Had seen the beauteous sovereign of my heart,
And thus, among the sons of earth, we start
To see her lineaments so fair express'd.
This face is of some being in the sky,

A semblance true; not one, like us, whose soul
Is veil'd by cumbrous flesh from every eye:
My friend judged well, who could not form a whole
So various, where, less aided than on high,
The impediments of earth his sight control.

SONNET.

THE SAME SUBJECT.

WHEN Simon first the precious work design'd,
That proved the wonders of his art for me,
O that his pencil could have bid me see

The senseless form endued with voice and mind!

My sighs less frequent I had joy'd to find,
Bereft of pleasure now, by Fate's decree;
For, in this picture, cruel though she be,

She bears a countenance to peace inclined:
And when all wildly I address my speech
To her, she seems to listen without pain,
And grant due pity, as I then beseech.
How might, Pigmalion, the reflection teach
To thee content, who couldst for ever gain
What I, one moment, wish within my reach!

SONNET.

SENNUCCIO, let me tell thee how, kind friend,
I pass my days, and what a life is mine:
I burn as I was wont, condemn'd to pine
For Laura, and with Passion's force contend;
Here proud, here lowly, have I seen her bend
On me her eyes; to harshness now incline,
And now to pity; and her looks divine,
Joyful or sad, to scorn or kindness tend.
Here did she sweetly sing; here sate, and here
Was seen to turn, or sudden stop: here thrill'd
My soul with the bewitching look she gave:

Here spoke, or smiled, as I stood wondering near; Or changed her air-with such reflections fill'd, Love day and night torments his hapless slave.

SONNET.

HIS REASON FOR LOVING LAURA AT THIRTY,

WHEN HER BEAUTY WAS IMPAIRED.

HER golden locks were in the wind display'd, That blew them round a thousand graceful ways, While in her eyes an undiminish'd blaze

Still beam'd; though now by Time less vivid made; And pity, as I thought, her looks display'd,

But know not if, as true, it tempted praise:

That Youth then fired my bosom, can it raise

In any wonder, with such fuel's aid?

'Twas not the motion of a mortal's form,

But something heavenly, and her speech's sound

Unlike to what we hear on earth below.

'Twas some pure spirit; a bright sun, around

Appearing then to beam its influence warm; Nor can it heal the wound to unstring the bow.*

SONNET.

ON PETRARCH'S PICKING UP A GLOVE LAURA

HAD DROPPED AT AN ASSEMBLY, AND WHICH
SHE HASTILY RECOVERED FROM HIM.

O BEAUTEOUS hand, that robb'st me of my heart,
Shewing whate'er I prize in narrow space;
To form which, Nature in her work would place,
For her own fame, and Heaven's, her utmost art:
Clear, pearly whiteness that, o'er every part

This line was chosen, a century afterwards, for his motto, by a king of Naples, on his queen's death. "Le roi Rène apres la mort d'Isabeau de Lorraine, "sa première femme, prit cette devise:

"Un arc turquois avec la corde rompue, et le dernier "vers de ce sonnet :

Piaga per allentar d'arco non sana."

MEM. DE PETRARQUE.

Conspicuous, givest to killing fingers grace,

Know, Love consents my eager eyes should trace
Beauties late hid, a destined joy to impart.

Thou snowy, fair embroider'd, graceful glove,
Yet mourn'd, where ivory shines and roses glow,
Too oft, who could an equal prize divine?
Thus might the veil become a spoil of Love!
O strange vicissitude of things below,

I have possess'd the treasure-yet resign.

SONNET.

A SOLITARY life I ever sought,

(The fields, the woods, and rivers know it well,)
Flying those sordid souls, their stars compel
To lose the path by Heaven and Virtue taught:
And had my former project come to aught,
Far from soft Tuscan air, I now should dwell

About the time of Petrarch's birth, his family was driven from Florence by an army of the French under