or to trace the influence of Dante and the 
 Bible on his mind. I may, however, refer my readers 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 who are interested in these questions, to the Discourse 
 of Signor Guasti, the learned essay of Mr. J. E. Taylor, 
 and the refined study of Mr. W. H. Pater. My own 
 views will be found expressed in the third volume of 
 my ' Renaissance in Italy ' ; and where I think it 
 necessary, I shall take occasion to repeat them in the 
 notes appended to my translation. 
 
 III. 
 
 Michael Angelo's madrigals and sonnets were eagerly 
 sought for during his lifetime. They formed the themes 
 of learned academical discourses, and won for him the 
 poet's crown in death. Upon his tomb the Muse of Song 
 was carved in company with Sculpture, Architecture, 
 and Painting. Since the publication of the rifacimento 
 in 1623, his verses have been used among the tesii di 
 lingua by Italians, and have been studied in the three 
 great languages of Europe. The fate of Campanula's 
 philosophical poems has been very different. It was 
 owing to a fortunate chance that they survived their 
 author; and until the year 1834 they were wholly and 
 entirely unknown in Italy. The history of their pre- 
 servation is so curious that I cannot refrain from giving 
 some account of it, before proceeding to sketch so much 
 of Campanula's life and doctrine as may be necessary 
 for the understanding of his sonnets. 
 
 The poems were composed during Campanella's 
 
io INTRODUCTION. 
 
 imprisonment at Naples ; and from internal evidence 
 there is good reason to suppose that the greater part 
 of them were written at intervals in the first fourteen 
 years of the twenty-five he passed in confinement. 1 In 
 the descriptive catalogue of his own works, the philoso- 
 pher mentions seven books of sonnets and canzoni, 
 which he called ' Le Cantiche.' 2 Whether any of 
 these would have been printed but for a mere acci- 
 dent is doubtful. A German gentleman, named Tobia 
 Adami, who is supposed to have been a Court- 
 Counsellor at Weimar, after travelling through Greece, 
 Syria, and Palestine, in company with a young friend 
 called Rodolph von Biinau, visited Campanella in his 
 dungeon. A close intimacy sprang up between them, 
 and Adami undertook to publish several works of the 
 philosopher in testimony of his admiration. Among 
 these were ' Le Cantiche.' Instead, however, of printing 
 the poems in extenso, he made a selection, choosing 
 those apparently which took his fancy, and which, in his 
 opinion, threw most light on Campanella's philosophical 
 theories. It is clear that he neglected the author's Own 
 arrangement,, since there is no trace of the division into 
 seven books. What proportion the selection bore 
 to the whole bulk of the MS. seems to me uncertain, 
 though the latest editor asserts that it formed only a 
 
 1 See in particular ' Orazioni Tre in Salmodia Metafisicale . . . Can- 
 zone Prima . . . Madrigale iii. ; ' and ' A Berillo, Canzone di Pentimento, 
 Madrigale ii.' 
 
 2 ' De Libris Propriis,' i. 3, quoted by Orelli and Alessandro d' Ancona. 
 ' Opere di Tommaso Campanella,' vol. i. p. 3. 
 
INTRODUCTION. n 
 
 seventh part. 1 The manuscript itself is lost, and Adami's 
 edition of the specimens is all that now remains as basis 
 for the text of Campanella's poems. 
 
 This first edition was badly printed in Germany on 
 very bad paper, without the name of press or place. 
 Besides the poems, it contained a brief prose commen- 
 tary by the editor, the value of which is still very great, 
 since we have the right to suppose that Adami's expla- 
 nations embodied what he had received by word of 
 mouth from Campanella. The little book bore this 
 title : ' Scelta d' alcune poesie filosofiche di Settimon- 
 tano Squilla cavate da' suo' libri detti La Cantica, con 
 l'esposizione, stampato nell' anno MDCXXIL' The 
 pseudonym Squilla is a pun upon Campanella's name, 
 since both Campana and Squilla mean a bell; while 
 Settimoniano contains a quaint allusion to the fact 
 that the philosopher's skull was remarkable for seven 
 protuberances. 2 A very few copies of the unpretending 
 little volume were printed ; and none of these seem to 
 have found their way into Italy, though it is possible 
 that they had a certain circulation in Germany. At 
 any rate there is reason to suppose that Leibnitz was 
 not unacquainted with the poems, while Herder, in the 
 
 1 ' Opere di Tommaso Campanella,' vol. i. p. ccci. 
 
 2 Campanella's own poetry justified this curious nom de plume adopted 
 for him by his editor. See in particular ' Salmodia Metafisicale,' canzone 
 terza, madrigale ix. : 
 
 ' Tre canzon, nate a un parto 
 Da questa mia settimontana testa, 
 Al suon dolente di pensosa squilla.' 
 
12 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 Renaissance of German literature, published free trans- 
 lations from a few of the sonnets in his ' Adrastea.' 
 
 To this circumstance we owe the reprint of 1834, 
 published at Lugano by John Gaspar Orelli, the cele- 
 brated Zurich scholar. Early in his youth Orelli was 
 delighted with the German version made by Herder ; 
 and during his manhood, while residing as Protestant 
 pastor at Bergamo, he used his utmost endeavours to 
 procure a copy of the original. In his preface to the 
 reprint he tells us that these efforts were wholly unsuc- 
 cessful through a period of twenty-five years. He 
 applied to all his literary friends, among whom he men- 
 tions the ardent Ugo Foscolo and the learned Mazzu- 
 chelli ; but none of these could help him. He turned 
 the pages of Crescimbeni, Quadrio, Gamba, Corniani, 
 Tiraboschi, weighty with enormous erudition and only 
 those who make a special study of Italian know how 
 little has escaped their scrutiny but found no mention 
 of Campanella as a poet. At last, after the lapse of a 
 quarter of a century, he received the long-coveted little 
 quarto volume from Wolfenbiittel in the north of 
 Germany. The new edition which Orelli gave to the 
 press at Lugano has this title : ' Poesie Filosofiche di 
 Tommaso Campanella pubblicate per la prima volta in 
 Italia da Gio. Gaspare Orelli, Professore all' Universita 
 di Zurigo. Lugano, 1834/ The same text has been 
 again reprinted at Turin, in 1854, by Alessandro 
 d'Ancona, together with some of Campanula's minor 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 works and an essay on his life and writings. This third 
 edition professes to have improved Orelli's punctuation 
 and to have rectified his readings. But it still leaves 
 much to be desired on the score of careful editorship. 
 Neither Orelli nor D'Ancona has done much to clear 
 up the difficulties of the poems difficulties in many- 
 cases obviously due to misprints and errors of the first 
 transcriber ; while in one or two instances they allow 
 patent blunders to pass uncorrected. In the sonnet 
 entitled 'A Dio ' (D'Ancona, vol. i. p. 102), for example, 
 bocca stands for buca in a place where sense and rhyme 
 alike demand the restitution of the right word. 
 
 At no time could the book have hoped for many 
 readers. Least of all would it have found them among 
 the Italians of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, 
 to whom its energetic language and unfamiliar con- 
 ceptions would have presented insuperable difficulties. 
 Between Dante and Alfieri no Italian poet except 
 Michael Angelo expressed so much deep thought and 
 feeling in phrases so terse, and with originality of style 
 so daring; and even Michael Angelo is monotonous in 
 the range of his ideas and uniform in his diction, 
 when compared with the indescribable violence and 
 vigour of Campanella. Campanella borrows little by 
 way of simile or illustration from the outer world, and 
 he never falls into the commonplaces of poetic phrase- 
 ology. His poems exhibit the exact opposite of the 
 Petrarchistic or the Marinistic mannerism. Each sonnet 
 
1 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 seems to have been wrenched alive and palpitating from 
 the poet's heart. There is no smoothness, no gradual 
 unfolding of a theme, no rhetorical exposition, no fanci- 
 ful embroidery, no sweetness of melodic cadence, in his 
 masculine art of poetry. Brusque, rough, violent in 
 transition, leaping from the sublime to the ridiculous 
 his poems owe their elevation to the intensity of their 
 feeling, the nobleness and condensation of their thought, 
 the energy and audacity of their expression, their 
 brevity, sincerity, and weight of sentiment. Campanella 
 had an essentially combative intellect. He was both a 
 poet and a philosopher militant. He stood alone, 
 making war upon the authority of Aristotle in science, 
 of Machiavelli in state-craft, and of Petrarch in art, taking 
 the fortresses of phrase by storm, and subduing the 
 hardest material of philosophy to the tyranny, of his 
 rhymes. Plebeian saws, salient images, dry sentences 
 of metaphysical speculation, logical summaries, and 
 fiery tirades are hurled together half crude and 
 cindery scoriae, half molten metal and resplendent ore 
 from the volcano of his passionate mind. Such being 
 the nature of Campanella's style, when in addition it is 
 remembered that his text is sometimes hopelessly corrupt 
 and his allusions obscure, the difficulties offered by his 
 sonnets to the translator will be readily conceived. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 IV. 
 
 At the end of the sixteenth and the beginning 
 of the seventeenth centuries, philosophy took a new 
 point of departure among the Italians, and all the 
 fundamental ideas which have since formed the staple 
 of modern European systems were anticipated by a few 
 obscure thinkers. It is noticeable that the States of 
 Naples, hitherto comparatively inert in the intellectual 
 development of Italy, furnished the five writers who 
 preceded Bacon, Leibnitz, Schelling, and Comte. 
 Telesio of Cosenza, Bruno of Nola, Campanella of Stilo, 
 Vanini and Vico of Naples are the chief among these 
 novi homines or pioneers of modern thought. The 
 characteristic point of this new philosophy was an un- 
 conditional return to Nature as the source of knowledge, 
 combined with a belief in the intuitive forces of the 
 human reason : so that from the first it showed two sides 
 or faces to the world the one positive, scientific, 
 critical, and analytical; the other mystical, metaphysical, 
 subjective. Modern materialism and modern idealism 
 were both contained in the audacious guesses of Bruno 
 and Campanella ; nor had the time arrived for clearly 
 separating the two strains of thought, or for attempting 
 a systematic synthesis of knowledge under one or the 
 other head. 
 
1 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The men who led this weighty intellectual move- 
 ment burned with the passionate ardour of discoverers, 
 the fiery enthusiasm of confessors. They stood alone, 
 sustained but little by intercourse among themselves, 
 and wholly misunderstood by the people round them. 
 Italy, sunk in sloth, priest-ridden, tyrant-ridden, ex- 
 hausted with the unparalleled activity of the Renaissance, 
 besotted with the vices of slavery and slow corruption, 
 had no ears for spirit-thrilling prophecy. The Church, 
 terrified by the Reformation, when she chanced to hear 
 those strange voices sounding through ' the blessed 
 mutter of the mass,' burned the prophets. The State, 
 represented by absolute Spain, if it listened to them at 
 all, flung them into prison. To both Church and State 
 there was peril in the new philosophy ; for the new 
 philosophy was the first birth-cry of the modern genius, 
 with all the crudity and clearness, the brutality and un- 
 compromising sincerity of youth. The Church feared 
 Nature. The State feared the People. Nature and the 
 People those watchwords of modern Science and 
 modern Liberty were already on the lips of the 
 philosophers. 
 
 It was a philosophy armed, errant, exiled ; a 
 philosophy in chains and solitary ; at war with society, 
 authority, opinion ; self-sustained by the prescience of 
 ultimate triumph, and invincible through the sheer force 
 of passionate conviction. The men of whom I speak 
 were conscious of Pariahdom, and eager to be martyred 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 in the glorious cause. ' A very Proteus is the philosopher, 
 says Pomponazzo : ' seeking to penetrate the secrets of 
 God, he is consumed with ceaseless cares ; he forgets to 
 thirst, to hunger, to sleep, to eat ; he is derided of all 
 men ; he is held for a fool and irreligious person ; he is 
 persecuted by inquisitors ; he becomes a gazing-stock 
 to the common folk. These are the gains of the 
 philosopher ; these are his guerdon.' Pomponazzo's 
 words were prophetic. Of the five philosophers whom I 
 mentioned, Vanini was burned as an atheist, Bruno was 
 burned, and Campanella was imprisoned for a quarter 
 of a century. Both Bruno and Campanella were Do- 
 minican friars. Bruno was persecuted by the Church, 
 and burned for heresy. Campanella was persecuted by 
 both Church and State, and was imprisoned on the 
 double charge of sedition and heresy. Dormitantium 
 animarum excubitor was the self-given title of Bruno. 
 Nunquam tacebo was the favourite motto of Campanella. 
 Giovanni Domenico Campanella was born in the 
 year 1568 at Stilo in Calabria, one of the most southern 
 townships of all Italy. In his boyhood he showed a 
 remarkable faculty for acquiring and retaining know- 
 ledge, together with no small dialectical ability. His 
 keen interest in philosophy and his admiration for the 
 great Dominican doctors, Thomas Aquinas and Albertus 
 Magnus, induced him at the age of fifteen to enter the 
 order of S. Dominic, exchanging his secular name for 
 Tommaso. But the old alliance between philosophy 
 
 C 
 
1 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and orthodoxy, drawn up by scholasticism and approved 
 by the mediaeval Church, had been succeeded by mutual 
 hostility; and the youthful thinker found no favour in 
 the cloister of Cosenza, where he now resided. The 
 new philosophy taught by Telesio placed itself in direct 
 antagonism to the pseudo-Aristotelian tenets of the 
 theologians, and founded its own principles upon the 
 Interrogation of Nature. Telesio, says Bacon, was the 
 prince of the novi homines, or inaugurators of modern 
 thought. It was natural that Campanella should be 
 drawn towards this great man. But the superiors of 
 his convent prevented his forming the acquaintance of 
 Telesio ; and though the two men dwelt in the same 
 city of Cosenza, Campanella never knew the teacher he 
 admired so passionately. Only when the old man died 
 and his body was exposed in the church before burial, 
 did the neophyte of his philosophy approach the bier, 
 and pray beside it, and place poems upon the dead. 
 
 From this time forward Campanella became an 
 object of suspicion to his brethren. They perceived 
 that the fire of the new philosophy burned in his power- 
 ful nature with incalculable and explosive force. He 
 moved restlessly from place to place, learning and dis- 
 cussing, drawing men towards him by the magnetism of 
 a noble personality, and preaching his new gospel with 
 perilous audacity. His papers were seized at Bologna ; 
 and at Rome the Holy Inquisition condemned him to 
 perpetual incarceration on the ground that he derived 
 
INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 his science from the devil, that he had written the book 
 ' De tribus Impostoribus/ that he was a follower of 
 Democritus, and that his opposition to Aristotle savoured 
 of gross heresy. At the same time the Spanish Govern- 
 ment of Naples accused him of having set on foot a 
 dangerous conspiracy for overthrowing the vice-regal 
 power and establishing a communistic commonwealth 
 in southern Italy. Though nothing was proved satisfac- 
 torily against him, Campanella was held a prisoner 
 under the sentence which the Inquisition had pro- 
 nounced upon him. He was, in fact, a man too danger- 
 ous, too original in his opinions, and too bold in their 
 enunciation, to be at large. For twenty-five years he 
 remained in Neapolitan dungeons ; three times during 
 that period he was tortured to the verge of dying ; and 
 at last he was released, while quite an old man, at the 
 urgent request of the French Court. Not many years 
 after his liberation Campanella died. The numerous 
 philosophical works on metaphysics, mathematics, poli- 
 tics, and aesthetics which Campanella gave to the press, 
 were composed during his long imprisonment. How 
 they came to be printed, I do not know ; but it is 
 obvious that he cannot have been strictly debarred from 
 writing by his jailors. In prison, too, he made both 
 friends and converts. We have seen that we owe the 
 publication of a portion of his poems to the visit of a 
 German knight. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 v. 
 
 The sonnets by Campanella translated in this volume 
 might be rearranged under four headings Philosophical ; 
 Political ; Prophetic ; Personal. The philosophical group 
 throw light on Campanella's relation to his predecessors 
 and his antagonism to the pseudo- Aristotelian scholas- 
 ticism of the middle ages. They furthermore explain his 
 conception of the universe as a complex animated orga- 
 nism, his conviction that true knowledge can only be 
 gained by the interrogation of nature, his doctrine of 
 human life and action, and his judgment of the age in which 
 he lived. The political sonnets fall into two groups 
 those which discuss royalty, nobility, and the sovereignty 
 of the people, and those which treat of the several Euro- 
 pean states. The prophetic sonnets seem to have been 
 suggested by the misery and corruption of Italy, and 
 express the poet's belief in the speedy triumph of right 
 and reason. It is here too that his astrological opinions 
 are most clearly manifested ; for Campanella was far 
 from having outgrown the belief in planetary influences. 
 Indeed, his own metaphysical speculations, involving 
 the principle of immanent vitality in the material uni- 
 verse, gave a new value to the dreams of the astro- 
 logers. Among the personal sonnets may be placed 
 those which refer immediately to his own sufferings in 
 
INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 prison, to his friendships, and to the ideal of the philo- 
 sophic character. 
 
 I have thought it best, while indicating this fourfold 
 division, to preserve the order adopted by Adami, since 
 each of the reprints accessible to modern readers both 
 that of Orelli and that of D'Ancona maintains the 
 arrangement of the editio princeps. Two sonnets of the 
 prophetic group I have omitted, partly because they have 
 no bearing on the world as it exists for us at present, 
 and partly because they are too studiously obscure for 
 profitable reproduction. 1 As in the case of Michael 
 Angelo, so also in that of Campanella, I have left the 
 Canzoni untouched, except by way of illustration in the 
 notes appended to my volume. They are important 
 and voluminous enough to form a separate book ; nor 
 do they seem to me so well adapted as the sonnets for 
 translation into English. 
 
 To give reasons for my choice of certain readings in 
 the case of either Michael Angelo's or Campanula's 
 text ; to explain why I have sometimes preferred a 
 strictly literal and sometimes a more paraphrastic render- 
 ing ; or to set forth my views in detail regarding the 
 compromises which are necessary in translation, and 
 which must vary according to the exigencies of each 
 successive problem offered by the original, would occupy 
 
 1 These are the sonnets entitled by Adami ' La detta Congiunzione 
 cade nella revoluzione fdella Nativita di Cristo,' and ' Sonetto cavato 
 dalF Apocalisse e Santa Brigida,' D'Ancona, vol. i. pp. 97, 98. 
 
22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 too much space. "Where I have thought it absolutely 
 necessary, I have referred to such points in my notes. 
 It is enough here to remark that the difficulties presented 
 to the translator by Michael Angelo and by Campanella 
 are of different kinds. Both, indeed, pack their thoughts 
 so closely that it is not easy to reproduce them without 
 either awkwardness or sacrifice of matter. But while 
 Campanella is difficult from the abruptness of his transi- 
 tions and the violence of his phrases, Michael Angelo 
 has the obscurity of a writer whose thoughts exceed his 
 I power of expression, and who complicates the verbal 
 form by his endeavour to project what cannot easily be 
 said in verse. 1 A little patience will generally make it 
 clear what Campanella meant, except in cases where 
 the text itself is corrupt. But it may sometimes be 
 doubted whether Michael Angelo could himself have 
 done more than indicate the general drift of his thought, 
 or have disengaged his own conception from the tangled 
 skein of elliptical and ungrammatical sentences in which 
 he has enveloped it. The form of Campanella' s poetry, 
 though often grotesque, is always clear. Michael Angelo 
 has left too many of his compositions in the same state 
 as his marbles unfinished and colossal abbozzi, which 
 
 1 In this respect the rifacimento of 1623 has greater literary merits the 
 merits of mere smoothness, clearness, grammatical coherence, and intelli- 
 gibility than the autograph ; and I can understand the preference of some 
 students for the former, though I do not share it. Michelangelo the 
 younger added fluency and grace to his great-uncle's composition by the 
 sacrifice of much that is most characteristic, and by the omission of much 
 that is profound and vigorous and weighty. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 lack the final touches to make their outlines distinct. 
 Under these circumstances, it can hardly happen that 
 the translator should succeed in reproducing all the 
 sharpness and vivacity of Campanula's style, or should 
 wholly refrain from softening, simplifying, and prettifying 
 Michael Angelo in his attempt to produce an intelligible 
 version. In both cases he is tempted to make his trans- 
 lation serve the purpose also of a commentary, and has 
 to exercise caution and self-control lest he impose a 
 sense too narrow or too definite upon the original. 
 
 So far as this was possible, I have adhered to the 
 rhyming structure of my originals, feeling that this is a 
 point of no small moment in translation. Yet when 
 the choice lay between a sacrifice of metrical exactitude 
 and a sacrifice of sense, I have not hesitated to prefer 
 the former, especially in dealing with Campanula's 
 quatrains. 
 
 Michael Angelo and Campanella follow different 
 rules in their treatment of the triplets. Michael Angelo \ 
 allows himself three rhymes,^ while Campanella usually 
 confines himself to two. My practice has been to study 
 in each sonnet the cadence both of thought and diction, 
 so as to satisfy an English ear, accustomed to the various 
 forms of termination exemplified by Spenser, Milton, 
 Wordsworth, and Rossetti the sweetest, the most sub- 
 lime, the least artificial, and the most artful sonnet- 
 writers in our language. 
 
 The short titles attached to each sonnet are intended 
 
24 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to help the eye, rather than to guide the understanding 
 of the reader. Michael Angelo and his editors supply- 
 no arguments or mottoes for his poems; while those 
 printed by Adami in his edition of Campanella are, 
 like mine, meant obviously to serve as signposts to the 
 student. It may savour of impudence to ticket and to 
 label little masterpieces, each one of which, like all good 
 poems, is a microcosm of very varied meanings. Yet I 
 have some authority in modern times for this imper- 
 tinence ; and, when it is acknowledged that the titles 
 merely profess to guide the reader through a labyrinth of 
 abstract and reflective compositions, without attempting 
 to supply him with a comprehensive argument or to 
 dogmatise concerning the main drift of each poem, I 
 trust that enough will have been said by way of self- 
 defence against the charge of arrogance. 
 
