Kitabı oku: «Sonnets and Canzonets», sayfa 3

SONNETS AND CANZONETS

“These quiet and green places, these mountains and valleys, were created by Nature on purpose for loving hearts.”

Meli’s Canzonets.

 
“Be it that my unseasonable song
Come out of time, that fault is in the time;
And I must not do Virtue so much wrong,
As love her aught the worse for others’ crime;
And yet I find some blessed spirits among
That cherish me, and like and grace my rhyme.”
 

Daniel.

PART I.
PROEM

 
Long left unwounded by the grisly foe,
Who sometime pierces all with fatal shaft,
Still on my cheek fresh youth did lively glow,
And at his threatening arrow gaily laught;
Came then my friendly scholar, and we quaffed
From learning’s spring, its sparkling overflow;
All through the lingering evening’s charmèd hours,
Delightful fellowship in thought was ours:
If I from Poesy could not all abstain,
He my poor verses oft did quite undress,
New wrapt in words my thought’s veiled nakedness,
Or kindly clipt my steed’s luxuriant mane:
’Twas my delight his searching eye to meet,
In days of genial versing, memories sweet.
 

January 1, 1882.

 
“O Spring, thou youthful beauty of the year,
Mother of flowers, bringer of warbling quires,
Of all sweet new green things, and new desires.”
 

Guarini’s Pastor Fido.

I

 
Auspicious morn, com’st opportune, unbought?
Bring’st thou glad furtherance in thy rosy train?
Speed then, my chariot, following fast my thought,
And distance on thy track the lumbering wain,
O’er plain and hillock nearing her abode,
The goal of expectation, fortune’s road, —
The maiden waits to greet with courtesy
Her bashful guest, while stranger yet is he:
From friendly circle at the city’s Court
She’s come to cull the flowers, to toy and play
With prattling childhood, love’s delightful sport;
Its smile call forth, to scent the new-mown hay,
Enjoy the wholesome laughter, simple mien,
Of country people in this rural scene.
 

 
“So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.”
 

Shenstone.

II

 
Ah! why so brief the visit, short his stay?
The acquaintance so surprising, and so sweet,
Stolen is my heart, ’tis journeying far away,
With that shy stranger whom my voice did greet.
That hour so fertile of entrancing thought,
So rapt the conversation, and so free, —
My heart lost soundings, tenderly upcaught,
Driven by soft sails of love and ecstasy!
Was I then? was I? clasped in Love’s embrace,
And touched with ardors of divinity?
Spake with my chosen lover face to face,
Espoused then truly? such my destiny?
I cannot tell; but own the pleasing theft,
That when the stranger went, I was of Love bereft.
 

“Though the bias of her nature was not to thought but to sympathy, yet was she so perfect in her own nature, as to meet intellectual persons by the fulness of her heart, warming them by her sentiments; believing, as she did, that, by dealing nobly with all, all would show themselves noble.”

III

 
Not all the brilliant beauties I have seen,
Mid the gay splendors of some Southern hall,
In jewelled grandeur, or in plainest mien,
Did so my fancy and my heart enthral,
As doth this noble woman, Nature’s queen!
Such hearty greeting from her lips did fall,
And I ennobled was through her esteem;
At once made sharer of her confidence,
As by enchantment of some rapturous dream;
With subtler vision gifted, finer sense,
She loosed my tongue’s refraining diffidence,
And softer accents lent our varying theme:
So much my Lady others doth surpass,
I read them all through her transparent glass.
 

 
“They love indeed who quake to say they love.”
 

Sir Philip Sidney.

IV

 
The April rains are past, the frosts austere, —
The flowers are hungering for the genial sun,
The snow’s dissolved, the merry birds are here,
And rural labors now are well begun.
Hither, from the disturbing, noisy Court
I’ve flown to this sequestered, quiet scene,
To meditate on Love and Love’s disport
Mid these smooth pastures and the meadows green.
Sure ’twere no fault of mine, no whispering sin,
If these coy leaves he sends me seem to speak
All that my heart, caressing, folds within;
Nor if I sought to smother, my flushed cheek
Would tell too plainly what I cannot hide,
Fond fancy disenchant nor set aside.
 

 
“Love is the life of friendship, letters are
The life of love, the loadstones that by rare
Attraction make souls meet, and melt, and mix,
As when by fire exalted gold we fix.”
 