 The sonnet prefixed as a proem to the whole book 
 is generally attributed to Giordano Bruno, in whose 
 Dialogue on the Eroici Furori it occurs. There seems, 
 however, good reason to suppose that it was really 
 written by Tansillo, who recites it in that Dialogue. 
 Whoever may have been its author, it expresses in noble 
 and impassioned verse the sense of danger, the audacity, 
 and the exultation of those pioneers of modern thought, 
 for whom philosophy was a voyage of discovery into 
 untravelled regions. Its spirit is rather that of Cam- 
 panella than of Michael Angelo. Yet the elevation at 
 which Michael Angelo habitually lived in thought and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 feeling was so far above the plains of common life, that 
 from the summit of his solitary watch-tower he might 
 have followed even such high-fliers as Bruno or as 
 Campanella in their Icarian excursions with the eyes of 
 speculative interest. 
 
 Davos Platz : Nov. 1877. 
 
-7 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHIC FLIGHT. 
 Poi che spiegate. 
 
 Now that these wings to speed my wish ascend, 
 The more I feel vast air beneath my feet, 
 The more toward boundless air on pinions fleet, 
 Spurning the earth, soaring to heaven, I tend : 
 
 Nor makes them stoop their flight the direful end 
 Of Daedal's son ; but upward still they beat : 
 What life the while with my life can compete, 
 Though dead to earth at last I shall descend ? 
 
 My own heart's voice in the void air I hear : 
 
 Where wilt thou bear me, O rash man ? Recall 
 Thy daring will ! This boldness waits on fear ! 
 
 Dread not, I answer, that tremendous fall : 
 
 Strike through the clouds, and smile when death is near, 
 If death so glorious be our doom at all ! 
 
i 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE SONNETS 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONARROTI 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 ON DANTE ALIGHIERL 
 Dal ciel discese. 
 
 From heaven his spirit came, and robed in clay 
 The realms of justice and of mercy trod, 
 Then rose a living man to gaze on God, 
 That he might make the truth as clear as day. 
 
 For that pure star that brightened with his ray 
 The undeserving nest where I was born, 
 The whole wide world would be a prize to scorn ; 
 None but his Maker can due guerdon pay. 
 
 I speak of Dante, whose high work remains 
 
 Unknown, unhonoured by that thankless brood, 
 Who only to just men deny their wage. 
 
 Were I but he ! Born for like lingering pains, 
 Against his exile coupled with his good 
 I'd gladly change the world's best heritage ! 
 
32 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 II 
 
 ON DANTE ALIGHIERL 
 
 Qaante dime si de\ 
 
 No tongue can tell of him what should be told, 
 
 For on blind eyes his splendour shines too strong ; 
 'Twere easier to blame those who wrought him wrong, 
 Than sound his least praise with a mouth of gold. 
 
 He to explore the place of pain was bold, 
 
 Then soared to God, to teach our souls by song ; 
 The gates heaven oped to bear his feet along, 
 Against his just desire his country rolled. 
 
 Thankless I call her, and to her own pain 
 
 The nurse of fell mischance ; for sign take this, 
 That ever to the best she deals more scorn : 
 
 Among a thousand proofs let one remain ; 
 
 Though ne'er was fortune more unjust than his, 
 His equal or his better ne'er was born. 
 
MICHAEL ANGEL O'S SONNETS. zi 
 
 III. 
 
 TO POPE JULIUS II. 
 Signor, se vero K 
 
 My Lord ! if ever ancient saw spake sooth, 
 
 Hear this which saith : Who can, doth never will. 
 Lo ! thou hast lent thine ear to fables still, 
 Rewarding those who hate the name of truth. 
 
 I am thy drudge and have been from my youth 
 Thine, like the rays which the sun's circle fill ; 
 Yet of my dear time's waste thou think'st no ill : 
 The more I toil, the less I move thy ruth. 
 
 Once 'twas my hope to raise me by thy height ; 
 But 'tis the balance and the powerful sword 
 Of Justice, not false Echo, that we need. 
 
 Heaven, as it seems, plants virtue in despite 
 Here on the earth, if this be our reward 
 To seek for fruit on trees too dry to breed. 
 
 D 
 
34 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ON ROME IN THE PONTIFICATE OF JULIUS II. 
 Qua si fa elmi. 
 
 Here helms and swords are made of chalices : 
 
 The blood of Christ is sold so much the quart : 
 His cross and thorns are spears and shields ; and 
 
 short 
 Must be the time ere even his patience cease. 
 
 Nay let him come no more to raise the fees 
 Of this foul sacrilege beyond report ! 
 For Rome still flays and sells him at the court, 
 Where paths are closed to virtue's fair increase. 
 
 Now were fit time for me to scrape a treasure ! 
 
 Seeing that work and gain are gone ; while he 
 Who wears the robe, is my Medusa still. 
 
 God welcomes poverty perchance with pleasure : 
 But of that better life what hope have we, 
 When the blessed banner leads to nought but ill ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELOS SONNETS, 
 
 35 
 
 To Giovanni da Pistoja. 
 ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL. 
 P ho gia fatto un gozzo. 
 
 I've grown a goitre by dwelling in this den 
 
 As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy, 
 Or in what other land they hap to be 
 Which drives the belly close beneath the chin : 
 
 My beard turns up to heaven ; my nape falls in, 
 Fixed on my spine : my breast-bone visibly 
 Grows like a harp : a rich embroidery 
 Bedews my face from brush-drops thick and thin. 
 
 My loins into my paunch like levers grind : 
 
 My buttock like a crupper bears my weight ; 
 My feet unguided wander to and fro ; 
 
 In front my skin grows loose and long ; behind, 
 By bending it becomes more taut and strait ; 
 Crosswise I strain me like a Syrian bow : 
 
 Whence false and quaint, I know, 
 Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye ; 
 For ill can aim the gun that bends awry. 
 Come then, Giovanni, try 
 ' To succour my dead pictures and my fame ; 
 Since foul I fare and painting is my shame. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 INVECTIVE AGAINST THE PEOPLE OF PISTOJA. 
 /' /' ho, vostra merd. 
 
 I've gotten it, thanks to your courtesy ; 
 
 And I have read it twenty times or so : 
 
 Thus much may your sharp snarling profit you, 
 
 As food our flesh filled to satiety. 
 
 After I left you, I could plainly see 
 
 How Cain was of your ancestors : I know 
 You do not shame his lineage, for lo, 
 Your brother's good still seems your injury. 
 
 Envious you are, and proud, and foes to heaven ; 
 
 Love of your neighbour still you loathe and hate, 
 And only seek what must your ruin be. 
 
 If to Pistoja Dante's curse was given, 
 
 Bear that in mind ! Enough ! But if you prate 
 Praises of Florence, 'tis to wheedle me. 
 
 A priceless jewel she : 
 Doubtless : but this you cannot understand : 
 For pigmy virtue grasps not aught so grand. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 37 
 
 VII. 
 
 TO LUIGI DEL R ICC 10. 
 Nel dolce d 1 una. 
 
 It happens that the sweet unfathomed sea 
 
 Of seeming courtesy sometimes doth hide 
 Offence to life and honour. This descried, 
 
 , I hold less dear the health restored to me. 
 
 He who lends wings of hope, while secretly 
 
 He spreads a traitorous snare by the wayside, 
 Hath dulled the flame of love, and mortified 
 Friendship where friendship burns most fervently. 
 
 Keep then, my dear Luigi, clear and pure 
 
 That ancient love to which my life I owe, 
 That neither wind nor storm its calm may mar. 
 
 For wrath and pain our gratitude obscure ; 
 And if the truest truth of love I know, 
 One pang outweighs a thousand pleasures far. 
 
38 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 To Luigi DEL RlCCIO, 
 
 AFTER THE DEATH OF CECCHINO BRACCL 
 
 A pena prima. 
 
 Scarce had I seen for the first time his eyes 
 
 Which to your living eyes were life and light, 
 When closed at last in death's injurious night 
 He opened them on God in Paradise. 
 
 I know it and I weep, too late made wise : 
 
 Yet was the fault not mine ; for death's fell spite 
 Robbed my desire of that supreme delight, 
 Which in your better memory never dies. 
 
 Therefore, Luigi, if the task be mine 
 
 To make unique Cecchino smile in stone 
 For ever, now that earth hath made him dim, 
 
 If the beloved within the lover shine, 
 
 Since art without him cannot work alone, 
 You must I carve to tell the world of him. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 39 
 
 IX. 
 
 THANKS FOR A GIFT 
 A I zucchero, alia mida. 
 
 The sugar, candles, and the saddled mule, 
 Together with your cask of malvoisie, . 
 So far exceed all my necessity 
 That Michael and not I my debt must rule. 
 
 In such a glassy calm the breezes fool 
 
 My sinking sails, so that amid the sea 
 
 My bark hath missed her way, and seems to be 
 
 A wisp of straw whirled on a weltering pool. 
 
 To yield thee gift for gift and grace for grace, 
 For food and drink and carriage to and fro, 
 For all my need in every time and place, 
 
 O my dear lord, matched with the much I owe, 
 All that I am were no real recompense : 
 Paying a debt is not munificence. 
 
4o MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 
 
 To Gandolfo Porrino. 
 
 ON HTS MISTRESS FAUSTINA MANCINA. 
 
 La nuova alta beltd. 
 
 That new transcendent fair who seems to be 
 Peerless in heaven as in this world of woe, 
 (The common folk, too blind her worth to know 
 And worship, called her Left Arm wantonly), 
 
 Was made, full well I know, for only thee : 
 
 Nor could I carve or paint the glorious show 
 Of that fair face : to life thou needs must go, 
 To gain the favour thou dost crave of me. 
 
 If like the sun each star of heaven outshining, 
 
 She conquers and outsoars our soaring thought, 
 This bids thee rate her worth at its real price. 
 
 Therefore to satisfy thy ceaseless pining, 
 
 Once more in heaven hath God her beauty wrought 
 God and not I can people Paradise. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 41 
 
 XL 
 
 To Giorgio Vasari. 
 
 ON THE LIVES OF THE PAINTERS. 
 
 Se con lo stile. 
 
 With pencil and with palette hitherto 
 
 You made your art high Nature's paragon ; 
 Nay more, from Nature her own prize you won, 
 Making what she made fair more fair to view. 
 
 Now that your learned hand with labour new 
 Of pen and ink a worthier work hath done, 
 What erst you lacked, what still remained her own, 
 The power of giving life, is gained for you. 
 
 If men in any age with Nature vied 
 
 In beauteous workmanship, they had to yield 
 When to the fated end years brought their name. 
 
 You, reilluming memories that died, 
 
 In spite of Time and Nature have revealed 
 For them and for yourself eternal fame. 
 
42 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 TO VlTTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 A MATCHLESS COURTESY. 
 Felice spirto. 
 
 Blest spirit, who with loving tenderness 
 
 Quickenest my heart so old and near to die, 
 Who mid thy joys on me dost bend an eye 
 Though many nobler men around thee press ! 
 
 As thou wert erewhile wont my sight to bless, 
 So to console my mind thou now dost fly ; 
 ^ Hope therefore stills the pangs of memory, 
 Which coupled with desire my soul distress. 
 
 So finding in thee grace to plead for me 
 
 Thy thoughts for me sunk in so sad a case 
 He who now writes, returns thee thanks for these. 
 
 Lo, it were foul and monstrous usury 
 
 To send thee ugliest paintings in the place 
 Of thy fair spirit's living phantasies. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 43 
 
 XIII. 
 
 To Vittoria Colon na. 
 
 BRAZEN GIFTS FOR GOLDEN. 
 
 Per esser manco almen. 
 
 Seeking at least to be not all unfit 
 
 For thy sublime and boundless courtesy, 
 My lowly thoughts at first were fain to try 
 What they could yield for grace so infinite. 
 
 But now I know my unassisted wit 
 
 Is all too weak to make me soar so high ; 
 For pardon, lady, for this fault I cry, 
 And wiser still I grow remembering it. 
 
 Yea, well I see what folly 'twere to think 
 
 That largess dropped from thee like dews from 
 
 heaven 
 Could e'er be paid by work so frail as mine ! 
 
 To nothingness my art and talent sink ; 
 
 He fails who from his mortal stores hath given 
 A thousandfold to match one gift divine. 
 
44 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 TO VlTTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 THE MODEL AND THE STATUE. 
 Da che concetto. 
 
 When divine Art conceives a form and face, 
 She bids the craftsman for his first essay- 
 To shape a simple model in mere clay : 
 This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace. 
 
 From the live marble in the second place 
 His mallet brings into the light of day 
 A thing so beautiful that who can say 
 When time shall conquer that immortal grace ? 
 
 Thus my own model I was born to be 
 The model of that nobler self, whereto 
 Schooled by your pity, lady, I shall grow. 
 
 Each overplus and each deficiency 
 
 You will make good. What penance then is due 
 For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONAETS. 45 
 
 XIV. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 TO VlTTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 THE MODEL AND THE STATUE. 
 Se ben concetto. 
 
 When that which is divine in us doth try- 
 To shape a face, both brain and hand unite 
 To give, from a mere model frail and slight, 
 Life to the stone by Art's free energy. 
 
 Thus too before the painter dares to ply 
 
 Paint-brush or canvas, he is wont to write 
 Sketches on scraps of paper, and invite 
 Wise minds to judge his figured history. 
 / So, born a model rude and mean to be 
 
 Of my poor self, I gain a nobler birth, 
 Lady, from you, you fountain of all worth ! 
 
 Each overplus and each deficiency 
 
 You will make good. What penance then is due 
 For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you ? 
 
46 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE LOVER AND THE SCULPTOR. 
 Non ha V ottimo artista. 
 
 The best of artists hath no thought to show 
 
 Which the rough stone in its superfluous shell 
 Doth not include : to break the marble spell 
 Is all the hand that serves the brain can do. 
 
 The ill I shun, the good I seek, even so 
 In thee, fair lady, proud, ineffable, 
 Lies hidden : but the art I wield so well 
 Works adverse to my wish, and lays me low. 
 
 Therefore not love, nor thy transcendent face, 
 Nor cruelty, nor fortune, nor disdain, 
 Cause my mischance, nor fate, nor destiny ; 
 
 Since in thy heart thou earnest death and grace 
 Enclosed together, and my worthless brain 
 Can draw forth only death to feed on me. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 47 
 
 XVI. 
 
 LOVE AND ART. 
 
 SI come nella penna. 
 
 As pen and ink alike serve him who sings 
 In high or low or intermediate style ; 
 As the same stone hath shapes both rich and vile 
 To match the fancies that each master brings ; 
 So, my loved lord, within thy bosom springs 
 
 Pride mixed with meekness and kind thoughts that 
 
 smile : 
 Whence I draw nought, my sad self to beguile, 
 But what my face shows dark imaginings. 
 He who for seed sows sorrow, tears, and sighs, 
 
 (The dews that fall from heaven, though pure and 
 
 clear, 
 From different germs take divers qualities) 
 Must needs reap grief and garner weeping eyes ; 
 And he who looks on beauty with sad cheer, 
 Gains doubtful hope and certain miseries. 
 
48 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE ARTIST AND HIS WORK. 
 
 Coin' esser, donna, pub. 
 
 How can that be, lady, which all men learn 
 
 By long experience ? Shapes that seem alive, 
 Wrought in hard mountain marble, will survive 
 Their maker, whom the years to dust return ! 
 
 Thus to effect cause yields. Art hath her turn, 
 And triumphs over Nature. I, who strive 
 With Sculpture, know this well ; her wonders live 
 In spite of time and death, those tyrants stern. 
 
 So I can give long life to both of us 
 
 In either way,, by colour or by stone, 
 Making the semblance of thy face and mine. 
 
 Centuries hence when both are buried, thus 
 
 Thy beauty and my sadness shall be shown, 
 And men shall say, 'For her 'twas wise to pine.' 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 49 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 BEAUTY AND THE ARTIST. 
 A I cor di zolfo. 
 
 A heart of flaming sulphur, flesh of tow, 
 
 Bones of dry wood, a soul without a guide 
 
 To curb the fiery will, the ruffling pride 
 
 Of fierce desires that from the passions flow ; 
 
 A sightless mind that weak and lame doth go 
 
 Mid snares and pitfalls scattered far and wide ; 
 What wonder if the first chance brand applied 
 To fuel massed like this should make it glow ? 
 
 Add beauteous art, which, brought with us from heaven, 
 Will conquer nature ; so divine a power 
 s Belongs to him who strives with every nerve. 
 
 If I was made for art, from childhood given 
 A prey for burning beauty to devour, 
 I blame the mistress I was born to serve. 
 
50 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE AMULET OF LOVE. 
 Io mi son caro assai piu. 
 
 Far more than I was wont myself I prize : 
 With you within my heart I rise in rate, 
 Just as a gem engraved with delicate 
 Devices o'er the uncut stone doth rise ; 
 
 Or as a painted sheet exceeds in price 
 
 Each leaf left pure and in its virgin state : 
 Such then am I since I was consecrate 
 To be the mark for arrows from your eyes. 
 
 Stamped with your seal I'm safe where'er I go, 
 Like one who carries charms or coat of mail 
 Against all dangers that his life assail. 
 
 Nor fire nor water now may work me woe ; 
 Sight to the blind I can restore by you, 
 Heal every wound, and every loss renew. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 51 
 
 V 
 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE GARLAND AND THE GIRDLE. 
 Quant si gode, lieta. 
 
 What joy hath yon glad wreath of flowers that is 
 Around her golden hair so deftly twined, 
 Each"' blossom pressing forward from behind, 
 As though to be the first her brows to kiss ! 
 
 The livelong day her dress hath perfect bliss, 
 
 That now reveals her breast, now seems to bind : 
 And that fair woven net of gold refined 
 Rests on her cheek and throat in happiness ! 
 
 Yet still more blissful seems to me the band 
 Gilt at the tips, so sweetly doth it ring 
 And clasp the bosom that it serves to lace : 
 
 Yea, and the belt to such as understand, 
 
 Bound round her waist, saith : here I'd ever cling. 
 What would my arms do in that girdle's place ? 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE SILKWORM. 
 U altrui pietoso. 
 
 Kind to the world, but to itself unkind, 
 
 A worm is born, that dying noiselessly 
 Despoils itself to clothe fair limbs, and be 
 In its true worth by death alone divined. 
 
 Oh, would that I might die, for her to find 
 Raiment in my outworn mortality ! 
 That, changing like the snake, I might be free 
 To cast the slough wherein I dwell confined ! 
 
 Nay, were it mine, that shaggy fleece that stays, 
 Woven and wrought into a vestment fair, 
 Around her beauteous bosom in such bliss ! 
 
 All through the day she'd clasp me ! Would I were 
 The shoes that bear her burden ! When the ways 
 Were wet with rain, her feet I then should kiss ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 WAITING IN FAITH. "^ 
 Se net volto per gli occhi- 
 
 If through the eyes the heart speaks clear and true, 
 I have no stronger sureties than these eyes 
 For my pure love. Prithee let them suffice, 
 Lord of my soul, pity to gain from you. 
 
 More tenderly perchance than is my due, 
 
 Your spirit sees into my heart, where rise 
 
 The flames of holy worship, nor denies 
 
 The grace reserved for those who humbly sue. 
 
 Oh, blessed day when you at last are mine ! 
 
 Let time stand still, and let noon's chariot stay ; 
 Fixed be that moment on the dial of heaven ! 
 
 That I may clasp and keep, by grace divine, 
 
 Clasp in these yearning arms and keep for aye 
 My heart's loved lord to me desertless given ! 
 
54 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 FLESH AND SPIRIT. I* 
 
 & 
 
 Ben posson gli occhi. 
 
 Well may these eyes of mine both near and far 
 Behold the beams that from thy beauty flow ; 
 But, lady, feet must halt where sight may go : 
 We see, but cannot climb to clasp a star. 
 
 The pure ethereal soul surmounts that bar 
 
 Of flesh, and soars to where thy splendours glow, 
 Free through the eyes ; while prisoned here below, 
 Though fired with fervent love, our bodies are. 
 
 Clogged with mortality and wingless, we 
 Cannot pursue an angel in her flight : 
 Only to gaze exhausts our utmost might. 
 
 Yet, if but heaven like earth incline to thee, 
 Let my whole body be one eye to see, 
 That not one part of me may miss thy sight ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 55 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE DOOM OF BEAUTY. 
 Spirto ben nato. 
 
 Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see, 
 Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate, 
 What beauties heaven and nature can create, 
 The paragon of all their works to be ! 
 
 Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety, 
 
 Have found a home, as from thy outward state 
 We clearly read, and are so rare and great 
 That they adorn none other like to thee ! 
 
 Love takes me captive ; beauty binds my soul ; 
 Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes 
 Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat. 
 
 What law, what destiny, what fell control, 
 What cruelty, or late or soon, denies 
 That death should spare perfection so complete ? 
 
56 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE TRANSFIGURATION OF BEAUTY : 
 
 A DIALOGUE WITH LOVE. 
 
 Dimmi di grazia, amor. 
 
 Nay, prithee tell me, Love, when I behold 
 My lady, do mine eyes her beauty see 
 In truth, or dwells that loveliness in me 
 Which multiplies her grace a thousandfold ? 
 
 Thou needs must know ; for thou with her of old 
 Comest to stir my soul's tranquillity ; 
 Yet would I not seek one sigh less, or be 
 By loss of that loved flame more simply cold. 
 
 The beauty thou discernest, all is hers ; 
 
 But grows in radiance as it soars on high 
 Through mortal eyes unto the soul above : 
 
 'Tis there transfigured ; for the soul confers 
 On what she holds, her own divinity : 
 And this transfigured beauty wins thy love. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 57 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 JOY MAY KILL. . 
 Non men gran grazia, donna. 
 
 Too much good luck no less than misery 
 
 May kill a man condemned to mortal pain, 
 If, lost to hope and chilled in every vein, 
 A sudden pardon comes to set him free. 
 
 Thus thy unwonted kindness shown to me 
 
 Amid the gloom where only sad thoughts reign, 
 With too much rapture bringing light again, 
 Threatens my life more than that agony. 
 
 Good news and bad may bear the self-same knife ; 
 And death may follow both upon their flight ; 
 For hearts that shrink or swell, alike will break. 
 
 Let then thy beauty, to preserve my life, 
 
 Temper the source of this supreme delight, 
 Lest joy so poignant slay a soul so weak. 
 
58 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 NO ESCAPE FROM LOVE. 
 Non posso altra fignra. 
 
 I cannot by the utmost flight of thought 
 
 Conceive another form of air or clay, 
 
 Wherewith against thy beauty to array 
 
 My wounded heart in armour fancy-wrought : 
 For, lacking thee, so low my state is brought, 
 
 That Love hath stolen all my strength away ; 
 
 Whence, when I fain would halve my griefs, they 
 weigh 
 
 With double sorrow, and I sink to nought. 
 Thus all in vain my soul to scape thee flies, 
 
 For ever faster flies her beauteous foe : 
 
 From the swift-footed feebly run the slow ! 
 Yet with his hands Love wipes my weeping eyes, 
 
 Saying, this toil will end in happy cheer ; 
 
 What costs the heart so much, must needs be dear ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 59 
 
 XXVIII. 
 THE HEAVENLY BIRTH OF LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 La vita del mie amor. \ *> 
 
 This heart of flesh feeds not with life my love : 
 
 The love wherewith I love thee hath no heart ; 
 
 Nor harbours it in any mortal part, 
 
 Where erring thought or ill desire may move. 
 
 When first Love sent our souls from God above, 
 He fashioned me to see thee as thou art 
 Pure light ; and thus I find God's counterpart 
 In thy fair face, and feel the sting thereof. 
 
 As heat from fire, from loveliness divine 
 
 The mind that worships what recalls the sun 
 From whence she sprang, can be divided never : 
 
 And since thine eyes all Paradise enshrine, 
 Burning unto those orbs of light I run, 
 There where I loved thee first to dwell for ever. 
 
Go MICHAEL AXGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 LOVE'S DILEMMA. 
 F mi credetti. 
 
 I deemed upon that day when first I knew 
 So many peerless beauties blent in one, 
 That, like an eagle gazing on the sun, 
 Mine eyes might fix on the least part of you. 
 
 That dream hath vanished, and my hope is flown ; 
 For he who fain a seraph would pursue 
 Wingless, hath cast words to the winds, and dew 
 On stones, and gauged God's reason with his own. 
 
 If then my heart cannot endure the blaze 
 
 Of beauties infinite that blind these eyes, 
 Nor yet can bear to be from you divided, 
 
 What fate is mine ? Who guides or guards my ways, 
 Seeing my soul, so lost and ill-betided, 
 Burns in* your presence, in your absence dies ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 61 
 
 XXX. 
 
 To Tommaso de' Cavalieri. /#/ 
 LOVE THE LIGHT-GIVER. 
 Veggio cd bei vostri occhi. 
 
 With your fair eyes a charming light I see, 
 
 For which my own blind eyes would peer in vain ; 
 
 Stayed by your feet the burden I sustain 
 
 Which my lame feet find all too strong for me ; 
 Wingless upon your pinions forth I fly ; 
 
 Heavenward your spirit stirreth me to strain ; 
 
 E'en as you will, I blush and blanch again, 
 
 Freeze in the sun, burn 'neath a frosty sky. 
 Your will includes and is the lord of mine ; 
 
 Life to my thoughts within your heart is given ; 
 
 My words begin to breathe upon your breath : 
 Like to the moon am I, that cannot shine 
 
 Alone ; for lo ! our eyes see nought in heaven 
 
 Save what the living sun illumineth. 
 
62 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 To Tommaso de' Cavalieri.' 
 LOVE'S LORDSHIP. 
 A die piu debU to. 
 
 Why should I seek to ease intense desire 
 
 With still more tears and windy words of grief, 
 When heaven, or late or soon, sends no relief 
 To souls whom love hath robed around with fire ? 
 
 Why need my aching heart to death aspire, 
 
 When all must die ? Nay, death beyond belief 
 Unto these eyes would be both sweet and brief, 
 Since in my sum of woes all joys expire ! 
 
 Therefore because I cannot shun the blow 
 
 I rather seek, say who must rule my breast, 
 Gliding between her gladness and her woe ? 
 
 If only chains and bands can make me blest, 
 No marvel if alone and bare I go 
 An armed Knight's captive and slave confessed. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 63 
 
 XXXII. ~ 3 ^ 
 
 LOVE'S EXPOSTULATION. 
 S' un casto amor. 
 
 If love be chaste, if virtue conquer ill, 
 
 If fortune bind both lovers in one bond, 
 
 If either at the other's grief despond, 
 
 If both be governed by one life, one will ; 
 
 If in two bodies one soul triumph still, 
 
 Raising the twain from earth to heaven beyond, 
 If Love with one blow and one golden wand 
 Have power both smitten breasts to pierce and 
 thrill ; 
 
 If each the other love, himself forgoing, 
 
 With such delight, such savour, and so well, 
 That both to one sole end their wills combine ; 
 
 If thousands of these thoughts, all thought outgoing, 
 Fail the least part of their firm love to tell : 
 Say, can mere angry spite this knot untwine ? 
 
64 MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 
 A PRAYER TO NATURE. 
 
 AMOR REDIVIVUS. 
 
 Perche tuo gran bellezze. 
 
 That thy great beauty on our earth may be 
 Shrined in a lady softer and more kind, 
 I call on nature to collect and bind 
 All those delights the slow years steal from thee, 
 
 And save them to restore the radiancy 
 
 Of thy bright face in some fair form designed 
 By heaven ; and may Love ever bear in mind 
 To mould her heart of grace and courtesy. 
 
 I call on nature too to keep my sighs, 
 
 My scattered tears to take and recombine, 
 And give to him who loves that fair again : 
 
 More happy he perchance shall move those eyes 
 To mercy by the griefs wherewith I pine, 
 Nor lose the kindness that from me is ta'en ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 65 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 A PRAYER TO NATURE. 
 
 AMOR REDIVIVUS. 
 
 Sol perche tue belle zze. 
 
 If only that thy beauties here may be 
 
 Deathless through Time that rends the wreaths he 
 
 twined, 
 I trust that Nature will collect and bind 
 All those delights the slow years steal from thee, 
 
 And keep them for a birth more happily 
 Born under better auspices, refined 
 Into a heavenly form of nobler mind, 
 And dowered with all thine angel purity. 
 
 Ah me ! and may heaven also keep my sighs, 
 My scattered tears preserve and reunite, 
 And give to him who loves that fair again ! 
 
 More happy he perchance shall move those eyes 
 To mercy by the griefs my manhood blight, 
 Nor lose the kindness that from me is ta'en ! 
 
66 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 LOVE'S FURNACE. 
 SI amico al freddo sasso. 
 
 So friendly is the fire to flinty stone, 
 
 That, struck therefrom and kindled to a blaze, 
 I It burns the stone, and from the ash doth raise 
 
 What lives thenceforward binding stones in one : 
 
 Kiln-hardened this resists both frost and sun, 
 Acquiring higher worth for endless days 
 As the purged soul from hell returns with praise, 
 Amid the heavenly host to take her throne. 
 
 E'en so the fire struck from my soul, that lay 
 Close-hidden in my heart, may temper me, 
 Till burned and slaked to better life I rise. 
 
 If, made mere smoke and dust, I live to-day, 
 Fire-hardened I shall live eternally ; 
 Such gold, not iron, my spirit strikes and tries. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 67 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 LOVE'S PARADOXES. /0? 
 Sento d' un foco. 
 
 Far off with fire I feel a cold face lit, 
 
 That makes me burn, the while itself doth freeze : 
 Two fragile arms enchain me, which with ease, 
 Unmoved themselves, can move weights infinite 
 
 A soul none knows but I, most exquisite, 
 
 That, deathless, deals me death, my spirit sees : 
 I meet with one who, free, my heart doth seize : 
 And who alone can cheer, hath tortured it. 
 
 How can it be that from one face like thine 
 My own should feel effects so contrary, 
 Since ill comes not from things devoid of ill ? 
 
 That loveliness perchance doth make me pine, 
 Even as the sun, whose fiery beams we see, 
 Inflames the world, while he is temperate still. 
 
68 MICHAEL ANGELO'S S VA NETS. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 LOVE MISINTERPRETED. 
 Se V immortal desio. 
 
 If the undying thirst that purifies 
 
 Our mortal thoughts, could draw mine to the day, 
 Perchance the lord who now holds cruel sway 
 In Love's high house, would prove more kindly- 
 wise. 
 
 But since the laws of heaven immortalise 
 
 Our souls, and doom our flesh to swift decay, 
 Tongue cannot tell how fair, how pure as day, 
 
 _^ Is the soul's thirst that far beyond it lies. 
 
 How then, ah woe is me ! shall that chaste fire, 
 
 Which burns the heart within me, be made known, 
 If sense finds only sense in what it sees ? 
 
 All my fair hours are turned to miseries 
 
 With my loved lord, who minds but lies alone ; 
 For, truth to tell, who trusts not is a liar. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 69 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Perhaps to Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 LOVE'S SERVITUDE. 
 S' alcun legato e pur. 
 
 He who is bound by some great benefit, 
 
 As to be raised from death to life again, 
 How shall he recompense that gift, or gain 
 Freedom from servitude so infinite ? 
 
 Yet if 'twere possible to pay the debt, 
 
 He'd lose that kindness which we entertain 
 For those who serve us well ; since it is plain 
 
 That kindness needs some boon to quicken it. 
 
 Wherefore, O lady, to maintain thy grace, 
 So far above my fortune, what I bring 
 Is rather thanklessness than courtesy : 
 
 For if both met as equals face to face, 
 
 She whom I love could not be called my king ;- 
 There is no lordship in equality. 
 
jo MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 LOVE'S VAIN EXPENSE. 
 Rendete a gli occhi miei. 
 
 Give back unto mine eyes, ye fount and rill, 
 
 Those streams, not yours, that are so full and strong, 
 That swell your springs, and roll your waves along 
 With force unwonted in your native hill ! 
 
 And thou, dense air, weighed with my sighs so chill, 
 That hidest heaven's own light thick mists among, 
 Give back those sighs to my sad heart, nor wrong 
 My visual ray with thy dark face of ill ! 
 
 Let earth give back the footprints that I wore, 
 
 That the bare grass I spoiled may sprout again ; 
 And Echo, now grown deaf, my cries return ! 
 
 Loved eyes, unto mine eyes those looks restore, 
 And let me woo another not in vain, 
 Since how to please thee I shall never learn ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 71 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 LOVE'S ARGUMENT WITH REASON. 
 La ragion meco si lamenta. 
 
 Reason laments and grieves full sore with me, 
 The while I hope by loving to be blest ; 
 With precepts sound and true philosophy 
 My shame she quickens thus within my breast : 
 
 ' What else but death will that sun deal to thee 
 Nor like the phcenix in her flaming nest ? ' 
 Yet nought avails this wise morality ; 
 No hand can save a suicide confessed. 
 
 I know my doom ; the truth I apprehend : 
 But on the other side my traitorous heart 
 Slays me whene'er to wisdom's words I bend. 
 
 Between two deaths my lady stands apart : 
 
 This death I dread ; that none can comprehend. 
 In this suspense body and soul must part. 
 
72 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XL. 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 
 ' LOVE'S LOADSTONE. 
 No so s' k la desiata luce. 
 
 I know not if it be the longed-for light 
 
 Of her first Maker which the spirit feels ; 
 
 Or if a time-old memory reveals 
 
 Some other beauty for the heart's delight ; 
 
 Or fame or dreams beget that vision bright, 
 
 Sweet to the eyes, which through the bosom steals, 
 Leaving I know not what that wounds and heals, 
 And now perchance hath made me weep outright. 
 
 Be this what this may be, 'tis this I seek : 
 
 Nor guide have I ; nor know I where to find 
 That burning fire ; yet some one seems to lead. 
 
 This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak ; 
 
 A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind, 
 And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 73 
 
 XL. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 LOVE'S LOADSTONE. 
 Non so se s' e V immaginata luce. 
 
 I know not if it be the fancied light 
 
 Which every man or more or less doth feel ; 
 
 Or if the mind and memory reveal 
 
 Some other beauty for the heart's delight ; 
 
 Or if within the soul the vision bright 
 
 Of her celestial home once more doth steal, 
 Drawing our better thoughts with pure appeal 
 To the true Good above all mortal sight : 
 
 This light I long for and unguided seek ; 
 
 This fire that burns my heart, I cannot find ; 
 
 Nor know the way, though some one seems to lead. 
 
 This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak : 
 
 A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind ; 
 And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed. 
 
74 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 
 Colui che fece. 
 
 He who ordained, when first the world began, 
 Time, that was not before creation's hour, 
 Divided it, and gave the sun's high power 
 To rule the one, the moon the other span : 
 
 Thence fate and changeful chance and fortune's ban 
 Did in one moment down on mortals shower : 
 To me they portioned darkness for a dower ; 
 Dark hath my lot been since I was a man. 
 
 Myself am ever mine own counterfeit ; 
 
 And as deep night grows still more dim and dun, 
 So still of more misdoing must I rue : 
 
 Meanwhile this solace to my soul is sweet, 
 
 That my black night doth make more clear the sun 
 Which at your birth was given to wait on you. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 75 
 
 XLII. 
 
 SACRED NIGHT. 
 
 Ogni van chiuso. 
 
 All hollow vaults and dungeons sealed from sight, 
 All caverns circumscribed with roof and wall, 
 Defend dark Night, though noon around her fall, 
 From the fierce play of solar day-beams bright. 
 
 But if she be assailed by fire or light, 
 
 Her powers divine are nought ; they tremble all 
 Before things far more vile and trivial 
 Even a glow-worm can confound their might. 
 
 The earth that lies bare to the sun, and breeds 
 A thousand germs that burgeon and decay 
 This earth is wounded by the ploughman's share 
 
 But only darkness serves for human seeds ; 
 
 Night therefore is more sacred far than day, 
 Since man excels all fruits however fair. 
 
76 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 THE IMPEACHMENT OF NIGHT. 
 
 
 
 Perche Febo non torce. 
 
 What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend 
 His shining arms around this terrene sphere, 
 The people call that season dark and drear 
 Night, for the cause they do not comprehend. 
 
 So weak is Night that if our hand extend 
 
 A glimmering torch, her shadows disappear, 
 Leaving her dead '; like frailest gossamere, 
 Tinder and steel her mantle rive and rend. 
 
 Nay, if this Night be anything at all, 
 
 Sure she is daughter of the sun and earth ; 
 This holds, the other spreads that shadowy pall. 
 
 Howbeit they err who praise this gloomy birth, 
 So frail and desolate and void of mirth 
 That one poor firefly can her might appal. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLIV. \ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE DEFENCE OF NIGHT. 
 O not? o dolce tempo. 
 
 O night, O sweet though sombre span of time ! 
 All things find rest upon their journey's end 
 Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend ; 
 And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom's prime. 
 
 Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime ; 
 
 For dews and darkness are of peace the friend : 
 
 Often by thee in dreams upborne, I wend 
 
 From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb. 
 
 Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length 
 Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart, 
 Whom mourners find their last and sure relief ! 
 
 Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength, 
 Driest our tears, assuagest every smart, 
 Purging the spirits of the pure from grief. 
 
7 8 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 LOVE FEEDS THE FLAME OF AGE. 
 
 Quand! il servo il signior. 
 
 When masters bind a slave with cruel chain, 
 
 And keep him hope-forlorn in bondage pent, 
 Use tames his temper to imprisonment, 
 And hardly would he fain be free again. 
 
 Use curbs the snake and tiger, and doth train 
 Fierce woodland lions to bear chastisement ; 
 And the young artist, all with toil forspent, 
 By constant use a giant's strength doth gain. 
 
 But with the force of flame it is not so : 
 
 For while fire sucks the sap of the green wood, 
 It warms a frore old man and makes him grow; 
 
 With such fine heat of youth and lustihood 
 Filling his heart and teaching it to glow, 
 That love enfolds him with beatitude. 
 If then in playful mood 
 He sport and jest, old age need no man blame ; 
 For loving things divine implies no shame. 
 The soul that knows her aim, 
 Sins not by loving God's own counterfeit 
 Due measure kept, and bounds, and order meet. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELCTS SONNETS. 79 
 
 XLVL 
 
 LOVES FLAME DOTH FEED ON AGE. 
 Se da' prhfi anni. 
 
 If some mild heat of love in youth confessed 
 
 Burns a fresh heart with swift consuming fire, 
 What will the force be of a flame more dire 
 Shut up within an old man's cindery breast ? 
 
 If the mere lapse of lengthening years hath pressed 
 So sorely that life, strength, and vigour tire, 
 How shall he fare who must ere long expire, 
 When to old age is added love's unrest ? 
 
 Weak as myself, he will be whirled away 
 
 Like dust by winds kind in their cruelty, 
 Robbing the loathly worm of its last prey. 
 
 A little flame consumed and fed on me 
 
 In my green age : now that the wood is dry, 
 What hope against this fire more fierce have I ? 
 
So MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 BEAUTY'S INTOLERABLE SPLENDOUR. 
 Se 7 foco alia belle zza. 
 
 If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes 
 
 Were equal with their beauty, all the snow 
 And frost of all the world would melt and glow 
 Like brands that blaze beneath fierce tropic skies. 
 
 But heaven in mercy to our miseries 
 
 Dulls and divides the fiery beams that flow 
 From thy great loveliness, that we may go 
 Through this stern mortal life in tranquil wise. 
 
 Thus beauty burns not with consuming rage ; 
 For so much only of the heavenly light 
 Inflames our love as finds a fervent heart. 
 
 This is my case, lady, in sad old age : 
 
 If seeing thee, I do not die outright, 
 'Tis that I feel thy beauty but in part. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. Si 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 LOVE'S EVENING. 
 Se 7 troppo indugio. 
 
 What though long waiting wins more happiness 
 Than petulant desire is wont to gain; 
 My luck in latest age hath brought me pain, 
 Thinking how brief must be an old man's bliss. 
 
 Heaven, if it heed our lives, can hardly bless 
 
 This fire of love when frosts are wont to reign : 
 
 For so I love thee, lady, and my strain 
 
 Of tears through age exceeds in tenderness. 
 
 Yet peradventure though my day is done, 
 
 Though nearly past the setting mid thick cloud 
 And frozen exhalations sinks my sun, 
 
 If love to only mid-day be allowed, 
 
 And I an old man in my evening burn, 
 You, lady, still my night to noon may turn. 
 
82 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLIX. 
 LOVE'S EXCUSE. 
 Dal dolcie pianto. 
 
 From happy tears to woeful smiles, from peace 
 Eternal to a brief and hollow truce, 
 How have I fallen ! when 'tis truth we lose, 
 Sense triumphs o'er all adverse impulses. 
 
 I know not if my heart bred this disease, 
 
 That still more pleasing grows with growing use ; 
 Or else thy face, thine eyes, which stole the hues 
 And fires of Paradise less fair than these. 
 
 Thy beauty is no mortal thing ; 'twas sent 
 
 From heaven on high to make our earth divine : 
 Wherefore, though wasting, burning, I'm content 
 
 For in thy sight what could I do but pine ? 
 If God himself thus rules my destiny, 
 Who, when I die, can lay the blame on thee ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 83 
 
 L. 
 
 IN LOVE'S OWN TIME. 
 S' ? avessi creduto. 
 
 Had I but earlier known that from the eyes 
 
 Of that bright soul that fires me like the sun, 
 I might have drawn new strength my race to run, 
 Burning as burns the phcenix ere it dies ; 
 
 Even as the stag or lynx or leopard flies 
 
 To seek his pleasure and his pain to shun, 
 Each word, each smile of her would I have won, 
 Flying where now sad age all flight denies. 
 
 Yet why complain ? For even now I find 
 In that glad angel's face, so full of rest, 
 Health and content, heart's ease and peace of mind 
 
 Perchance I might have been less simply blest, 
 Finding her sooner : if 'tis age alone 
 That lets me soar w r ith her to seek God's throne. 
 
 g 2 
 
84 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 , LI. 
 
 FIRSr READING. 
 
 LOVE IN YOUTH AND AGE. 
 Tornami al tempo. 
 
 Bring back the time when blind desire ran free, 
 With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight ; 
 Give back the buried face, once angel-bright, 
 That hides in earth all comely things from me ; 
 
 Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, 
 
 So toilsome-slow to one whose hairs are white ; 
 Those tears and flames that in one breast unite 
 If thou wilt once more take thy fill of me ! 
 
 Yet Love ! Suppose it true that thou dost thrive 
 Only on bitter honey-dews of tears, 
 Small profit hast thou of a weak old man. 
 
 My soul that toward the other shore doth strive, 
 
 Wards off thy darts with shafts of holier fears ; 
 And fire feeds ill on brands no breath can fan. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELCTS SONNETS. 
 
 LI. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 LOVE IN YOUTH AND AGE. 
 Tcrnami al tempo. 
 
 Bring back the time when glad desire ran free 
 With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight, 
 The tears and flames that in one breast unite, 
 If thou art fain once more to conquer me ! 
 
 Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, 
 
 So toilsome-slow to him whose hairs are white ! 
 Give back the buried face once angel-bright, 
 That taxed all Nature's art and industry. 
 
 O Love ! an old man finds it hard to chase 
 
 Thy flying pinions ! Thou hast left thy nest ; 
 Nor is my heart as light as heretofore. 
 
 Put thy gold arrows to the string once more : 
 
 Then if Death hear my prayer and grant me grace, 
 My grief I shall forget, again made blest. 
 
86 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS 
 
 LIL *V) 
 CELESTIAL LOVE. 
 Non vider gli occhi miei. 
 
 I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes 
 
 When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found ; 
 But far within, where all is holy ground, 
 My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies : 
 
 For sne was born with God in Paradise ; 
 
 Else should we still to transient loves be bound ; 
 But, finding these so false, we pass beyond 
 Unto the Love of Loves that never dies. 
 
 Nay, things that die, cannot assuage the thirst 
 Of souls undying ; nor Eternity 
 Serves Time, where all must fade that flourisheth. 
 
 Sense is not love, but lawlessness accurst : 
 
 This kills the soul ; while our love lifts on high 
 Our friends on earth higher in heaven through 
 death 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 87 
 
 CELESTIAL AND EARTHLY LOVE. 
 Non sempre di colpa. 
 
 Love is not always harsh and deadly sin : 
 If it be love of loveliness divine, 
 It leaves the heart all soft and infantine 
 For rays of God's own grace to enter in. 
 
 Love fits the soul with wings, and bids her win 
 Her flight aloft nor e'er to earth decline ; 
 Tis the first step that leads her to the shrine 
 Of Him who slakes the thirst that burns within. 
 
 The love of that whereof I speak, ascends : 
 Woman is different far ; the love of her 
 But ill befits a heart all manly wise. 
 