Howel.

V

 
Most precious leaves the mail delights to bring,
All loving parcels, neatly squared and sealed;
Her buoyant fancy trims its glossy wing,
And flits courageous o’er Love’s flowery field.
Sure ’tis a tender and a sparkling flame
That letters kindle and do sweetly feed;
Wilt fly, schoolmaster, for such noble game?
Maiden that doth all other maids exceed!
She writes with passion, and a nimble wit,
Void of all pedantry and vain pretence,
With native genius forcible and fit,
A flowing humor and surpassing sense:
Who gains her heart will win a precious prize,
And fortunate be in every lover’s eyes.
 

 
“This place may seem for lovers’ leisure made,
So close those elms inweave their lofty shade.
The twining woodbine, how it climbs to breathe
Refreshing sweets around us; all beneath,
The ground with grass of cheerful green bespread,
Through which the springing flower uprears its head.
Lo, here are kingcups of a golden hue,
Medleyed with daisies white and endive blue,
And honeysuckles of a purple dye:
Confusion gay! bright waving to the eye.”
 

Ambrose Phillips.

VI

 
’Tis but a half-hour’s walk the Mill-Dam o’er,
Past Punch Bowl Inn, where, by the turnpike’s side,
The shaded pathway winding to the door,
The mansion rises in ancestral pride: —
Its shaven lawn, and blossoming orchard hoar,
And trellised vines, and hedges trim and neat,
Show plenty and refinement here abide, —
The generous gentleman’s fair country-seat.
Now, whilst the full moon glances soft and bright
O’er Mall and Mill-Dam and suburban street,
Turn hitherward thine unaccustomed feet,
At afternoon, or evening, or late night;
A change of scene oft rare attraction lends
To new acquaintance, as to older friends.
 

 
“If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne,
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.”
 

Shakespeare.

VII

 
The morning’s clear, the sky without a frown,
The dew-bespangled pastures wet the shoe;
Sauntering full early toward the sleeping town,
We’ll take the dry, well-trodden avenue;
On these crisp pathways, and familiar grounds
(Unless my flattering heart be over-bold),
While lingering purposely amid our rounds,
Some shady lane may love to hear all told.
One name has captured his too partial ear, —
(These kind, concealing bushes love invite
No tell-tales are, nor neighbors impolite;)
I’ll hear his suit devoid of blame or fear.
Impatiently the moment I await;
Who nothing ventures, stays disconsolate.
 

 
“Who knows thy destiny? when thou hast done,
Perchance her cabinet may harbor thee,
Whither all noble ambitious wits do run,
A nest almost as full of good as she.
Mark if to get thee she o’erskip the rest,
Mark if she read thee thrice, and kiss the name,
Mark if she do the same that they protest,
Mark if she mark whither her woman came.”
 

Donne.

VIII

 
Mean are all titles of nobility,
And kings poor spendthrifts, while I do compare
The wealth she daily lavishes on me
Of love, the noble kingdom that I share:
Is it the jealous year, for emphasis,
Sheds beauteous sunshine and refreshing dews?
My maiden’s month doth softlier court and kiss,
Tint springtime’s virgin cheek with rosier hues
Fly faster o’er my page, impassioned quill,
Signing this note of mine with tenderer touch!
Say I no measure find to mete my will,
Say that I love, but cannot tell how much;
Let time and trouble the full story tell:
I cannot love thee more, I know I love thee well.
 

 
“Let raptured fancy on that moment dwell
When thy dear vows in trembling accents fell,
When love acknowledged waked the tender sigh,
Swelled thy full breast, and filled the melting eye.”
 

Langhorne.

IX

 
Now I no longer wait my love to tell,
As ’twere a weakness love should not commit;
E’en did avowal my fond hope dispel,
My passion would of weakness me acquit.
Enamoured thus and holden by its spell,
Evasive words disloyal were, unfit
To emphasize the exquisite happiness
My boldest accents falteringly express;
Here, take my hand, and, life-long wedded, lead
Me by thy side; and, with my hand, my heart
Given thee long since in thought, given now in deed;
My life, my love, shall play no faithless part.
Blest be that hour, when, meeting face to face,
Our vows are plighted, ours the dear embrace!
 

 
“Venus, thy eternal sway
All the race of men obey.”
 

Euripides.