 The one love soars, the other downward tends ; 
 The soul lights this, while that the senses stir, 
 And still his arrow at base quarry flies. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 LOVE LIFTS TO GOD. 
 
 Veggio nel tuo bel viso. 
 
 From thy fair face I learn, O my loved lord, 
 
 That which no mortal tongue can rightly say ; 
 The soul, imprisoned in her house of clay, 
 Holpen by thee to God hath often soared : 
 
 And though the vulgar, vain, malignant horde 
 Attribute what their grosser wills obey, 
 Yet shall this fervent homage that I pay, 
 This love, this faith, pure joys for us afford. 
 
 Lo, all the lovely things we find on earth, 
 Resemble for the soul that rightly sees, 
 That source of bliss divine which gave us birth 
 
 IN or have we first-fruits or remembrances 
 
 Of heaven elsewhere. Thus, loving loyally, 
 I rise to God and make death sweet by thee. 
 
MICHAEL ANCELO'S SONNETS. S 9 
 
 LV. 
 
 LOVE'S ENTXEATV. 
 
 Tu sa } ch! i' so, Signor mie. 
 
 Thou knovvest, love, I know that thou dost know 
 That I am here more near to thee to be, 
 And knowest that I know thou knowest me : 
 What means it then that we are sundered so ? 
 
 If they are true, these hopes that from thee flow, 
 If it is real, this sweet expectancy, 
 Break down the wall that stands 'twixt me and thee ; 
 For pain in prison pent hath double woe. 
 
 Because in thee I love, O my loved lord, 
 
 What thou best lovest, be not therefore stern : 
 Souls burn for souls, spirits to spirits cry ! 
 
 I seek the splendour in thy fair face stored ; 
 
 Yet living man that beauty scarce can learn, 
 And he who fain would find it, first must die. 
 
9 o MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 
 HEAVEN-BORN BEAUTY. 
 Per ritor7tar la. 
 
 As one who will reseek her home of light, 
 Thy form immortal to this prison-house 
 Descended, like an angel piteous, 
 To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright. 
 
 'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight, 
 Not thy clear face of beauty glorious ; 
 For he who harbours virtue, still will choose 
 To love what neither years nor death can blight. 
 
 So fares it ever with things high and rare 
 
 Wrought in the sweat of nature ; heaven above 
 Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime : 
 
 Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere 
 More clearly than in human forms sublime : 
 Which, since they image Him, alone I love. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 91 
 
 LVI. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 HEAVEN-BORN BEAUTY. 
 Venne, non so ben donde. 
 
 It came, I know not whence, from far above, 
 
 That clear immortal flame that still doth rise 
 
 Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies, 
 
 And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new love. 
 
 This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof ; 
 Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes : 
 For love that is not love for aught that dies, 
 Dwells in the soul where no base passions move. 
 
 If then such loveliness upon its own 
 
 Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth, 
 The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within. 
 
 To gain our love God hath not clearer shown 
 
 Himself elsewhere : thus heaven doth vie with earth 
 To make thee worthy worship without sin. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LVIL 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 
 CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL LOVE. 
 Passa per gli occhi. 
 
 Swift through the eyes unto the heart within 
 
 All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray ; 
 So smooth and broad and open is the way 
 That thousands and not hundreds enter in. 
 
 Burdened with scruples and weighed down with sin, 
 These mortal beauties fill me with dismay ; 
 Nor find I one that doth not strive to stay 
 My soul on transient joy, or lets me win 
 
 The heaven I yearn for. Lo, when erring love 
 Who fills the world, howe'er his power we shun, 
 Else were the world a grave and we undone 
 
 Assails the soul, if grace refuse to fan 
 
 Our purged desires and make them soar above, 
 What grief it were to have been born a man ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 93 
 
 LVII. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL LOVE. 
 Passa per gli occhi. 
 
 Swift through the eyes unto the heart within 
 All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray ; 
 So smooth and broad and open is the way 
 That thousands and not hundreds enter in 
 
 Of every age and sex : whence I begin, 
 
 Burdened with griefs, but more with dull dismay, 
 To fear ; nor find mid all their bright array 
 One that with full content my heart may win. 
 
 If mortal beauty be the food of love, 
 
 It came not with the soul from heaven, and thus 
 That love itself must be a mortal fire : 
 
 But if love reach to nobler hopes above, 
 
 Thy love shall scorn me not nor dread desire 
 That seeks a carnal prey assailing us. 
 
94 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 Ognor che /' idol mio. 
 
 Whene'er the idol of these eyes appears 
 
 Unto my musing heart so weak and strong, 
 Death comes between her and my soul ere long 
 Chasing her thence with troops of gathering fears. 
 
 Nathless this violence my spirit cheers 
 
 With better hope than if she had no wrong ; 
 
 While Love invincible arrays the throng 
 
 Of dauntless thoughts, and thus harangues his peers 
 
 But once, he argues, can a mortal die ; 
 
 But once be born : and he who dies afire, 
 What shall he gain if erst he dwelt with me ? 
 
 That burning love whereby the soul flies free, 
 Doth lure each fervent spirit to aspire 
 Like gold refined in flame to God on high. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 95 
 
 LIX. 
 
 LOVE IS A REFINERS FIRE. 
 
 Non pih ch 'Ifoco ilfabbro. 
 
 It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue 
 
 Unto fair form, the image of their thought : 
 Nor without fire hath any artist wrought 
 Gold to its utmost purity of hue. 
 
 Nay, nor the unmatched phoenix lives anew, 
 Unless she burn : if then I am distraught 
 By fire, I may to better life be brought 
 Like those whom death restores nor years undo. 
 
 The fire whereof I speak, is my great cheer ; 
 Such power it hath to renovate and raise 
 Me who was almost numbered with the dead ; 
 
 And since by nature fire doth find its sphere 
 Soaring aloft, and I am all ablaze, 
 Heavenward with it my flight must needs be sped. 
 
96 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LX. 
 
 FIRST READING. 
 
 LOVE'S JUSTIFICATION. 
 Ben pub talor col mio. 
 
 Sometimes my love I dare to entertain 
 
 With soaring hope not over-credulous ; 
 Since if all human loves were impious, 
 Unto what end did God the world ordain ? 
 
 For loving thee what license is more plain 
 Than that I praise thereby the glorious 
 Source of all joys divine, that comfort us 
 In thee, and with chaste fires our soul sustain ? 
 
 False hope belongs unto that love alone 
 
 Which with declining beauty wanes and dies, 
 And, like the face it worships, fades away. 
 
 That hope is true which the pure heart hath known, 
 Which alters not with time or death's decay, 
 Yielding on earth earnest of Paradise. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 97 
 
 LX. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 LOVE'S JUSTIFICATION. 
 Ben pub talor col casto. 
 
 It must be right sometimes to entertain 
 
 Chaste love with hope not over-credulous ; 
 Since if all human loves were impious, 
 Unto what end did God the world ordain ? 
 
 If I love thee and bend beneath thy reign, 
 Tis for the sake of beauty glorious 
 Which in thine eyes divine is stored for us, 
 And drives all evil thought from its domain. 
 
 That is not love whose tyranny we own 
 In loveliness that every moment dies ; 
 Which, like the face it worships, fades away : 
 
 True love is that which the pure heart hath known, 
 Which alters not with time or death's decay, 
 Yielding on earth earnest of Paradise. 
 
 11 
 
98 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SO.VNETS. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 After the Death of Vittoria Colonna. 
 IRREPARABLE LOSS. 
 Se 7 mie rozzo martello. 
 
 When my rude hammer to the stubborn stone 
 
 Gives human shape, now that, now this, at will, 
 Following his hand who wields and guides it still, 
 It moves upon another's feet alone : 
 
 But that which dwells in heaven, the world doth fill 
 With beauty by pure motions of its own ; 
 And since tools fashion tools which else were none, 
 Its life makes all that lives with living skill. 
 
 Now, for that every stroke excels the more 
 The higher at the forge it doth ascend, 
 Her soul that fashioned mine hath sought the skies : 
 
 Wherefore unfinished I must meet my end, 
 If God, the great artificer, denies 
 That aid which was unique on earth before. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 99 
 
 LXII. 
 
 After the Death of Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 LOVE'S TRIUMPH OVER DEATH. 
 
 Quand' el ministro dc' sospir. 
 
 When she who was the source of all my sighs, 
 
 Fled from the world, herself, my straining sight, 
 Nature who gave us that unique delight, 
 Was sunk in shame, and we had weeping eyes. 
 
 Yet shall not vauntful Death enjoy this prize, 
 
 This sun of suns which then he veiled in night ; 
 For Love hath triumphed, lifting up her light 
 On earth and mid the saints in Paradise. 
 
 What though remorseless and impiteous doom 
 
 Deemed that the music of her deeds would die, 
 And that her splendour would be sunk in gloom, 
 
 The poet's page exalts her to the sky 
 
 With life more living in the lifeless tomb, 
 And death translates her soul to reign on high. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 After the Death of Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 AFTER SUNSET. 
 
 Be' mi dove\ 
 
 Well might I in those days so fortunate, 
 
 What time the sun lightened my path above, 
 Have soared from earth to heaven, raised by her love 
 Who winged my labouring soul and sweetened fate. 
 
 That sun hath set ; and I with hope elate 
 
 Who deemed that those bright days would never move, 
 Find that my thankless soul, deprived thereof, 
 Declines to death, while heaven still bars the gate. 
 
 Love lent me wings ; my path was like a stair ; 
 A lamp unto my feet, that sun was given ; 
 And death was safety and great joy to find. 
 
 But dying now, I shall not climb to heaven; 
 
 Nor can mere memory cheer my heart's despair : 
 What help remains when hope is left behind ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 101 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 After the Death of Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 A WASTED BRAND. 
 
 Qual maraviglia e. 
 
 If being near the fire I burned with it, 
 
 Now that its flame is quenched and doth not show, 
 What wonder if I waste within and glow, 
 Dwindling away to cinders bit by bit ? 
 
 While still it burned, I saw so brightly lit 
 
 That splendour whence I drew my grievous woe, 
 That from its sight alone could pleasure flow, 
 And death and torment both seemed exquisite. 
 
 But now that heaven hath robbed me of the blaze 
 
 Of that great fire which burned and nourished me, 
 A coal that smoulders 'neath the ash am I. 
 Unless Love furnish wood fresh flames to raise, 
 I shall expire with not one spark to see, 
 So quickly into embers do I die ! 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 To Giorgio Vasari. 
 ON THE BRINK OF DEATH. , 
 Giunto e gia. 
 
 Now hath my life across a stormy sea 
 
 Like a frail bark reached that wide port where all 
 Are bidden, ere the final reckoning fall 
 Of good and evil for eternity. 
 
 Now know I well how that fond phantasy 
 
 Which made my soul the worshipper and thrall 
 Of earthly art, is vain ; how criminal 
 Is that which all men seek unwillingly. 
 
 Those amorous thoughts which were so lightly dressed, 
 What are they when the double death is nigh ? 
 The one I know for sure, the other dread. 
 
 Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest 
 
 My soul that turns to His great love on high, 
 Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 103 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 To Giorgio Vasari. 
 
 VANITY OF VANITIES. 
 
 Le favole del mondo. 
 
 The fables of the world have filched away 
 The time I had for thinking upon God ; 
 His grace lies buried 'neath oblivion's sod, 
 Whence springs an evil crop of sins alway. 
 
 What makes another wise, leads me astray, 
 
 Slow to discern the bad path I have trod : 
 Hope fades ; but still desire ascends that God 
 May free me from self-love, my sure decay. 
 
 Shorten half-way my road to heaven from earth ! 
 Dear Lord, I cannot even half-way rise, 
 Unless Thou help me on this pilgrimage. 
 
 Teach me to hate the world so little worth, 
 
 And all the lovely things I clasp and prize ; 
 That endless life, ere death, may be my wage. 
 
104 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR FAITH. 
 Non pih bassa. 
 
 There's not on earth a thing more vile and base 
 Than, lacking Thee, I feel myself to be : 
 For pardon prays my own debility, 
 Yearning in vain to lift me to Thy face. 
 
 Stretch to me, Lord, that chain whose links enlace 
 All heavenly gifts and all felicity 
 Faith, whereunto I strive perpetually, 
 Yet cannot find (my fault) her perfect grace. 
 
 That gift of gifts, the rarer 'tis, the more 
 
 I count it great ; more great, because to earth 
 Without it neither peace nor joy is given. 
 
 If Thou Thy blood so lovingly didst pour, 
 Let not that bounty fail or suffer dearth, 
 Withholding Faith that opes the doors of heaven. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS 105 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 To Monsignor Lodovico Beccadelli. 
 
 URBINO. 
 
 Per croce e grazia. 
 
 God's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied, 
 
 Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know : 
 Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below 
 Why need a little solace be denied ? 
 
 Though seas and mountains and rough ways divide 
 Our feet asunder, neither frost nor snow 
 Can make the soul her ancient love forgo ; 
 Nor chains nor bonds the wings of thought have tied. 
 
 Borne by these wings with thee I dwell for aye, 
 And weep, and of my dead Urbino talk, 
 Who, were he living, now perchance would be, 
 
 For so 'twas planned, thy guest as well as I : 
 Warned by his death another way I walk 
 To meet him where he waits to live with me. 
 
io6 MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 WAITING FOR DEATH. 
 Di morte certo. 
 
 My death must come ; but when, I do not know : 
 Life's short, and little life remains for me : 
 Fain would my flesh abide ; my soul would flee 
 Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go. 
 
 Blind is the world ; and evil here below 
 
 O'erwhelms and triumphs over honesty : 
 
 The light is quenched ; quenched too is bravery : 
 
 Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show. 
 
 When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits 
 Who trusts in Thee ? Lo, this prolonged delay 
 Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life. 
 
 Why streams the light from those celestial gates, 
 If death prevent the day of grace, and stay 
 Our souls for ever in the toils of strife ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 107 
 
 LXX. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH. 
 Carico c anni. 
 
 Burdened with years and full of sinfulness, 
 With evil custom grown inveterate, 
 Both deaths I dread that close before me wait, 
 Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less. 
 
 No strength I find in mine own feebleness 
 To change or life or love or use or fate, 
 Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late, 
 Which only helps and stays our nothingness. 
 
 'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn 
 For that celestial home, where yet my soul 
 May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought : 
 
 Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn 
 
 My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole 
 And pure before Thy face she may be brought. 
 
io8 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR PURIFICATION. 
 Forse perchk d' altrui. 
 
 Perchance that I might learn what pity is, 
 
 That I might laugh at erring men no more, 
 Secure in my own strength as heretofore, 
 My soul hath fallen from her state of bliss : 
 
 Nor know I under any flag but this 
 
 How righting I may 'scape those perils sore, 
 Or how survive the rout and horrid roar 
 Of adverse hosts, if I Thy succour miss. 
 
 O flesh ! O blood ! O cross ! O pain extreme ! 
 By you may those foul sins be purified, 
 Wherein my fathers were, and I was born ! 
 
 Lo, Thou alone art good : let Thy supreme 
 Pity my state of evil cleanse and hide 
 So near to death, so far from God, forlorn. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 109 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR AID. 
 
 Deh fammiti vedere. 
 
 Oh, make me see Thee, Lord, where'er I go ! 
 If mortal beauty sets my soul on fire, 
 That flame when near to Thine must needs expire, 
 And I with love of only Thee shall glow. 
 
 Dear Lord, Thy help I seek against this woe, 
 These torments that my spirit vex and tire ; 
 Thou only with new strength canst re-inspire 
 My will, my sense, my courage faint and low. 
 
 Thou gavest me on earth this soul divine ; 
 
 And Thou within this body weak and frail 
 Didst prison it how sadly there to live ! 
 
 How can I make its lot less vile than mine ? 
 
 Without Thee, Lord, all goodness seems to fail. 
 To alter fate is God's prerogative. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS. 
 
 Scarco d y urt hnportuna. 
 
 Freed from a burden sore and grievous band, 
 
 Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied, 
 Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side, 
 As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land. 
 
 Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand, 
 With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide 
 Promise of help and mercies multiplied, 
 And hope that yet my soul secure may stand. 
 
 Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see 
 
 My evil past, Thy chastened ears to hear 
 And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime : 
 
 Let Thy blood only lave and succour me, 
 
 Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer, 
 As older still I grow with lengthening time. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNE! S. 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 FIRST READING, 
 
 A PRAYER FOR GRACE IN DEATH. 
 S y avvien die spesso. 
 
 What though strong love of life doth flatter me 
 With hope of yet more years on earth to stay, 
 Death none the less draws nearer day by day, 
 Who to sad souls alone comes lingeringly. 
 
 Yet why desire long life and jollity, 
 
 If in our griefs alone to God we pray ? 
 
 Glad fortune, length of days, and pleasure slay 
 
 The soul that trusts to their felicity. 
 
 Then if at any hour through grace divine 
 
 The fiery shafts of love and faith that cheer 
 And fortify the soul, my heart assail, 
 
 Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine, 
 
 Straight may I wing my way to heaven ; for here 
 With lengthening days good thoughts and wishes fail. 
 
12 MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 SECOND READING. 
 
 A PRAYER FOR GRACE IN DEATH. 
 Par mi che spesso. 
 
 Ofttimes my great desire doth flatter me 
 
 With hope on earth yet many years to stay : 
 Still Death, the more I love it, day by day 
 Takes from the life I love so tenderly. 
 
 What better time for that dread change could be, 
 If in our griefs alone to God we pray ? 
 Oh, lead me, Lord, oh, lead me far away 
 From every thought that lures my soul from Thee ! 
 
 Yea, if at any hour, through grace of Thine, 
 
 The fervent zeal of love and faith that cheer 
 And fortify the soul, my heart assail, 
 
 Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine, 
 Plant, like a saint in heaven, that virtue here ; 
 For, lacking Thee, all good must faint and fail. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 113 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 HEART-COLDNESS. 
 
 Vorrei voter, Signior. 
 
 Fain would I wish what my heart cannot will : 
 Between it and the fire a veil of ice 
 Deadens the fire, so that I deal in lies ; 
 My words and actions are discordant still. 
 
 I love Thee with my tongue, then mourn my fill ; 
 For love warms not my heart, nor can I rise, 
 Or ope the doors of Grace, who from the skies 
 Might flood my soul, and pride and passion kill. 
 
 Rend Thou the veil, dear Lord ! Break Thou that wall 
 Which with its stubbornness retards the rays 
 Of that bright sun this earth hath dulled for me ! 
 
 Send down Thy promised light to cheer and fall 
 
 On Thy fair spouse, that I with love may blaze, 
 And, free from doubt, my heart feel only Thee ! 
 
i 4 MICHAEL ANGELAS SONNETS. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 THE DEATH OF CHRIST. 
 Nonfur men lieti. 
 
 Not less elate than smitten with wild woe 
 
 To see not them but Thee by death undone, 
 Were those blest souls, when Thou above the sun 
 Didst raise, by dying, men that lay so low : 
 
 Elate, since freedom from all ills that flow 
 
 From their first fault for Adam's race was won ; 
 Sore smitten, since in torment fierce God's son 
 Served servants on the cruel cross below. 
 
 Heaven showed she knew Thee, who Thou wert and 
 whence, 
 Veiling her eyes above the riven earth ; 
 The mountains trembled and the seas were troubled. 
 
 He took the Fathers from hell's darkness dense : 
 The torments of the damned fiends redoubled : 
 Man only joyed, who gained baptismal birth. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO'S SONNETS. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 THE BLOOD OF CHRIST. 
 
 Mentre nC attrista. 
 
 Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer 
 In thinking of the past, when I recall 
 My weakness and my sins, and reckon all 
 The vain expense of days that disappear : 
 
 This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear 
 The frailty of what men delight miscall ; 
 But saddens me to think how rarely fall 
 God's grace and mercies in life's latest year. 
 
 For though Thy promises our faith compel, 
 
 Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain 
 That pity will condone our long neglect ? 
 
 Still from Thy blood poured forth we know full well 
 How without measure was Thy martyr's pain, 
 How measureless the gifts we dare expect. 
 
 I 2 
 
THE SONNETS 
 
 TOMMASO CAMPANELLA 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 119 
 
 THE PROEM. 
 Io che nacqui dal Senno. 
 
 Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy, 
 
 Keen lover of true beauty and true good, 
 I call the vain self-traitorous multitude 
 Back to my mother's milk ; for it is she, 
 
 Faithful to God her spouse, who nourished me, 
 Making me quick and active to intrude 
 Within the inmost veil, where I have viewed 
 And handled all things in eternity. 
 
 If the whole world's our home where we may run, 
 Up, friends, forsake those secondary schools 
 Which give grains, units, inches for the whole ! 
 
 If facts surpass mere words, melt pride of soul, 
 And pain, and ignorance that hardens fools, 
 Here in the fire I've stolen from the Sun ! 
 
120 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 II. 
 
 TO THE POETS. 
 In superbia il valor. 
 
 Valour to pride hath turned ; grave holiness 
 
 To vile hypocrisy ; all gentle ways 
 
 To empty forms ; sound sense to idle lays; 
 
 Pure love to heat ; beauty to paint and dress : 
 Thanks to you, Poets ! you who sing the praise 
 
 Of fabled knights, foul fires, lies, nullities ; 
 
 Not virtue, nor the wrapped sublimities 
 
 Of God, as bards were wont in those old days. 
 How far more wondrous than your phantasies 
 
 Are Nature's works, how far more sweet to sing ! 
 
 Thus taught, the soul falsehood and truth descries. 
 That tale alone is worth the pondering, 
 
 Which hath not smothered history in lies, 
 
 And arms the soul against each sinful thing. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 G 
 
 THE UNIVERSE. 
 II mondo un animal. 
 
 The world's a living creature, whole and great, 
 God's image, praising God whose type it is ; 
 We are imperfect worms, vile families, 
 That in its belly have our low estate. 
 
 If we know not its love, its intellect, 
 
 Neither the worm within my belly seeks 
 
 To know me, but his petty mischief wreaks : 
 
 Thus it behoves us to be circumspect. 
 
 Again, the earth is a great animal, 
 
 Within the greatest ; we are like the lice 
 Upon its body, doing harm as they. 
 
 Proud men, lift up your eyes ; on you I call : 
 
 Measure each being's worth ; and thence be wise ; 
 Learning what part in the great scheme -you play ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 Dentro un pugno di cervel. 
 
 A handful of brain holds me : I consume 
 
 So much that all the books the world contains, 
 
 Cannot allay my furious famine-pains : 
 
 What feasts were mine ! Yet hunger is my doom. 
 
 With one world Aristarchus fed my greed ; 
 This finished, others Metrodorus gave ; 
 Yet, stirred by restless yearning, still I crave : 
 The more I know, the more to learn I need. 
 
 Thus I'm an image of that Sire in whom 
 All beings are, like fishes in the sea ; 
 That one true object of the loving mind. 
 
 Reasoning may reach Him, like a shaft shot home ; 
 The Church may guide ; but only blest is he 
 Who loses self in God, God's self to find. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 123 
 
 v. 
 
 THE BOOK OF NATURE. 
 II mondo k il libro. 
 
 The world's the book where the eternal Sense 
 
 Wrote his own thoughts ; the living temple where, 
 Painting his very self, with figures fair 
 He filled the whole immense circumference. 
 
 Here then should each man read, and gazing find 
 Both how to live and govern, and beware 
 Of godlessness ; and, seeing God ail-where, 
 Be bold to grasp the universal mind. 
 
 But we tied down to books and temples dead, 
 Copied with countless errors from the life, 
 These nobler than that school sublime we call. 
 
 O may our senseless souls at length be led 
 
 To truth by pain, grief, anguish, trouble, strife ! 
 Turn we to read the one original ! 
 
[24 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 AN EXHORTATION TO MANKIND. 
 Abitator del mondo. 
 
 Ye dwellers on this world, to the first Mind 
 
 Exalt your eyes ; and ye shall see how low 
 Vile Tyranny, wearing the glorious show 
 Of nobleness and worth, keeps you confined. 
 
 Then look at proud Hypocrisy, entwined 
 
 With lies and snares, who once taught men to know 
 The fear of God. Next to the Sophists go, 
 Traitors to thought and reason, jugglers blind. 
 
 Keen Socrates to quell the Sophists came : 
 
 To quell the Tyrants, Cato just and rough : 
 
 To quell the Hypocrites, Christ, heaven's own flame. 
 
 But to unmask fraud, sacrilege, and lies, 
 
 Or boldly rush on death, is not enough ; 
 Unless we all taste God, made inly wise. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 125 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE BROOD OF IGNORANCE. 
 Io nacqui a debellar. 
 
 To quell three Titan evils I was made, 
 
 Tyranny, Sophistry, Hypocrisy ; 
 
 Whence I perceive with what wise harmony 
 
 Themis on me Love, Power, and Wisdom laid. 
 These are the basements firm whereon is stayed, 
 
 Supreme and strong, our new philosophy ; 
 
 The antidotes against that trinal lie 
 
 Wherewith the burdened world groaning is weighed. 
 Famine, war, pestilence, fraud, envy, pride, 
 
 Injustice, idleness, lust, fury, fear, 
 
 Beneath these three great plagues securely hide. 
 Grounded on blind self-love, the offspring dear 
 
 Of Ignorance, they flourish and abide : 
 
 Wherefore to root up Ignorance I'm here ! 
 
[26 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 SELF-LOVE. 
 Credulo il proprio amor. 
 
 Self-love fools man with false opinion 
 
 That earth, air, water, fire, the stars we see, 
 Though stronger and more beautiful than we, 
 Feel nought, love not, but move for us alone. 
 
 Then all the tribes of earth except his own 
 
 Seem to him senseless, rude God lets them be 
 To kith and kin next shrinks his sympathy, 
 Till in the end loves only self each one. 
 
 Learning he shuns that he may live at ease ; 
 And since the world is little to his mind, 
 God and God's ruling Forethought he denies. 
 
 Craft he calls wisdom ; and, perversely blind, 
 Seeking to reign, erects new deities : 
 At last ' I make the Universe ! ' he cries. . 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 127 
 
 IX. 
 
 LOVE OF SELF AND GOD. 
 Questo amor singolar. 
 
 This love of self sinks man in sinful sloth : 
 
 Yet, if he seek to live, he needs must feign 
 Sense, goodness, courage. Thus he dwells in pain, 
 A sphinx, twy-souled, a false self-stunted growth. 
 
 Honours, applause, and wealth these torments soothe ; 
 Till jealousy, contrasting his foul stain 
 With virtues eminent, by spur and rein 
 Drives him to slay, steal, poison, break his oath. 
 
 But he who loves our common Father, hath 
 
 All men for brothers, and with God doth joy 
 In whatsoever worketh for their bliss. 
 
 Good Francis called the birds upon his path 
 
 Brethren ; to him the fishes were not coy. 
 Oh, blest is he who comprehendeth this ! 
 
128 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 X. 
 
 EARTHLY AND DIVINE LOVE. 
 Se Dio ci da la vita. 
 
 God gives us life, and God our life preserves ; 
 Nay, all our happiness on Him doth rest : 
 Why then should love of God inflame man's breast 
 Less than his lady and the lord he serves ? 
 
 Through mean and wanton ignorance he swerves, 
 And worships a false Good, divinely dressed ; 
 Love cannot soar to what it never guessed, 
 But stoops its flight, and the thralled soul unnerves. 
 
 Here too is man deceived. He yields his own 
 To spend on others. Yet in vile delight 
 God's splendour still shines through love's earthliness. 
 
 But we embrace the loss, the lure alone 
 
 Love fools us with. That glimpse of heavenly light, 
 That foretaste of eternal Good, we miss. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 129 
 
 XL 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 Gran for tuna e 7 saper. 
 
 Wisdom is riches great and great estate, 
 
 Far above wealth ; nor are the wise unblest 
 If born of lineage vile or race oppressed : 
 These by their doom sublime they illustrate. 
 
 They have their griefs for guerdon, to dilate 
 
 Their name and glory ; nay, the cross, the sword 
 Make them to be like saints or God adored ; 
 And gladness greets them in the frowns of fate : 
 
 For joys and sorrows are their dear delight ; 
 Even as a lover takes the weal and woe 
 Felt for his lady. Such is wisdom's might. 
 
 But wealth still vexes fools ; more vile they grow 
 By being noble ; and their luckless light 
 With each new misadventure burns more low. 
 
 K 
 
i 3 o CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A PARABLE OF WISE MEN AND THE WORLD. 
 Gli astrologi antevista. 
 
 Once on a time the astronomers foresaw 
 The coming of a star to madden men : 
 Thus warned they fled the land, thinking that when 
 The folk were crazed, theyd hold the reins of law. 
 
 When they returned the realm to overawe, 
 
 They prayed those maniacs to quit cave and den, 
 And use their old good customs once again ; 
 But these made answer with fist, tooth, and claw : 
 
 So that the wise men were obliged to rule 
 
 Themselves like lunatics to shun grim death, 
 Seeing the biggest maniac now was king. 
 
 Stifling their sense, they lived, aping the fool, 
 In public praising act and word and thing 
 Just as the whims of madmen swayed their breath. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE WORLD'S A STAGE. 
 Nel teatro del mondo. 
 
 The world's a theatre : age after age, 
 
 Souls masked and muffled in their fleshly gear 
 
 Before the supreme audience appear, 
 
 As Nature, God's own Art, appoints the stage. 
 
 Each plays the part that is his heritage ; 
 
 From choir to choir they pass, from sphere to sphere, 
 And deck themselves with joy or sorry cheer, 
 As Fate the comic playwright fills the page. 
 
 None do or suffer, be they cursed or blest, 
 
 Aught otherwise than the great Wisdom wrote 
 To gladden each and all who gave Him mirth, 
 
 When we at last to sea or air or earth 
 
 Yielding these masks that weal or woe denote, 
 In God shall see who spoke and acted best. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE HUMAN COMEDY. 
 Natura dal Signor. 
 
 Nature, by God directed, formed in space 
 The universal comedy we see ; 
 Wherein each star, each man, each entity, 
 Each living creature, hath its part and place : 
 
 And when the play is over, it shall be 
 
 That God will judge with justice and with grace. 
 Aping this art divine, the human race 
 Plans for itself on earth a comedy : 
 
 It makes kings, priests, slaves, heroes for the eyes 
 Of vulgar folk ; and gives them masks to play 
 Their several parts not wisely, as we see ; 
 
 For impious men too oft we canonise, 
 
 And kill the saints ; while spurious lords array 
 Their hosts against the real nobility. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 133 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE TRUE KINGS. 
 Neron fu Re. 
 
 Nero was king by accident in show ; 
 
 But Socrates by nature in good sooth ; 
 
 By right of both Augustus ; luck and truth 
 
 Less perfectly were blent in Scipio. 
 The spurious prince still seeks to extirpate 
 
 The seed of natures born imperial 
 
 Like Herod, Caiaphas, Meletus, all 
 
 Who by bad acts sustain their stolen state. 
 Slaves whose souls tell them that they are but slaves, 
 
 Strike those whose native kinghood all can see : 
 
 Martyrdom is the stamp of royalty. 
 Dead though they be, these govern from their graves : 
 
 The tyrants fall, nor can their laws remain ; 
 
 While Paul and Peter rise o'er Rome to reign. 
 
34 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 WHAT MAKES A KING. 
 Chi pennelli have e colori. 
 
 He who hath brush and colours, and chance-wise 
 Doth daub, befouling walls and canvases, 
 Is not a painter ; but, unhelped by these, 
 He who in art is masterful and wise. 
 
 Cowls and the tonsure do not make a friar ; 
 
 Nor make a king wide realms and pompous wars ; 
 
 But he who is all Jesus, Pallas, Mars, 
 
 Though he be slave or base-born, wears the tiar. 
 
 Man is not born crowned like the natural king 
 Of beasts, for beasts by this investiture 
 Have need to know the head they must obey ; 
 
 Wherefore a commonwealth fits men, I say, 
 
 Or else a prince whose worth is tried and sure, 
 Not proved by sloth or false imagining. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 135 
 
 XVII. 
 
 TO JESUS CHRIST. 
 
 I tuo' segnaci. 
 
 Thy followers to-day are less like Thee, 
 
 The crucified, than those who made Thee die, 
 Good Jesus, wandering all ways awry 
 From rules prescribed in Thy wise charity. 
 
 The saints now most esteemed love lying lips, 
 
 Lust, strife, injustice ; sweet to them the cry 
 Drawn forth by monstrous pangs from men that die 
 So many plagues hath not the Apocalypse 
 
 As these wherewith they smite Thy friends ignored 
 Even as I am ; search my heart, and know ; 
 My life, my sufferings bear Thy stamp and sign. 
 
 If Thou return to earth, come armed ; for lo, 
 
 Thy foes prepare fresh crosses for Thee, Lord ! 
 Not Turks, not Jews, but they who call them Thine. 
 
1 36 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 TO DEATH. 
 
 Morte, stipendio della colpa. 
 
 O Death, the wage of our first father's blame, 
 Daughter of envy and nonentity, 
 Serf of the serpent, and his harlotry, 
 Thou beast most arrogant and void of shame ! 
 
 Thy last great conquest dost thou dare proclaim, 
 Crying that all things are subdued to thee, 
 Against the Almighty raised almightily ? 
 The proofs that prop thy pride of state are lame. 
 
 Not to serve thee, but to make thee serve Him, 
 
 He stoops to Hell. The choice of arms was thine ; 
 Yet art thou scoffed at by the crucified ! 
 
 He lives thy loss. He dies from every limb, 
 Mangled by thee, lightnings of godhead shine, 
 From which thy darkness hath not where to hide. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 137 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST. 
 No. 1. 
 tu cK ami la parte. 
 
 O you who love the part more than the whole, 
 
 And love yourself more than all human kind, 
 Who persecute good men with prudence blind 
 Because they combat your malign control, 
 
 See Scribes and Pharisees, each impious school, 
 
 Each sect profane, o'erthrown by his great mind, 
 
 Whose best our good to Deity refined, 
 
 The while they thought Death triumphed o'er his soul. 
 
 Deem you that only you have thought and sense, 
 While heaven and all its wonders, sun and earth, 
 Scorned in your dullness, lack intelligence ? 
 
 Fool ! what produced you ? These things gave you birth : 
 So have they mind and God. Repent ; be wise ! 
 Man fights but ill with Him who rules the skies. 
 
38 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 Quinci impara a stupirti. 
 
 Here bend in boundless wonder ; bow your head : 
 
 Think how God's deathless Mind, that men might be 
 
 Robed in celestial immortality 
 
 (O Love divine !), in flesh was raimented : 
 
 How He was killed and buried ; from the dead 
 How He arose to life with victory, 
 And reigned in heaven ; how all of us shall be 
 Glorious like Him whose hearts to His are wed : 
 
 How they who die for love of reason, give 
 
 Hypocrites, tyrants, sophists all who sell 
 Their neighbours ill for holiness to hell : 
 
 How the dead saint condemns the bad who live ; 
 How all he does becomes a law for men ; 
 How he at last to judge shall come again ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 139 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE RESURRECTiON 
 
 Se sol sei ore. 
 
 If Christ was only six hours crucified 
 After few years of toil and misery, 
 Which for mankind He suffered willingly, 
 While heaven was won for ever when He died ; 
 
 Why should He still be shown on every side, 
 Painted and preached, in nought but agony, 
 Whose pains were light matched with His victory, 
 When the world's power to harm Him was defied ? 
 
 Why rather speak and write not of the realm 
 
 He rules in heaven, and soon will bring below 
 Unto the praise and glory of His name ? 
 
 Ah foolish crowd ! This world's thick vapours whelm 
 Your eyes unworthy of that glorious show, 
 Blind to His splendour, bent upon His shame. 
 
140 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXII. 
 IDEAL LOVE. 
 II vero amante. 
 
 He who loves truly, grows in force and might ; 
 For beauty and the image of his love 
 Expand his spirit : whence he burns to prove 
 Adventures high, and holds all perils light. 
 
 If thus a lady's love dilate the knight, 
 
 What glories and what joy all joys above 
 
 Shall not the heavenly splendour, joined by love 
 
 Unto our flesh-imprisoned soul, excite ? 
 
 Once freed, she would become one sphere immense 
 Of love, power, wisdom, filled with Deity, 
 Elate with wonders of the eternal Sense. 
 
 But we like sheep and wolves war ceaselessly : 
 That love we never seek, that light intense, 
 Which would exalt us to infinity. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 141 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE MODERN CUPID, 
 Son tremW anni. 
 
 Through full three thousand years the world reveres 
 Blind Love that bears the quiver and hath wings : 
 Now too he's deaf, and to the sufferings 
 Of folk in anguish turns impiteous ears. 
 
 Of gold he's greedy, and dark raiment wears ; 
 
 A child no more, that naked sports and sings, 
 But a sly greybeard ; no gold shaft he flings, 
 Now that fire-arms have cursed these latter years. 
 
 Charcoal and sulphur, thunder, lead, and smoke, 
 
 That leave the flesh with plagues of hell diseased, 
 And drive the craving spirit deaf and blind, 
 
 These are his weapons. But my bell hath broke 
 
 Her silence. Yield, thou deaf, blind, tainted beast, 
 To the wise fervour of a blameless mind ! 
 
142 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 TRUE AND FALSE NOBILITY. 
 In noi dal senno. 
 
 Valour and mind form real nobility, 
 
 The which bears fruit and shows a fair increase 
 By doughty actions : these and nought but these 
 Confer true patents of gentility. 
 
 Money is false and light unless it be 
 
 Bought by a man's own worthy qualities ; 
 And blood is such that its corrupt disease 
 And ignorant pretence are foul to see. 
 
 Honours that ought to yield more true a type, 
 Europe, thou measurest by fortune still, 
 To thy great hurt ; and this thy foe perceives : 
 
 He rates the tree by fruits mature and ripe, 
 
 Not by mere shadows, roots, and verdant leaves :- 
 Why then neglect so grave a cause of ill ? 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 143 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE PEOPLE. 
 
 II popolo e una bestia. 
 
 The people is a beast of muddy brain, 
 
 That knows not its own force, and therefore stands 
 Loaded with wood and stone ; the powerless hands 
 Of a mere child guide it with bit and rein : 
 
 One kick would be enough to break the chain ; 
 
 But the beast fears, and what the child demands, 
 It does ; nor its own terror understands, 
 Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain. 
 
 Most wonderful ! with its own hand it ties 
 
 And gags itself gives itself death and war 
 For pence doled out by kings from its own store. 
 
 Its own are all things between earth and heaven ; 
 But this it knows not ; and if one arise 
 To tell this truth, it kills him unforgiven. 
 
[44 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 Seco ogni colpa k doglia. 
 
 All crime is its own torment, bearing woe 
 To mind or body or decrease of fame ; 
 If not at once, still step by step our name 
 Or blood or friends or fortune it brings low. 
 
 But if our will do not resent the blow, 
 
 We have not sinned. That penance hath no blame 
 Which Magdalen found sweet : purging our shame, 
 Self-punishment is virtue, all men know. 
 
 The consciousness of goodness pure and whole 
 Makes a man fully blest ; but misery 
 Springs from false conscience, blinded in its pride. 
 
 This Simon Peter meant when he replied 
 
 To Simon Magus, that the prescient soul 
 Hath her own proof of immortality. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 145 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE BAD PRINCE. 
 
 Mentola al comun corpo. 
 
 Organ of rut, not reason, is the lord 
 
 Who from the body politic doth drain 
 Lust for himself, instead of toil and pain, 
 Leaving us lean as crickets on dry sward. 
 
 Well too if he like Love would filch our hoard 
 With pleasure to ourselves, sluicing our vein 
 And vigour to perpetuate the strain 
 Of life by spilth of life within us stored ! 
 
 Love's cheat yields joy and profit. Kings, less kind, 
 Harm those they hoodwink ; sow bare rock with seed ; 
 Nor use our waste to propagate the breed. 
 
 Heaven help that body which a little mind, 
 
 Housed in a head, lacking ears, tongue, and eyes, 
 And senseless but for smell, can tyrannise ! 
 
146 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ON ITALY. 
 
 La gran Donna. 
 
 That Lady who to Caesar came in state 
 
 Upon the Rubicon, what time she feared 
 Ruin from those strange races who appeared 
 Erewhile to build her empire strong and great, 
 
 Now stays with limbs dispersed and lacerate, 
 A bondslave, shorn of all her pomp revered : 
 Nor seems it now that Dinah's shame can gird 
 Simeon or Levi to avenge her fate. 
 
 If then Jerusalem doth not repair 
 
 To Nazareth or Athens, where did reign 
 Wisdom of God or man in days of yore, 
 
 None shall arise her honours to restore : 
 
 For Herods are all strangers ; when they swear 
 To save the Saviour's seed, their oath is vain. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 147 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 TO VENICE. 
 Nuova area di Noe. 
 
 New Ark of Noah ! when the cruel scourge 
 Of that barbarian tyrant like a wave 
 Went over Italy, thou then didst save 
 The seed of just men on the weltering surge. 
 
 Here, still by discord and foul servitude 
 
 Untainted, thou a hero brood dost raise, 
 Powerful and prudent. Due to thee their praise 
 Of maiden pure, of teeming motherhood ! 
 
 Thou wonder of the world, Rome's loyal heir, 
 Thou pride and strong support of Italy, 
 Dial of princes, school of all things wise ! 
 
 Thou like Arcturus steadfast in the skies, 
 
 With tardy sense guidest thy kingdom fair, 
 Bearing alone the load of liberty. 
 
i 4 8 CAMPANELLAS SONNETS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 TO GENOA. 
 Le Ninfe d'Arno. 
 
 The nymphs of Arno ; Adria's goddess-queen ; 
 
 Greece, where the Latin banner floated free ; 
 
 The lands that border on the Syrian sea ; 
 
 The Euxine, and fair Naples ; these have been 
 Thine, by the right of conquest ; these should be 
 
 Still thine by empire : Asia's broad demesne, 
 
 Afric, America realms never seen 
 
 But by thy venture all belong to thee. 
 But thou, thyself not knowing, leavest all 
 
 For a poor price to strangers ; since thy head 
 
 Is weak, albeit thy limbs are stout and good. 
 Genoa, mistress of the world, recall 
 
 Thy soul magnanimous ! Nay, be not led 
 
 Slave to base gold, thou and thy tameless brood ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 149 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 TO POLAND. 
 Sopra i regni. 
 
 High o'er those realms that make blind chance the heir 
 Of empire, Poland, dost thou lift thy head : 
 For while thou mournest for thy monarch dead, 
 Thou wilt not let his son the sceptre bear, 
 
 Lest he prove weak perchance to do or dare. 
 Yet art thou even more by luck misled, 
 Choosing a prince of fortune, courtly-bred, 
 Uncertain whether he will spend or spare. 
 
 Oh, quit this pride ! In hut or shepherd's pen 
 Seek Cato, Minos, Numa ! For of such 
 God still makes kings in plenty : and these men 
 
 Will squander little substance and gain much, 
 Knowing that virtue and not blood shall be 
 Their titles to true immortality. 
 
ISO CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 TO THE SWISS. 
 Se voi piu innalza. 
 
 Ye Alpine rocks ! If less your peaks elate 
 To heaven exalt you than that gift divine, 
 Freedom ; why do your children still combine 
 To keep the despots in their stolen state ? 
 
 Lo, for a piece of bread from windows wide 
 
 You fling your blood, taking no thought what cause, 
 Righteous or wrong, your strength to battle draws ; 
 So is your valour spurned and vilified. 
 
 All things belong to free men ; but the slave 
 
 Clothes and feeds poorly. Even so from you 
 Broad lands and Malta's knighthood men withhold. 
 
 Up, free yourselves, and act as heroes do ! 
 
 Go, take your own from tyrants, which you gave 
 So recklessly, and they so dear have sold ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 151 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 THE SAMARITAN. 
 Da Roma ad Ostia. 
 
 From Rome to Ostia a poor man went ; 
 
 Thieves robbed and wounded him upon the way : 
 Some monks, great saints, observed him where he 
 
 lay, 
 And left him, on their breviaries intent. 
 
 A Bishop passed thereby, and careless bent 
 To sign the cross, a blessing brief to say ; 
 But a great Cardinal, to clutch their prey, 
 Followed the thieves, falsely benevolent. 
 
 At last there came a German Lutheran, 
 
 Who builds on faith, merit of works withstands ; 
 He raised and clothed and healed the dying man. 
 
 Now which of these was worthiest, most humane ? 
 The heart is better than the head, kind hands 
 Than cold lip-service ; faith without works is vain. 
 