X

 
Unconquerable and inviolate
Is Love; servant and sov’reign of man’s wit:
Though the light-wingèd fancy changeful flit,
She rules unswervingly her fair estate,
O’erbears mischance and error, envy and hate;
High intellect, ambition, passion, pride,
Endowments that capricious Fortune brings,
By her disfranchisements are set aside;
The mistress she alike of slaves and kings,
Empress of Earth’s dominions, far and wide,
Eldest of potentates, and latest born.
Of all in Heaven above or Earth below,
No being so illustrious or forlorn,
That to Love’s sceptre doth not gladly bow.
 

 
“Ye tradeful merchants! that with weary toil
Do seek most precious things to make your gain,
And both the Indies of their treasure spoil,
What needeth you to seek so far in vain?
For, lo! my love doth in herself contain
All this world’s riches that may far be found;
 
 
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind adorned with virtues manifold.”
 

Spenser.

XI

 
Ancestral tendencies far down descend;
They bless or blame for generations long;
They prick us forward toward our destined end,
Alike the weak, the sluggish, and the strong.
When her grave ancestor, of Winthrop’s date,
Did with the rich mint-master’s daughter join
In wedlock, he, sagacious magistrate,
Gained more in sterling worth than silver coin:
So, when King’s Chapel saw, in gladsome May,
The mild schoolmaster lead his willing bride,
And the courtly warden give her hand away,
Mintage of like worth had no land beside.
True love alone nobility doth outvie,
And character’s the sterling currency.
 

 
“How still the sea! behold, how calm the sky!
And how, in sportive chase, the swallows fly!
Sweet breathe the fields, and now a gentle breeze
Moves every leaf and trembles through the trees.”
 

Phillips.

XII

 
Hither, the gray and shapely church beside,
At sandy Hingham, by the sounding sea,
From the disturbing town escaped thus wide,
I’m come, from all encumbering care set free,
To raise the choral song, with friends discourse,
Roam the wide fields for flowers, or seaward sail,
Or to Cohasset’s strand repair, where hoarse
Tumultuous surges chant their ceaseless tale;
Or poesy entertain, grave Wordsworth’s lays,
Melodious musing childhood’s glorious prime,
Shakespeare’s warm sonnets or Venetian plays,
Or that sad wizard Mariner’s marvellous Rime.
Here in these haunts, this lovers’ company,
Sweet Love’s symposium hold we happily.
 

“Books have always a secret influence on the understanding: we cannot at pleasure obliterate ideas; he that reads books of science, though without any desire for improvement, will grow more knowing; he that entertains himself with moral or religious treatises will imperceptibly advance to goodness; the ideas which are often offered to the mind will at last find a lucky moment when it is disposed to receive them.”

Dr. Johnson.

XIII

 
My Lady reads, with judgment and good taste,
Books not too many, but the wisest, best,
Pregnant with sentiment sincere and chaste,
Rightly conceived were they and aptly dressed:
These wells of learning tastes she at the source, —
Johnson’s poised periods, Fénelon’s deep sense,
Taylor’s mellifluous and sage discourse,
Majestic Milton’s epic eloquence, —
Nor these alone her thoughts do all engage,
But classic authors of the modern time,
And the great masters of the ancient age,
In prose alike and of the lofty rhyme:
Montaigne and Cowper, Plutarch’s gallery,
Blind Homer’s Iliad and his Odyssey.
 

 
“Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make: I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss I feel – I feel it all.”
 

Wordsworth.

XIV

 
Not Wordsworth’s genius, Pestalozzi’s love,
The stream have sounded of clear infancy.
Baptismal waters from the Head above
These babes I foster daily are to me;
I dip my pitcher in these living springs
And draw, from depths below, sincerity;
Unsealed, mine eyes behold all outward things
Arrayed in splendors of divinity.
What mount of vision can with mine compare?
Not Roman Jove nor yet Olympian Zeus
Darted from loftier ether through bright air
One spark of holier fire for human use.
Glad tidings thence these angels downward bring,
As at their birth the heavenly choirs do sing.
 

 
“Fresh as the morning, earnest as the hour
That calls the noisy world to grateful sleep,
Our silent thought reveres the nameless power
That high seclusion round thy life doth keep.”
 

Sanborn.

XV

 
Daughter, beloved of all, thy tender eye,