 Who understands 
 What creed is good and true for self and others ? 
 But none can doubt the good he doth his brothers. 
 
52 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 HYPOCRITES. 
 Nessun ti venne a dir. 
 
 Who comes and saith : ' A Tyrant, lo, am I ! ' 
 
 And, ' I am Antichrist ! ' what man will swear ? 
 The crafty rogue, hiding his poisonous ware, 
 Sells you what slays your soul, for sanctity. 
 
 Cheats, brigands, prostitutes, and all that fry, 
 Not having fashioned so devout a snare, 
 Appear worse sinners than perhaps they are : 
 For where the craft's small, small's the villainy ; 
 
 You're on your guard. The meek Samaritan 
 Makes way before those guileful Pharisees, 
 Though God assigned to him the higher place. 
 
 Not words nor wonders prove a virtuous man, 
 But deeds and acts. How many deities 
 Hath this false standard given the human race ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 153 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 SOPHISTS. 
 Nessun ti verra a dire. 
 
 ' Behold, I am a Sophist ! ' no man saith. 
 But the true sons of perfidy refined 
 Forge theologic lies the soul to blind, 
 Calling themselves evangels of the faith. 
 
 Aretine with his scoundrels blew his breath, 
 And in the cynic orgies boldly joined ; 
 His ribald jests had flowers and thorns combined- 
 A frank fair list including life and death, 
 
 For fun, not fraud. It shames him to be found 
 Less vile than those who cannot bear to see 
 Their sink of filth laid open to the ground : 
 
 Wherefore they shut our mouths, our books impound, 
 Garble with lies each sentence that may be 
 Cited to prove their foul hypocrisy. 
 
54 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 AGAINST HYPOCRITES. 
 Gli affetii di Pluton. 
 
 Deep in their hearts they hide the lusts of Hell : 
 
 Christ's name is written on their brow, that those 
 Who only view the husk, may not suppose 
 What guile and malice harbour in the shell. 
 
 O God ! O Wisdom ! Holy Fervour ! Well 
 Of strength invincible to strike Thy foes ! 
 Give me the force my spirit burns and glows 
 To strip those idols and to break their spell ! 
 
 The zeal I bear unto Thy name benign, 
 
 The love I feel for truth sincere and pure, 
 When such men triumph, make me rend my hair. 
 
 How long shall folk this infamy endure 
 That he should be held sacred, he divine, 
 Who strips e'en corpses in the graveyard bare ? 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 155 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Vilissima progenie. 
 
 Ye vile offscourings ! with unblushing face 
 
 Dare ye claim sonship to our heavenly Sire, 
 Who serve brute vices, crouching in the mire 
 To hounds and conies, beasts that ape our race ? 
 
 Such truckling is called virtue by the base 
 
 Hucksters of sophistry, the priest and friar, 
 Gilt claws of tyrant brutes, who lie for hire, 
 Preaching that God delights in this disgrace. 
 
 Look well, ye brainless folk ! Do fathers hold 
 
 Their children slaves to serfs ? Do sheep obey 
 The witless ram ? Why make a beast your king ? 
 
 If there are no archangels, let your fold 
 
 Be governed by the sense of all : why stray 
 From men to worship every filthy thing ? 
 
156 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 ZW la liberta. 
 
 Where are the freedom and high feats that spring 
 From fatherhood so fair as Deity ? 
 Fleas are no sons of men, although they be 
 Flesh-born : brave thoughts and deeds this honour 
 bring. 
 
 If princes great or small seek anything 
 Adverse to good and God's authority, 
 Which of you dares refuse ? Nay, who is he 
 That doth not cringe to do their pleasuring ? 
 
 So then with soul and blood in verity 
 
 You serve base gold, vices, and worthless men 
 God with lip-service only and with lies, 
 
 Sunk in the slough of dire idolatry : 
 
 If Ignorance begat these errors, then 
 To Reason turn for sonship and be wise ! 
 
 I 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 157 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Allor potrete orar. 
 
 Then shall ye pray with every hour that flies ; 
 
 Thy kingdom come, and let Thy will be done 
 
 On earth as in the spheres above the sun, 
 
 When all we hoped and wished shall bless our eyes. 
 
 Poets shall see their Age of Gold arise, 
 
 Fairer than feigned in hymn or orison ; 
 Yea, all the realm by Adam's sin undone 
 Shall be restored in sinless Paradise. 
 
 Philosophers shall govern for their own 
 
 That perfect commonwealth whereof they write, 
 The which on earth as yet was never known. 
 
 Judah to Sion shall return with might 
 
 Of greater wonders than shook Pharaoh's throne, 
 From Babylon, to bless the prophets' sight. 
 
158 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XL. 
 
 A PROPHECY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 NO. I. 
 
 THE REIGN OF ANTICHRIST. 
 Mentre V acquila invola. 
 
 While yet the eagle preys, and growls the bear ; 
 
 While roars the lion ; while the crow defies 
 
 The lamb who raised our race above the skies ; 
 
 While yet the dove laments to the deaf air ; 
 While, mixed with goodly wheat, darnel and tare 
 
 Within the field of human nature rise ; 
 
 Let that ungodly sect, profanely wise, 
 
 That scorns our hope, feed, fatten, and beware ! 
 Soon comes the day when those grim giants fell, 
 
 Famed through the world, dyed deep with sanguine 
 hue, 
 
 Whom with feigned flatteries you applaud, shall be 
 Swept from the earth, and sunk in horrid Hell, 
 
 Girt round with flames, to weep and wail with you, 
 
 In doleful dungeons everlastingly. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 159 
 
 XLI. 
 
 A PROPHECY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 No. 2. 
 THE DOOM OF THE IMPIOUS. 
 
 La scuola inimicissima. 
 
 You sect most adverse to the good and true, 
 Degenerate from your origin divine, 
 Pastured on lies and shadows by the line 
 Of Thais, Sinon, Judas, Homer ! You, 
 
 Thus saith the Spirit, when the retinue 
 
 Of saints with Christ returns on earth to shine, 
 When the fifth angel's vial pours condign 
 Vengeance with awful ire and torments due, 
 
 You shall be girt with gloom ; your lips profane, 
 Disloyal tongues, and savage teeth shall grind 
 And gnash with fury fell and anger vain : 
 
 In Malebolge your damned souls confined 
 On fiery marie, for increment of pain, 
 Shall see the saved rejoice with mirth of mind. 
 
i6o CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A PROPHECY OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 No. 3. 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 Sefu nel mondo. 
 
 If men were happy in that age of gold, 
 
 We yet may hope to see mild Saturn's reign ; 
 For all things that were buried live again, 
 By time's revolving cycle forward rolled. 
 
 Yet this the fox, the wolf, the crow, made bold 
 By fraud and perfidy, deny in vain : 
 For God that rules, the signs in heaven, the train 
 Of prophets, and all hearts this faith uphold. 
 
 If thine and mine were banished in good sooth 
 From honour, pleasure, and utility, 
 The world would turn, I ween, to Paradise ; 
 
 Blind love to modest love with open eyes ; 
 Cunning and ignorance to living truth ; 
 And foul oppression to fraternity. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 161 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 THE MILLENNIUM. 
 
 Non piaccia a Dio. 
 
 Nay, God forbid that mid these tragic throes 
 To idle comedy my thought should bend, 
 When torments dire and warning woes portend 
 Of this our world the instantaneous close ! 
 
 The day approaches which shall discompose 
 All earthly sects, the elements shall blend 
 In utter ruin, and with joy shall send 
 Just spirits to their spheres in heaven's repose. 
 
 The Highest comes in Holy Land to hold 
 His sovran court and synod sanctified, 
 As all the psalms and prophets have foretold : 
 
 The riches of his grace He will spread wide 
 
 Through his own realm, that seat and chosen fold 
 Of worship and free mercies multiplied. 
 
 M 
 
i62 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 THE PRESENT. 
 
 Convien al secol nostro. 
 
 Black robes befit our age. Once they were white ; 
 Next many-hued ; now dark as Afric's Moor, 
 Night-black, infernal, traitorous, obscure, 
 Horrid with ignorance and sick with fright. 
 
 For very shame we shun all colours bright, 
 
 Who mourn our end the tyrants we endure, 
 The chains, the noose, the lead, the snares, the lure- 
 Our dismal heroes, our souls sunk in night. 
 
 Black weeds again denote that extreme folly 
 
 Which makes us blind, mournful, and woe-begone 
 For dusk is dear to doleful melancholy. 
 
 Nathless fate's wheel still turns : this raiment dun 
 We shall exchange hereafter for the holy 
 Garments of white in which of yore we shone. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 163 
 
 XLV. 
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 Veggo in Candida robba. 
 
 Clothed in white robes I see the Holy Sire 
 Descend to hold his court amid the band 
 Of shining saints and elders : at his hand 
 The white immortal Lamb commands their choir. 
 
 John ends his long lament for torments dire, 
 Now Judah's lion rises to expand 
 The fatal book, and the first broken band 
 Sends the white courier forth to work God's ire. 
 
 The first fair spirits raimented in white 
 
 Go out to meet him who on his white cloud 
 Comes heralded by horsemen white as snow. 
 
 Ye black-stoled folk, be dumb, who hate the loud 
 Blare of God's lifted angel-trumpets ! Lo, 
 The pure white dove puts the black crows to flight ! 
 
[64 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 THE YEAR 1603. 
 Gia sto mirando. 
 
 The first heaven-wandering lights I see ascend 
 Upon the seventh and ninth centenary, 
 When in the Archer's realm three years shall be 
 Added, this aeon and our age to end. 
 
 Thou too, Mercurius, like a scribe dost lend 
 
 Thine aid to promulgate that dread decree, 
 Stored in the archives of eternity, 
 And signed and sealed by powers no prayers can 
 bend. 
 
 O'er Europe's full meridian on thy morn 
 
 In the tenth house thy court I see thee hold : 
 The Sun with thee consents in Capricorn. 
 
 God grant that I may keep this mortal breath 
 Until I too that glorious day behold 
 Which shall at last confound the sons of death ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 165 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 NEBUCHADNEZZAR'S IMAGE. 
 Babel disfatta. 
 
 The golden head was Babylon ; she passed : 
 
 Persia came next, the silvern breast : whereto 
 Joined brazen flank and belly these are you, 
 Ye men of Macedon ! Now Rome's the last. 
 
 Rome on two iron legs towered tall and vast ; 
 But at her feet were toes of clay, that drew 
 Downfall : those scattered tribes erewhile she knew 
 For lords ; now 'neath her fatal sway they're cast. 
 
 Ah thirsty soil ! From your parched fallow fumes 
 A smoke of pride, vain-glory, cruelty, 
 That blinds, infects, and blackens, and consumes ! 
 
 To Daniel, to the Bible you refuse 
 
 Your rebel sense ; for it is still your use 
 To screen yourself with lies and sophistry. 
 
166 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 THE DUNGEON. 
 Come va al centre-. 
 
 As to the centre all things that have weight 
 Sink from the surface : as the silly mouse 
 Runs at a venture, rash though timorous, 
 Into the monster's jaws to meet her fate : 
 
 Thus all who love high Science, from the strait 
 Dead sea of Sophistry sailing like us 
 Into Truth's ocean, bold and amorous, 
 Must in our haven anchor soon or late. 
 
 One calls this haunt a Cave of Polypheme, 
 And one Atlante's Palace, one of Crete 
 The Labyrinth, and one Hell's lowest pit. 
 
 Knowledge, grace, mercy, are an idle dream 
 
 In this dread place. Nought but fear dwells in it, 
 Of stealthy Tyranny the sacred seat. 
 
CAMPAKELLA'S SONNETS. 167 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 THE SAGE ON EARTH. 
 Sciolto e legato. 
 
 Bound and yet free, companioned and alone, 
 Loud mid my silence, I confound my foes : 
 Men think me fool in this vile world of woes ; 
 God's wisdom greets me sage from heaven's high 
 throne. 
 
 With wings on earth oppressed aloft I bound ; 
 My gleeful soul sad bonds of flesh enclose : 
 And though sometimes too great the burden grows, 
 These pinions bear me upward from the ground. 
 
 A doubtful combat proves the warrior's might : 
 Short is all time matched with eternity : 
 Nought than a pleasing burden is more light. 
 
 My brows I bind with my love's effigy, 
 
 Sure that my joyous flight will soon be sped 
 Where without speech my thoughts shall all be read. 
 
1 68 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 L. 
 
 THE PRICE OF FREEDOM. 
 U Italia in Grecia, 
 
 From Rome to Greece, from Greece to Libya's sand, 
 Yearning for liberty, just Cato went ; 
 Nor finding freedom to his heart's content, 
 Sought it in death, and died by his own hand. 
 
 Wise Hannibal, when neither sea nor land 
 
 Could save him from the Roman eagles, rent 
 His soul with poison from imprisonment ; 
 And a snake's tooth cut Cleopatra's band. 
 
 In this way died one valiant Maccabee ; 
 
 Brutus feigned madness ; prudent Solon hid 
 
 His sense ; and David, when he feared Gath's king. 
 
 Thus when the Mystic found that Jonah's sea 
 Was yawning to engulf him, what he did 
 He gave to God a wise man's offering. 
 
CAMP AN ELLA'S SONNETS. 169 
 
 LI. 
 
 APOLOGY BY PARADOX. 
 Non e brut to il Demon. 
 
 The Devil's not so ugly as they paint ; 
 
 He's well with all, compact of courtesy : 
 
 Real heroism is real piety : 
 
 Before small truth great falsehoods shrink and faint 
 If pots stain worse than pipkins, it were quaint 
 
 To charge the pipkins with impurity : 
 
 Freedom I crave : who craves not to be free ? 
 
 Yet life that must be feigned for, leaves a taint. 
 Ill conduct brings repentance ? If you prate 
 
 This wise to me, why prate not thus to all 
 
 Philosophers and prophets, and to Christ ? 
 Not too much learning, as some arrogate, 
 
 But the small brains of dullards have sufficed 
 
 To make us wretched and the world enthrall. 
 
lyo CAMPANELLAS SONNETS. 
 
 LII. 
 
 THE SOUL'S APOLOGY. 
 Ben sei mila anni. 
 
 Six thousand years or more on earth I've been : 
 Witness those histories of nations dead, 
 Which for our age I have illustrated 
 In philosophic volumes, scene by scene. 
 
 And thou, mere mite, seeing my sun serene 
 Eclipsed, wilt argue that I had no head 
 To live by. Why not try the sun instead, 
 If nought in fate unfathomed thou hast seen ? 
 
 If wise men, whom the world rebukes, combined 
 
 With tyrant wolves, brute beasts we should become. 
 The sage, once stoned'for sin, you canonise. 
 
 When rennet melts, much milk makes haste to bind. 
 The more you blow the flames, the more they rise, 
 Bloom into stars, and find in heaven their home. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 17] 
 
 LIII. 
 TO GOD ON PRA YEP. 
 Tu eke Forza ed A mor. 
 
 Thou, who, mingling Force and Love, dost draw 
 
 And guide the complex of all entities, 
 Framed for that purpose ; whence our reason sees 
 In supreme Fate the synthesis of Law ; 
 Though prayers transgress which find defect or flaw 
 In things foredoomed by Thy divine decrees, 
 Yet wilt Thou modify, by slow degrees 
 Or swift, good times or bad Thy mind foresaw : 
 
 1 therefore pray I who through years have been 
 
 The scorn of fools, the butt of impious men, 
 Suffering new pains and torments day by day 
 Shorten this anguish, Lord, these griefs allay ; 
 
 For still Thou shalt not have changed counsel when 
 I soar from hence to liberty foreseen. 
 
172 CAMP AN ELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 TO GOD FOR HELP. 
 
 Come viwi, cK a bnon porto. 
 
 How wilt Thou I should gain a harbour fair, 
 If after proof among my friends I find 
 That some are faithless, some devoid of mind, 
 Some short of sense, though stout to do and dare ? 
 
 If some, though wise and loyal, like the hare 
 Hide in a hole, or fly in terror blind, 
 While nerve with wisdom and with faith combined 
 Through malice and through penury despair ? 
 
 Reason, Thy honour, and my weal eschewed 
 
 That false ally who said he came from Thee, 
 With promise vain of power and liberty. 
 
 I trust : I'll do. Change Thou the bad to good ! 
 But ere I raise me to that altitude, 
 Needs must I merge in Thee as Thou in me. 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 173 
 
 LV. 
 
 To Annibale Caraccioli, 
 
 A WRITER OF ECLOGUES. 
 
 Non Licida, nk Driope. 
 
 Lycoris, Lycidas, and Dryope 
 
 Cannot, dear Niblo, save thy name from death ; 
 Shadows that fleet, and flowers that yield their breath, 
 Match not the Love that craves infinity. 
 
 The beauty thou dost worship dwells in thee : 
 Within thy soul divine it harboureth : 
 This also bids my spirit soar, and saith 
 Words that unsphere for me heaven's harmony. 
 
 Make then thine inborn lustre beam and shine 
 
 With love of goodness ; goodness cannot fail : 
 From God alone let praise immense be thine. 
 
 My soul is tired of telling o'er the tale 
 
 With men : she calls on thine : she bids thee go 
 Into God's school with tablets white as snow. 
 
17+ CAJIPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 TO TELES I US OF COSENZA. 
 
 Telesio, il telo. 
 
 Telesius, the arrow from thy bow 
 
 Midmost his band of sophists slays that high 
 
 Tyrant of souls that think ; he cannot fly : 
 
 While Truth soars free, loosed by the self-same blow. 
 
 Proud lyres with thine immortal praises glow, 
 Smitten by bards elate with victory : 
 Lo, thine own Cavalcante, stormfully 
 Lightning, still strikes the fortress of the foe ! 
 
 Good Gaieta bedecks our saint serene 
 
 With robes translucent, light-irradiate, 
 Restoring her to all her natural sheen ; 
 
 The while my tocsin at the temple-gate 
 
 Of the wide universe proclaims her queen, 
 Pythia of first and last ordained by fate. 
 
CAM PAN ELLA'S SONNETS. 175 
 
 LVII. 
 
 TO RIDOLFO DI BINA, 
 Senno ed A mor. 
 
 Wisdom and love, O Bina, gave thee wings, 
 
 Before the blossom of thy years had faded, 
 To fly with Adam for thy guide, God-aided, 
 Through many lands in divers journeyings. 
 
 Pure virtue is thy guerdon : virtue brings 
 
 Glory to thee, death to the foes degraded, 
 
 Who through long years of darkness have invaded 
 
 Thy Germany, mother of slaves not kings. 
 
 Yet, gazing on heaven's book, heroic child, 
 My soul discerns graces divine in thee : 
 Leave toys and playthings to the crowd of fools ! 
 
 Do thou with heart fervent and proudly mild 
 
 Make war upon those fraud-engendering schools ! 
 I see thee victor, and in God I see. 
 
i/6 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 TO TOBIA ADAMI. 
 Portando in man. 
 
 Holding the cynic lantern in your hand, 
 
 Through Europe, Egypt, Asia, you have passed, 
 
 Till at Ausonia's feet you find at last 
 
 That Cyclops' cave, where I, to darkness banned, 
 
 In light eternal forge for you the brand 
 Against Abaddon, who hath overcast 
 The truth and right, Adami, made full fast 
 Unto God's glory by our steadfast band. 
 
 Go, smite each sophist, tyrant, hypocrite ! 
 
 Girt with the arms of the first Wisdom, free 
 Your country from the frauds that cumber it ! 
 
 Swerve not : 'twere sin. How good, how great the praise 
 Of him who turns youth, strength, soul, energy, 
 Unto the dayspring of the eternal rays ! 
 
CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 177 
 
 LIX. 
 
 A SONNET ON CAUCASUS. 
 Temo che per morir. 
 
 I fear that by my death the human race 
 
 Would gain no vantage. Thus I do not die. 
 
 So wide is this vast cage of misery 
 
 That flight and change lead to no happier place. 
 
 Shifting our pains, we risk a sorrier case : 
 All worlds, like ours, are sunk in agony : 
 Go where we will, we feel ; and this my cry 
 I may forget like many an old disgrace. 
 
 Who knows what doom is mine ? The Omnipotent 
 Keeps silence ; nay, I know not whether strife 
 Or peace was with me in some earlier life. 
 
 Philip in a worse prison me hath pent 
 
 These three days past but not without God's will. 
 Stay we as God decrees : God doth no ill. 
 
 N 
 
i;8 CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 LX. 
 
 GOD MADE AND GOD RULES. 
 
 La fabbrica del mondo. 
 
 The fabric of the world earth, air, and skies 
 Each particle thereof and tiniest part 
 Designed for special ends proclaims the art 
 Of an almighty Maker good and wise. 
 
 Nathless the lawless brutes, our crimes and lies, 
 
 The joys of vicious men, the good man's smart, 
 All creatures swerving from their ends, impart 
 Doubts that the Ruler is nor good nor wise. 
 
 Can it then be that boundless Power, Love, Mind, 
 Lets others reign, the while He takes repose ? 
 Hath He grown old, or hath He ceased to heed ? 
 
 Nay, one God made and rules : He shall unwind 
 The tangled skein ; the hidden law disclose, 
 Whereby so many sinned in thought and deed. 
 
NOTES 
 
 X 2 
 
NOTES ON MICHAEL ANGELO'S 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I. p. 31. Quoted by Donato Giannotti in his Dialogue ZV 
 giorm che Dante consumb nel cercare V Inferno e 7 Purgatorio. 
 The date of its composition is perhaps 1545. 
 
 II. p. 32. Written probably for Donato Giannotti about 
 the same date. 
 
 III. p. 33. Belonging to the year 1506, when Michael 
 Angelo quarrelled with Julius and left Rome in anger. The 
 tree referred to in the last line is the oak of the Rovere family. 
 
 IV. p. 34. Same date, and same circumstances. The 
 autograph has these words at the foot of the sonnet : Vostro 
 Miccelangniolo, in Turchia. Rome itself, the Sacred City, has 
 become a land of infidels. 
 
 V. p. 35. Ser Giovanni da Pistoja was Chancellor of the 
 Florentine Academy. The date is probably 1509. The 
 So?ietto a Coda is generally humorous or satiric. 
 
 VI. p. 36. Written in one of those moments of affaimo or 
 stizzo to which the sculptor was subject. For the old bitter- 
 ness of feeling between Florence and Pistoja, see Dante, 
 hiferno, xxiv. xxv. 
 
 VII. p. 37. Michael Angelo was ill during the summer of 
 1544, and was nursed by Luigi del Riccio in his own house, 
 Shortly after his recovery he quarrelled with his friend, and 
 wrote him this sonnet as well as a very angry letter. 
 
1 82 NOTES. 
 
 VIII. p. 38. Cecchino Bracci was a boy of rare and 
 surpassing beauty who died at Rome, January 8, 1544, in his 
 seventeenth year. Besides this sonnet, which refers to a 
 portrait Luigi del Riccio had asked him to make of the dead' 
 youth, Michael Angelo composed a series of forty-eight quatrains 
 upon the same subject, and sent them to his friend Luigi. 
 Michelangelo the younger, thinking that '/' ignoranzia degli 
 uomini ha campo di mormorare] suppressed the name Cecchino 
 and changed lui into lei. Date about 1544. 
 
 IX. p. 39. Line 4 : ' The Archangel's scales alone can 
 weigh my gratitude against your gift.' Lines 5-8 : ' Your 
 courtesy has taken away all my power of responding to it. 
 I am as helpless as a ship becalmed, or a wisp of straw on 
 a stormy sea.' 
 
 X. p. 40. Michael Angelo, when asked to make a portrait 
 of his friend's mistress, declares that he is unable to do justice 
 to her beauty. The name Mancina is a pun upon the 
 Italian word for the left arm, Mancino. This lady was a 
 famous and venal beauty, mentioned among the loves of the 
 poet Molsa. 
 
 XL p. 41. Date, 1550. 
 
 XII. p. 42. This and the three next sonnets may with 
 tolerable certainty be referred to the series written on various 
 occasions for Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 XIII. p. 43. Sent together with a letter, in which we 
 read : /' aportatore di questa sard Urbino, che sta meco. Urbino 
 was M. A.'s old servant, workman, and friend. See No. 
 LXVIII. and note. 
 
 XIV. p. 44. The thought is that, as the sculptor carves 
 a statue from a rough model by addition and subtraction of 
 the marble, so the lady of his heart refines and perfects his 
 rude native character. 
 
 XV. p. 46. This sonnet is the theme of Varchi's Lezione. 
 
NOTES. 183 
 
 There is nothing to prove that it was addressed to Vittorla 
 Colonna. Varchi calls it ' un suo altissimo sonetto pieno di 
 quella antica purezza e dantesca gravita? 
 
 XVI. p. 47. The thought of the fifteenth is repeated with 
 some variations. His lady's heart holds for the lover good 
 and evil things, according as he has the art to draw them 
 forth. 
 
 XVIII. p. 49. In the terzets he describes the temptations 
 of the artist-nature, over-sensitive to beauty. Michelangelo 
 the younger so altered these six lines as to destroy the 
 autobiographical allusion. Cp. No. XXVIII., note. 
 
 XIX. p. 50. The lover's heart is like an intaglio, precious 
 by being inscribed with his lady's image. 
 
 XX. p. 51. An early composition, written on the back of 
 a letter sent to the sculptor in Bologna by his brother Simone 
 in 1507. M. A. was then working at the bronze statue of 
 Julius II. Who the lady of his love was, we do not know. 
 Notice the absence of Platonic concetti. 
 
 XXIII. p. 54. It is hardly necessary to call attention to 
 Michael Angelo's oft-recurring Platonism. The thought that 
 the eye alone perceives the celestial beauty, veiled beneath 
 the fleshly form of the beloved, is repeated in many sonnets 
 especially in XXV., XXVIIL 
 
 XXIV. p. 55. Composed probably in the year 1529. 
 
 XXV. p. 56. Written on the same sheet as the foregoing 
 sonnet, and composed probably in the same year. The 
 thought is this : beauty passing from the lady into the lover's 
 soul, is there spiritualised and becomes the object of a spiritual 
 love. . 
 
 XXVII. p. 58. To escape from his lady, either by inter- 
 posing another image of beauty between the thought of her 
 and his heart, or by flight, is impossible. 
 
 XXVIIL p. 59. Compare Madrigal VII. in illustration of 
 
1 84 XOTES. 
 
 lines 5 to 8. By the analogy of that passage. I should venture 
 
 to render lines 6 and 7 thus : 
 
 He made thee light, and me the eyes of art ; 
 Nor fails my soul to find God's counterpart. 
 
 XXX. p. 61. Varchi, quoting this sonnet in his Lezione, 
 conjectures that it was composed for Tommaso Cavalieri. 
 
 XXXI. p. 62. Varchi asserts without qualification that 
 this sonnet was addressed to Tommaso Cavalieri. The pun 
 in the last line, Resto prigion d' un Cavalier armato, seems to 
 me to decide the matter, though Signor Guasti and Signor 
 Gotti both will have it that a woman must have been intended. 
 Michelangelo the younger has only left one line, the second, 
 untouched in his rifacimento. Instead of the last words he 
 gives tin cuor di virtil armato, being over- scrupulous for his 
 great-uncle's reputation. 
 
 XXXII. p. 63. Written at the foot of a letter addressed 
 by Giuliano Bugiardini the painter, from Florence, to M. A. in 
 Rome, August 5, 1532. This then is probably the date of the 
 composition. 
 
 XXXIV. p. 66. The metaphor of fire, flint, and mortar 
 breaks down in the last line, where M. A. forgets that gold 
 cannot strike a spark from stone. 
 
 XXXV. p. 67. Line 9 has the word Signon It is almost 
 certain that where M. A. uses this word without further qualifi- 
 cation in a love sonnet, he means his mistress. I have some- 
 times translated it ' heart's lord ' or ' loved lord,' because I did 
 not wish to merge the quaintness of this ancient Tuscan usage 
 in the more commonplace ' lady.' 
 
 XXXVI. p. 68. Line 3 : the lord, etc. This again is the 
 poet's mistress. The drift of the sonnet is this : his soul can 
 find no expression but through speech, and speech is too gross 
 to utter the purity of his feeling. His mistress again receives 
 his tongue's message with her ears; and thus there is an 
 element of sensuality, false and alien to his intention, both in 
 
NOTES. 185 
 
 his complaint and in her acceptation of it. The last line is a 
 version of the proverb : chi e avvezzo a dir bugie, non crede a 
 nessuno. 
 
 XXXVII. p. 69. At the foot of the sonnet is written 
 Mandaio. The two last lines play on the words signor and 
 signoria. To whom it was sent we do not know for certain ; 
 but we may conjecture Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 XXXIX. p. 71. The paper on which this sonnet is 
 written has a memorandum with the date January 6, 1529. 
 ' On my return from Venice, I, Michelagniolo Buonarroti, 
 found in the house about five loads of straw,' etc. It belongs 
 therefore to the period of the siege of Florence, when M. A., 
 as is well known, fled for a short space to Venice. In line 12, 
 I have translated il mie signiore, my lady. 
 
 XL. p. 72. No sonnet in the whole collection seems to 
 have cost M. A. so much trouble as this. Besides the two 
 completed versions, which I have rendered, there are several 
 scores of rejected or various readings for single lines in the 
 MSS. The Platonic doctrine of Anamnesis probably supplies 
 the key to the thought which the poet attempted to work out. 
 
 XLL, XLIL, XLIIL, XLIV. pp. 74-7. There is nothing 
 to prove that these four sonnets on Night were composed in 
 sequence. On the contrary, the personal tone of XLI. seems 
 to separate this from the other three. XLIV. may be accepted 
 as a palinode for XLIIL 
 
 XLV., XLVI. pp. 78-9. Both sonnets deal half humorously 
 with a thought very prominent in M. A.'s compositions the 
 effect of love on one who is old in years. Cp. XLVIIL, L. 
 
 XLVI I. p. 80. The Platonic conception that the pure 
 form of Beauty or of Truth, if seen, would be overwhelming 
 in its brilliancy. 
 
 XLIX. p. 82. The dolcie pianto and eterna pace are the 
 tears and peace of piety. The doloroso riso and corta pace are 
 the smiles and happiness of earthly love. 
 
1 86 NOTES. 
 
 LII. p. 86. Here is another version of this very beautiful 
 sonnet. 
 
 No mortal thing enthralled these longing eyes 
 
 When perfect peace in thy fair face I found ; 
 
 But far within, where all is holy ground, 
 
 My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies : 
 For she was born with God in Paradise ; 
 
 Nor all the shows of beauty shed around 
 
 This fair false world her wings to earth have bound ; 
 
 Unto the Love of Loves aloft she flies. 
 Nay, things that suffer death, quench not ihe fire 
 
 Of deathless spirits ; nor eternity 
 
 Serves sordid Time, that withers all things rare. 
 Not love but lawless impulse is desire : 
 
 That slays the soul ; our love makes still more fair 
 
 Our friends on earth, fairer in death on high. 
 
 LIIL p. 87. This is the doctrine of the Symposium; the 
 scorn of merely sexual love is also Platonic. 
 
 LIV. p. 88. Another sonnet on the theme of the Uranian 
 as distinguished from the Vulgar love. See below, LVL, for 
 a parallel to the second terzet. 
 
 LV. p. 89. The date may be 1532. The play on words 
 in the first quatrain and the first terzet is Shakespearian. 
 
 LIX. p. 95. Two notes, appended to the two autographs 
 of this sonnet, show that M. A. regarded it as a jeu d'esprit. 
 ' Per camovale par lecito far qualche pazzia a chi non va in 
 maschera? ' Questo non e fuoco da camovale, perb vel mando 
 di quaresima; e a voi mi rachomando. Vostro Michelagniolo.' 
 
 LXL p. 98. Date 1547. No sonnet presents more 
 difficulties than this, in which M. A. has availed himself of a 
 passage in the Cratylus of Plato. The divine hammer spoken 
 of in the second couplet is the ideal pattern after which the 
 souls of men are fashioned ; and this in the first terzet seems 
 to be identified with Vittoria Colonna. In the second terzet 
 he regards his own soul as imperfect, lacking the final touches 
 which it might have received from hers. See XIV. for a some- 
 what similar conceit 
 
NOTES. 187 
 
 LXIV. p. 1 01. The image is that of a glowing wood coal 
 smouldering away to embers amid its own ashes. 
 
 LXV. p. 102. Date 1554. Addressed A messer Giorgio 
 
 Vasari, amico e pittor singulare, with this letter : Messer 
 
 Giorgio, ai?iico caro, voi direte ben eft! io sie vecchio e pazzo a voler 
 
 far sonetti; ma per die molti dicono eft! io son rimbambito, ho voluto 
 
 far Vuficio mio,ee. A di 19 di settembre 1554. Vostro Michel- 
 
 agniolo Buonan'oti in Roma. 
 
 LXVL, LXVIL pp. 103-4. These two sonnets were sent 
 to Giorgio Vasari in 1555 (?) with this letter : Messer Giorgio, io 
 vi mando dua sonetti ; e bencfte sieno cosa sciocca, il fo perdie 
 veggiate dove io iengo i mie 1 pensieri : e quando arete ottantuno 
 anni, come io, mi crederete. Pregovi gli diate a messer Giovan 
 Francesco Fatiucci, die me ne a chiesti. Vostro Michelagniolo 
 Buonarroti in Roma. The first was also sent to Monsignor' 
 Beccadelli, Archbishop of Ragusa, who replied to it. For his 
 sonnet, see Signor Guasti's edition, p. 233. 
 
 LXVIII. p. 105. Date 1556. Written in reply to his 
 friend's invitation that he should pay him a visit at Ragusa. 
 Line 10 : this Urbino was M. A.'s old and faithful servant, 
 Francesco d'Amadore di Casteldurante, who lived with him 
 twenty-six years, and died at Rome in 1556. 
 
 LXIX.-LXXVII. pp. 106-15. The dates of tms series of 
 penitential sonnets are not known. It is clear that they were 
 written in old age. It will be remembered that the latest piece 
 of marble on which Michael Angelo worked, was the unfinished 
 Pieta now standing behind the choir of the Duomo at Florence, 
 Many of his latest drawings are designs for a Crucifixion. 
 
NOTES ON CAMPANELLA'S SONNETS. 
 
 I. p. 119. Line 1 : the Italian words which I have trans- 
 lated God's Wisdom and Philosophy are Senno and Sofia. 
 Campanella held that the divine Senno penetrated the whole 
 universe, and, meeting with created Sofia, gave birth to 
 Science. This sonnet is therefore a sort of Mythopoem, 
 figuring the process whereby true knowledge, as distinguished 
 from sophistry, is derived by the human reason interrogating 
 God in Nature and within the soul. Line 5 : Sofia has for her 
 husband Senno ; the human intellect is married to the divine. 
 Line 9 : it was the doctrine of Campanella and the school to 
 which he belonged, that no advance in knowledge could be 
 made except by the direct exploration of the universe, and 
 that the authority of schoolmen, Aristotelians, and the like, 
 must be broken down before a step could be made in the 
 right direction. This germ of modern science is sufficiently 
 familiar to us in the exposition of Bacon. Line 12 : repeats 
 the same idea. Facts presented by Nature are of more value 
 than any Ipse dixit. Line 14 : he compares himself not with- 
 out reason to Prometheus ; for twenty-five years spent in prison 
 were his reward for the revelation which has added a new 
 sphere to human thought. 
 
 II. p. 120. The bitter words of this sonnet will not seem 
 unmerited to those who have studied Italian poetry in the 
 Cinque Cento the refined playthings of verse, the romances, 
 
NOTES. 189 
 
 and the burlesque nonsense, which amused a corrupt though 
 highly cultivated age. 
 
 III. p. 121. Campanella held the doctrine of an Anima 
 Mundi in the fullest and deepest sense of the term. The 
 larger and more complex the organism, the more it held, in 
 his opinion, of thought and sentient life. Thus the stars, in 
 the language of Aristotle, are Oewrepa j/juwv. Compare Sonnets 
 VIII., XIX. 
 
 IV. p. 122. Though the material seat of the mind is so 
 insignificant, the mind itself is infinite, analogous to God in its 
 capacity. Aristarchus and Metrodorus symbolise, perhaps, 
 the spheres of literature and mathematics. This infinitude of 
 the intellect is our real proof of God, our inner witness of the 
 Deity. We may arrive at God by reasoning; we may trust 
 authority ; but it is only by impregnating our minds with God 
 in Nature that we come into immediate contact with Him. 
 Cp. Sonnet VI., last line. 
 
 V. p. 123. The theme of this sonnet is the well-known 
 Baconian principle of the interrogation of Nature. The true 
 philosopher must go straight to the universe, and not confine 
 himself to books. Cp. Sonnets I., LV., LVI. 
 
 VI. p. 124. A further development of the same thought. 
 Tyrants, hypocrites, sophists are the three plagues of humanity, 
 standing between our intellect and God, who is the source of 
 freedom, goodness, and true wisdom. In the last line Campa- 
 nella expresses his opinion that God is knowable by an im- 
 mediate act of perception analogous to the sense of taste : Se 
 tutti al Senno non rendiamo il gusto. Compare Sonnet IV., 
 last line. 
 
 VII. p. 125. Ignorance is the parent of tyranny, sophistry, 
 hypocrisy ; and the arms against this trinity of error are power, 
 wisdom, love, the three main attributes of God. 
 
 VIII. p. 126. Human egotism inclines men to deny the 
 spiritual life of the universe, to favour their own nation, to love 
 
i 9 o NOTES. 
 
 their individual selves exclusively, to eliminate the true God 
 from the world, to worship false gods fashioned from them- 
 selves, and at last to fancy themselves central and creative in 
 the Cosmos. Adami calls this sonnet scoprimento stupendo. 
 
 IX. p. 127. The quatrains set forth the condition of the 
 soul besotted with self-love. We may see in this picture a 
 critique of Machiavelli's Principe, which was for Campanella the 
 very ideal portrait of a tyrant. The love of God, rightly under- 
 stood, places man en rapport With, all created things. S. Francis, 
 for example, loved not only his fellow-men, but recognised the 
 brotherhood of birds and fishes. 
 
 X. p. 128. Ignorance, the source of all our miseries, 
 blinds us to celestial beauty and makes us follow carnal lust. 
 Yet what is best in sexual love is the radiance of heavenly 
 beauty shining through the form of flesh. This sonnet 
 receives abundant illustration in Michael Angelo's poems. 
 
 XL, XII. pp. 129-30. Two sonnets on the condition of 
 the philosopher in a world that understands him not. The 
 first expresses that sense of inborn royalty which sustained 
 Campanella through his long martyrdom. The second expands 
 the picture drawn of the philosopher in Plato's Republic after 
 his return to the cave from the region of truth. 
 
 XIII. p. 131. Campanella frequently expressed his theo- 
 logical fatalism by this metaphor of a comedy. God wrote the 
 drama which men have to play. In this life we cannot under- 
 stand our parts. We act what is appointed for us ; and it is 
 only when the comedy is finished, that we shall see how good 
 and evil, happiness and misery, were all needed by the great 
 life of the universe. The following stanza from one of his 
 Canzoni may be cited in illustration. 
 
 War, ignorance, fraud, tyranny, 
 Death, homicide, abortion, woe 
 These to the world are fair ; as we 
 Reckon the chase or gladiatorial show. 
 To pile our hearth we fell the tree ; 
 
NOTES. 191 
 
 Kill bird or beast our strength to stay ; 
 
 The vines, the hives our wants obey ; 
 
 Like spiders spreading nets, we take and slay. 
 
 As tragedy gives men delight, 
 
 So the exchange of death and strife 
 
 Still yields a pleasure infinite 
 
 To the great world's triumphant life : 
 
 Nay, seeming ugliness and pain 
 
 Avert returning Chaos' reign. 
 
 Thus the whole world's a comedy ; 
 
 And they who by philosophy 
 
 Unite themselves to God, will see 
 
 In ugliness and evil nought 
 
 But beauteous masks : oh, mirthful thought ! 
 
 XIV. p. 132. The same theme is continued with a further 
 development. Men among themselves play their own comedy, 
 but do not rightly assign the parts. They make kings of 
 slavish souls, and elevate the impious to the rank of saints. 
 They ignore their true and natural leaders, and stone the real 
 prophets. 
 
 XV. p. 133. Between the false kings of men, who owe 
 their thrones to accident, and the really royal, who by chance 
 of birth or station are a prey to tyrants, there is everlasting 
 war. Yet the spirit of the martyrs survives, and long after 
 their death they rule. 
 
 XVI. p. 134. True kinghood is independent of royal 
 birth or power or ensigns. High moral and intellectual quali- 
 ties make the natural kings of men ; and these are so rarely 
 found in sceptred families that a republic is the safest form of 
 government. See Sonnets XXXI., XXXVII. 
 
 XVII. p. 135. As men mistake their kings, so they mis- 
 take the saints. The true spirit of Christ is ignored ; and if 
 Christ were to return to earth, they would persecute him, even 
 as they persecute those who follow him most closely in their 
 lives and doctrines. 
 
 XVIII. p. 136. Christ symbolises and includes all saintly 
 
192 NOTES. 
 
 truth-seeking souls. Compare the three last lines of this 
 sonnet with the three last lines of No. XV. and No. XX. 
 
 XIX., XX., XXI. pp. 137-9. Expanding the same 
 themes, Campanella contrasts the ignorance of self-love with 
 the divine illumination of the true philosopher, and insists 
 that, in spite of persecution and martyrdom, saintly and truth- 
 seeking souls will triumph. 
 
 XXII. p. 140. Resumes the thought of No. X. If only 
 the soul of man, infinite in its capacity, could be enamoured 
 of God, it would at once work miracles and attain to Deity. 
 
 XXIII. p. 141. A bitter satire on love in the seventeenth 
 century. Lines 9-1 1 : as Adami sometimes says, qui legit 
 intelligat. Line 12 : la squilla mia is a pun on Campanula's 
 name. He means that he has shown the world a more excel- 
 lent way of love. Cp. No. XXII. 
 
 XXIV. p. 142. The essence of nobility is subjected to 
 the same critique as kinghood in No. XVI. Line n : the 
 Turk is Europe's foe. Campanella praises the Turks because 
 they had no hereditary nobility, and conferred honours on men 
 according to their actions. 
 
 XXV. p. 143. That this sonnet should have been written 
 by a Dominican monk in a Neapolitan prison in the first half 
 of the seventeenth century, is truly note-worthy. It expresses 
 the essence of democracy in a critique of the then existing 
 social order. 
 
 XXVI. p. 144. A very obscure piece of writing. The 
 first quatrain lays down the principle that ill-doing brings its 
 own inevitable punishment. The second distinguishes between 
 the unblessed suffering which plagues the soul, and that which 
 we welcome as a process of purgation. The first terzet makes 
 heaven and hell respectively consist of a clean and a burdened 
 conscience. The second, referring to a legend of S. Peter's 
 controversy with Simon Magus, finds a proof of immortality in 
 this condition of conscience. 
 
NOTES. 193 
 
 XXVTL p. 145. A bold and perilous image of the 
 Machiavellian Prince, who drains the commonwealth for his 
 own selfish pleasures. The play upon the words mentola and 
 mente in the first line is hardly capable of reproduction. 
 
 XXVIII. p. 146. Adami says in a note : Questo sonetto e 
 fatto perche V intendano pochi; ne io voglio dichiararlo. Under 
 these circumstances it is dangerous to attempt an explanation. 
 Yet something may be hazarded. Line 1 : the lady is Italy. 
 Line 3 : the stranger races are Rome's vassals. Line 7 : Dinah 
 is again Italy (?). Line 8 : Simeon and Levi are the Princes of 
 Italy and the Papacy. Line 9 : Jerusalem probably stands for 
 Rome. Line 10 : Nazareth is the Gospel of Christ, and Athens 
 is philosophy. Here again Adami warns us : qui legit intelligat. 
 Line 13 : a critique of the ruinous policy of calling strangers 
 in to interfere in Italian affairs. 
 
 XXIX/ p. 147. Line 2 : Attila is meant. The Venetian 
 Lagoons were the refuge of the last and best Italians of the 
 Roman age, when the incursions of the barbarians destroyed 
 the classical civility. Line 12 : alludes to the fixity of the 
 Venetian Constitution and the deliberate caution of Venetian 
 policy. 
 
 XXX. p. 148. The quatrains describe the old power of 
 Genoa, who conquered Pisa, abased Venice, planted colonies 
 in the East, and discovered America. Line 10 : throws the 
 blame of Genoese decrepitude upon the nobles. 
 
 XXXI. p. 149. Campanella praises the Poles for their 
 elective monarchy, but blames them for choosing the scions of 
 royal houses, instead of seeking out the real kings of men, such 
 as he described in No. XVI. 
 
 XXXII. p. 150. A similar criticism of the Swiss, who 
 played so important and yet so contemptible a part in the 
 Italian wars of the sixteenth century. With the terzets com- 
 pare No. XXV. Line 1 1 : stands thus in the original La 
 croce bianca e 7 prato si contende. 
 
 O 
 
l 9 4 NOTES. 
 
 XXXIII. p. 151. A clever adaptation of the parable of 
 the Samaritan, conceived and executed in the spirit of a modern 
 poet like A. H. Clough. 
 
 XXXIV. p. 152. Line 4: the hypocritical priest makes 
 profit by preaching for holiness what is really hurtful to the 
 soul. Lines 5-1 1 contrast the acknowledged sinners with the 
 covert and crafty pretenders to virtue. Line 8 : I have ven- 
 tured to correct the punctuation. D'Ancona reads : 
 
 E poco e il male in cui poco e Vinganno. 
 Ti puoi guardar : 
 
 but I am not sure that I am justified in the sense I put upon 
 the verb guardarsi. 
 
 XXXV. p. 153. A similar arraignment of impostors, com- 
 paring perfidious priests with the foulest literary scoundrel of 
 the age, Pietro Aretino. The first terzet in the original is 
 obscure. 
 
 XXXVI. p. 1 54. I do not understand the allusion in the last 
 line. The whole sonnet is directed against hypocritical priests. 
 
 XXXVIL, XXXVIIL, XXXIX. pp. 155-7. A com- 
 mentary on the first clauses of the Lord's Prayer. Campa- 
 nella tells the Italians they have no right to call themselves 
 men, the children of God in heaven, while they bow to tyrants 
 worse than beasts, and believe the lying priests who call that 
 adulation loyalty. If they free their souls from this vile 
 servitude, they may then pray with hopeful heart for the com- 
 ing upon earth of God's kingdom, which shall satisfy poets, 
 philosophers, and prophets with more than they had dreamed. 
 It will be noticed that the rhymes are carried from sonnet to 
 sonnet ; so that the three form one poem, described by Adami 
 as sonetto trigemino. In XXXVIL, 13, I have corrected 
 cenno into senno. In XXXIX., 1, I have ventured to render 
 con ogni istanza by with every hour that flies, though istanza is 
 not istante. 
 
NOTES. 195 
 
 XL., XLL, XLIL pp. 158-60. These three sonnets, 
 though not linked by rhymes, form a series, predicting the 
 speedy overthrow of tyrants, sophists, hypocrites Campanula's 
 natural enemies and the coming of a better age for human 
 society. They were probably written early, when his heart 
 was still hot with the hopes of a new reign of right and reason, 
 which even he might help to inaugurate. The eagle, bear, 
 lion, crow, fox, wolf, etc., are the evil principalities and powers 
 of earth. No. XL., line 9 : the giants are, I think, those law- 
 less, selfish, anti-social forces idealised by Machiavelli in his 
 Principe, as Campanella read that treatise the strong men 
 and mighty ones of an impious and godless world. No. XLL, 
 line 4 : concerning Taida, Sinon, Giuda, ed Omero, Adami 
 says : ' These are the four evangelists of the dark age of 
 Abaddon.' Thais is a symbol of lechery ; Sinon of fraud ; 
 Judas of treason ; Homer of lying fiction. So at least I read 
 the allegory. No. XLIL, lines 9-14 are noticeable, since they 
 set forth Campanula's philosophical or evangelical communism, 
 for a detailed exposition of which see the Civitas So/is. 
 
 XLIIL p. 161. Invited to write a comedy and it will 
 be here remembered that Giordano Bruno had composed 7/ 
 Candelaio Campanella replied with this impassioned outburst 
 of belief in the approaching end of the world. It belongs 
 probably to his early manhood. 
 
 XLIV., XLV. pp. 162-3. Adami heads these two 
 sonnets with this title : Sopra i colori delle vesti. It is a fact 
 that under the Spanish tyranny black clothes were almost 
 universally adopted by the Italians, as may be seen in the 
 picture galleries of Florence and Genoa. Campanella uses 
 this fashion as a symbol of the internal gloom and melancholy 
 in which the nation was sunk by vice upon the eve of the new 
 age he confidently looked for. 
 
 XLVI. p. 164. The year 1603, made up of centuries seven 
 and nine and years three, was expected by the astrologers to 
 
 o 2 
 
196 NOTES. 
 
 bring a great mutation in the order of our planet. The celestial 
 signs were supposed to reassume the position they had occupied 
 at Christ's nativity. Campanella, who believed in astrology, 
 looked forward with intense anxiety to this turning-point in 
 modern history. It is clear from the termination of the sonnet 
 that he wrote it some time before the great date ; and we are 
 hence perhaps justified in referring the rest of his prophetic 
 poetry to the same early period of his career. 
 
 XLVII. p. 165. Qui legit intellig at, says Adami. Line 7: 
 refers to the outlying vassals of the Roman Empire, who de- 
 stroyed it, ruled Rome, and afterwards fell under the yoke of 
 the Roman See. Lines 9-14 are an invective against the 
 Papacy. 
 
 XLVI11. p. 166. A sonnet on his own prison. The 
 prison or worse was the doom of all truth-seekers in Campa- 
 nula's age. 
 
 XLIX. p. 167. For the understanding of this strange 
 composition Adami offers nothing more satisfactory than mira 
 quante contraposizioni sono in questo sonetto. The contrast is 
 maintained throughout between the philosopher in the freedom 
 of his spirit and the same man in the limitations of his prisoned 
 life. Line 12 I do not rightly understand. Line 14 refers to 
 Paradise. 
 
 L. p. 168. There is an allusion in this sonnet to an obscure 
 passage in Campanella's life. It seems he was condemned to 
 the galleys (see line 12); and this sentence was remitted on 
 account of his real or feigned madness. We should infer from 
 the poem itself that his madness was simulated ; but Adami, 
 who ought to have known the facts from his own lips, writes : 
 qua?ido brucib il letto, e divenne pazzo veto finto. Line 1 2 : 
 I have translated /' astratto by the mystic; astratto is assorto, 
 or lost in ecstatic contemplation. 
 
 LI. p. 169. To this incomprehensible string of proverbs 
 Adami adds, ironically perhaps : questo e assai noto ed arguto e 
 
NOTES. 197 
 
 vera. It is an answer to certain friends, officers and barons, 
 who accused him of not being able to manage his affairs. He 
 answers that they might as well bring the same accusation 
 against Christ and all the sages. Line 3 : I have ventured to 
 read e for e as the only chance of getting a meaning. Line 8 : 
 seems to mean that he would not accept life and freedom at 
 the price of concealing his opinions. 
 
 LII. p. 170. The same theme is rehandled. Lines 1-4: 
 Campanella argued that a man's mental life extends over all 
 that he grasps of the world's history. Line 5 : the Italian for 
 mite is marmeggio, which means, I think, a cheese- worm. The 
 eclipse of Campanella's sun is his imprisonment. Lines 7 and 
 8 I do not well understand in the Italian. Line 11: 'Ye build 
 the tombs of the prophets and garnish the sepulchres of the 
 righteous.' Lines 12-14: saints and sages are made perfect 
 by suffering. 
 
 LIII. p. 171. A singular argument concerning prayer. 
 Campanella says it is impious to hope to change the order and 
 facts of the world, arranged by God, except in the single 
 category of time. He therefore thinks it lawful for him to ask, 
 and for God to grant, a shortening of the season of his suffering. 
 See the Canzone translated by me, forming Appendix I. 
 
 LIV. p. 172. Another sonnet referring to his life in prison. 
 He asks God how he can prosper if his friends all fail him for 
 various reasons. Lines 9-1 1 refer to the visit of a foe in 
 disguise who came to him in prison and promised him liberty, 
 probably with a view to extracting from him admissions of 
 state-treason or of heresy. See the Canzone translated in 
 Appendix I. The last three lines seem to express his 
 unalterable courage, and his readiness to act if only God will 
 give him trustworthy instruments and fill him with His own 
 spirit. The Dantesque language of the last line is almost 
 incapable of reproduction : 
 
 CK to m' intuassi come tu f immii. 
 
1 98 NOTES. 
 
 LV. p. 173. Campanella tells his friend that such trivial 
 things as pastoral poems will not immortalise him. He bids 
 him seek, not outside in worn-out fictions, but within his own 
 soul, for the spirit of true beauty; turn to God for praise, 
 instead of to a human audience ; and go with the tabula rasa 
 of childlike intelligence into God's school of Nature. Compare 
 Nos. I., V. 
 
 LVI. p. 174. Campanella recognised in Telesio the 
 founder of the new philosophy, which discarded the ancients 
 and the schoolmen. Line 3 : the tyrant is Aristotle. Lines 5 
 and 6 : Bombino and Montano are the poets. Lines 7-9 : 
 Cavalcante and Gaieta were disciples of the Cosentine Academy 
 founded by Telesio. Line 9 : our saint, la gran donna, is the 
 new philosophy. Line 1 2 : my tocsin, mia squilla, is a pun 
 on Campanella's name. 
 
 LVII. p. 175. Rudolph von Biinau set himself at the age 
 of sixteen to philosophise, travelled with Adami, and with him 
 visited Campanella in prison at Naples. Campanella cast his 
 horoscope and predicted for him a splendid career, exhorting 
 him to make war upon the pernicious school of philosophers, 
 who encumbered the human reason with frauds and figments, 
 and prevented the free growth of a better method. 
 
 LVIII. p. 176. Adami, to whom we owe the first edition 
 of these sonnets, visited Campanella in the Castle of S. Elmo, 
 having wandered through many lands, like Diogenes, in search 
 of a man. Line 5 : this, says Adami, ' refers to a dream or 
 vision of a sword, great and marvellous, with three triple joints, 
 and arms, and other things, discovered by Tobia Adami, which 
 the author interpreted by his primalities ' that is, I suppose, 
 by the trinity of power, love, wisdom, mentioned in No. VII. 
 Line 6 : Abaddon is the opposite of Christ, the lord of the evil 
 of the age. Cp. note to No. XLI. 
 
 LIX. p. 177. This is in some respects the most sublime 
 and most pathetic of Campanella's sonnets. He is the Pro- 
 
NOTES. 199 
 
 metheus (see last line of No. I.) who will not slay himself, 
 because he cannot help men by his death, and because his 
 belief in the permanency of sense and thought makes him fear 
 lest he should carry his sufferings into another life. God's 
 will with regard to him is hidden. He does not even know 
 what sort of life he lived before he came into his present form 
 of flesh. Philip, King of Spain, has increased the discomforts 
 of his dungeon : but Philip can do nothing which God has not 
 decreed ; and God never by any possibility can em 
 
 LX. p. 178. Arguments from design make us infer an 
 all-wise, all-good Maker of the world. The misery and vio- 
 lence and sin of animate beings make us infer an evil and 
 ignorant Ruler of the world. But this discord between the 
 Maker and Ruler of the world is only apparent; and the 
 grounds of the contradiction will in due time be revealed. 
 See No. XIII. and note. 
 
APPENDICES 
 
APPENDIX I. 
 
 I have translated one Canzone out of Campanula's collec- 
 tion, partly as a specimen of his style in this kind of composi- 
 tion, partly because it illustrates his personal history and throws 
 light on many of the sonnets. It is the first of three prayers 
 to God from his prison, entitled by Adami Orazioni tre in 
 Salmodia Metafisicale congiunte insieme. 
 
 Almighty God ! what though the laws of Fate 
 Invincible, and this long misery, 
 Proving my prayers not merely spent in vain 
 But heard and granted crosswise, banish me 
 Far from Thy sight, still humbly obstinate 
 I turn to Thee. No other hopes remain. 
 Were there another God with vows to gain, 
 To Him for succour I would surely go : 
 Nor could I be called impious, if I turned 
 In this great agony from one who spurned, 
 To one who bade me come and cured my woe. 
 Nay, Lord ! I babble vainly. Help ! I cry, 
 Before the temple where Thy reason burned, 
 Become a mosque of imbecility ! 
 
204 APPENDIX I. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Well know I that there are no words which can 
 Move Thee to favour him for whom Thy grace 
 Was not reserved from all eternity. 
 Repentance in Thy counsel finds no place : 
 Nor can the eloquence of mortal man 
 Bend Thee to mercy, when Thy sure decree 
 Hath stablished that this frame of mine should be 
 Rent by these pangs that flesh and spirit tire. 
 Nay if the whole world knows my martyrdom 
 Heaven, earth, and all that in them have their home- 
 Why tell the tale to Thee, their Lord and Sire ? 
 And if all change is death or some such state, 
 Thou deathless God, to whom for help I come, 
 How shall I make Thee change, to change my fate ? 
 
 in. 
 
 Nathless for grace I once more sue to Thee, 
 
 Spurred on by anguish sore and deep distress : 
 
 Yet have I neither art nor voice to plead 
 
 Before Thy judgment-seat of righteousness. 
 
 It is not faith, it is not charity, 
 
 Nor hope that fails me in my hour of need ; 
 
 And if, as some men teach, the soul is freed 
 
 From sin and quickened to deserve Thy grace 
 
 By torments suffered on this earth below, 
 
 The Alps have neither ice, I ween, nor snow 
 
 To match my purity before Thy face ! 
 
 For prisons fifty, tortures seven, twelve years 
 
 Of want and injury and woe 
 
 These have I borne, and still I stand ringed round with fears. 
 
APPENDIX L 205 
 
 IV. 
 
 We lay all wrapped with darkness : for some slept 
 
 The sleep of ignorance, and players played 
 
 Music to sweeten that vile sleep for gold : 
 
 While others waked, and hands of rapine laid 
 
 On honours, wealth, and blood ; or sexless crept 
 
 Into the place of harlots, basely bold. 
 
 I lit a light : like swarming bees, behold ! 
 
 Stripped of their sheltering gloom, on me 
 
 Sleepers and wakers rush to wreak their spite : 
 
 Their wounds, their brutal joys disturbed by light, 
 
 Their broken bestial sleep fill them with jealousy. 
 
 Thus with the wolves the silly sheep agreed 
 
 Against the valiant dogs to fight ; 
 
 Then fell the prey of their false friends' insatiate greed. 
 
 Help, mighty Shepherd ! Save Thy lamp, Thy hound, 
 From wolves that ravin and from thieves that prey ! 
 Make known the whole truth to the witless crowd ! 
 For if my light, my voice, are cast away 
 If sinfulness in these Thy gifts be found 
 The sun that rules in heaven is disallowed. 
 Thou knowest without wings I cannot fly : 
 Give me the wings of grace to speed my flight ! 
 Mine eyes are always turned to greet Thy light : 
 Is it my crime if still it pass me by ? 
 Thou didst free Bocca and Gilardo ; these, 
 Worthless, are made the angels of Thy might. 
 Hast Thou lost counsel ? Shall Thine empire cease ? 
 
2o6 APPENDIX L 
 
 VI. 
 
 With Thee I speak : Lord, thou dost understand ! 
 
 Nor mind I how mad tongues my life reprove. 
 
 Full well I know the world is 'neath Thine eye, 
 
 And to each part thereof belongs Thy love : 
 
 But for the general welfare wisely planned 
 
 The parts must suffer change ; they do not die, 
 
 For nature ebbs and flows eternally ; 
 
 But to such change we give the name of Death 
 
 Or Evil, whensoe'er we feel the strife 
 
 Which for the universe is joy and life, 
 
 Though for each part it seems mere lack of breath. 
 
 So in my body every part I see 
 
 With lives and deaths alternate rife, 
 
 All tending to its vital unity. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thus then the Universe grieves not, and I 
 
 Mid woes innumerable languish still 
 
 To cheer the whole and every happier part. 
 
 Yet, if each part is suffered by Thy will 
 
 To call for aid as Thou art God most High, 
 
 Who to all beings wilt Thy strength impart; 
 
 Who smoothest every change by secret art, 
 
 With fond care tempering the force of fate, 
 
 Necessity and concord, power and thought, 
 
 And love divine through all things subtly wrought- 
 
 I am persuaded, when I iterate 
 
 My prayers to Thee, some comfort I must find 
 
 For these pangs poison-fraught, 
 
 Or leave the sweet sharp lust of life behind. 
 
APPENDIX I. 207 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Universe hath nought that changes not, 
 
 Nor in its change feels not the pangs of pain, 
 
 Nor prays not unto God to ease that woe. 
 
 Mid these are many who the grace obtain 
 
 Of aid from Thee : thus Thou didst rule their lot 
 
 And many who without Thy help must go. 
 
 How shall I tell toward whom Thy favours flow, 
 
 Seeing I sat not at Thy council-board ? 
 
 One argument at least doth hearten me 
 
 To hope those prayers may not unanswered be, 
 
 Which reason and pure thoughts to me afford : 
 
 Since often, if not always, Thou dost will 
 
 In Thy deep wisdom, Lord, 
 
 Best laboured soil with fairest fruits to fill. 
 
 , IX. 
 
 The tilth of this my field by plough and hoe 
 Yields me good hope but more the fostering sun 
 Of Sense divine that quickens me within, 
 Whose rays those many minor stars outshone 
 That it is destined in high heaven to show 
 Mercy, and grant my prayer ; so I may win 
 The end Thy gifts betoken, enter in 
 The realm reserved for me from earliest time. 
 Christ prayed but ' If it may be,' knowing well 
 He might not shun that cup so terrible : 
 His angel answered, that the law sublime 
 Ordained his death. I prayed not thus, and mine- 
 Was mine then sent from Hell ? 
 Made answer diverse from that voice divine. 
 
2o8 APPENDIX 1. 
 
 x. 
 
 Go song, go tell my Lord ' Lo ! he who lies 
 
 Tortured in chains within a pit for Thee, 
 
 Cries, how can flight be free 
 
 Wingless ? Send Thy word down, or Thou 
 
 Show that fate's wheel turns not iniquity, 
 
 And that in heaven there is no lip that lies.' 
 
 Yet, song, too boldly flies 
 
 Thy shaft ; stay yet for this that follows now ! 
 
APPENDIX II. 
 
 The 'Rivista Europea' of June 1875 publishes an article by 
 Signor V. de Tivoli concerning an inedited sonnet of Michael 
 Angelo, which he deciphered from the Autograph, written upon 
 the ba^ 1 ' " one of the original drawings in the Taylor Gallery 
 at Oxiord. This drawing formed part of the Ottley and 
 Lawrence Collection. It represents horses in various attitudes, 
 together with a skirmish between a mounted soldier and a group of 
 men on foot. Signor de Tivoli not only prints the text with all 
 its orthographical confusions, abbreviations, and alterations j but 
 he also adds what he modestly terms a restoration of the 
 sonnet. Of this restoration I have made the subjoined version 
 in rhyme, though I frankly admit that the difficulties of the 
 text, as given in the rough , by Signor de Tivoli, seem to me 
 insuperable, and that his readings, though ingenious, cannot 
 in my opinion be accepted as absolutely certain. He himself 
 describes the MS. as a palimpsest, deliberately defaced by 
 Michael Angelo, from which the words originally written have to 
 be recovered in many cases by a process of conjecture. That 
 the style of the restoration is thoroughly Michael Angelesque, 
 will be admitted by all students of Signor Guasti's edition. The 
 only word I felt inclined to question, is donne in line 13, where 
 I should have expected donna. But I am informed that about 
 
 P 
 
210 APPENDIX II. 
 
 this word there is no doubt. The sonnet itself ranks among 
 the less interesting and the least finished compositions of the 
 poet's old age. 
 
 Thrice blest was I what time thy piercing dart 
 I could withstand and conquer in days past : 
 But now my breast with grief is overcast ; 
 Against my will I weep, and suffer smart. 
 
 And if those shafts, aimed with so fierce an art, 
 The mark of my frail bosom over- passed, 
 Now canst thou take revenge with blows at last 
 From those fair eyes which must consume my heart. 
 
 O Love, how many a net, how many a snare 
 
 Shuns through long years the bird by fate malign, 
 Only at last to die more piteously ! 
 
 Thus love hath let me run as free as air, 
 
 Ladies, through many a year, to make me pine 
 In sad old age, and a worse death to die. 
 
APPENDIX III. 
 
 The following translations of a madrigal, a quatrain, and a 
 stanza by Michael Angelo, may be worth insertion here for the 
 additional light they throw upon some of the preceding 
 sonnets especially upon Sonnets I. and II. and Sonnets 
 LXV.-LXXVII. In my version of the stanza I have followed 
 Michelangelo the younger's readings. 
 
 DIALOGUE OF FLORENCE AND HER EXLLES. 
 Per molti, donna. 
 
 1 Lady, for joy of lovers numberless 
 
 Thou wast created fair as angels are. 
 
 Sure God hath fallen asleep in heaven afar, 
 
 When one man calls the bliss of many his ! 
 
 Give back to streaming eyes 
 
 The daylight of thy face that seems to shun 
 
 Those who must live defrauded of their bliss ! ' 
 
 ' Vex not your pure desire with tears and sighs : 
 For he who robs you of my light, hath none. 
 Dwelling in fear, sin hath no happiness ; 
 Since amid those who love, their joy is less, 
 Whose great desire great plenty still curtails, 
 Than theirs who, poor, have hope that never fails.' 
 
212 APPENDIX III. 
 
 THE SPEECH OF NIGHT. 
 Caro n? I 7 sonno. 
 
 Sweet is my sleep, but more to be mere stone, 
 So long as ruin and dishonour reign j 
 To bear nought, to feel nought, is my great gain ; 
 Then wake me not, speak in an undertone ! 
 
 LAMENT FOR LIFE WASTED. 
 Ohiml, ohime! 
 
 Ah me ! Ah me ! whene'er I think 
 
 Of my past years, I find that none 
 
 Among those many years, alas, was mine ; 
 
 False hopes and longings vain have made me pine, 
 
 With tears, sighs, passions, fires, upon life's brink. 
 
 Of mortal loves I have known every one. 
 
 Full well I feel it now ; lost and undone, 
 
 From truth and goodness banished far away, 
 
 I dwindle day by day. 
 
 Longer the shade, more short the sunbeams grow ; 
 
 While I am near to falling, faint and low. 
 
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