PETRARCA.

Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra—
E volo sopra il cielo, e giaccio in terra-
E nulla stringo, e tutto il mondo abbraccio-
Ed ho in odio me stesso ed amo altrui—

S'amor non è, che dunque è quel ch' io sento?—

Whether or not Petrarch has availed himself of other Spanish works, it is impossible for me to decide. He has inserted here and there various ideas evidently borrowed from the Provençals; and, although he has often improved them, they displease precisely because they do not harmonize with the solemn, profound, and impassioned tenor of his own style. The following sonnet, in which Petrarch, if he did not borrow the thoughts, imitated the amorous lamentations, of the French Troubadours, may give a not imperfect idea of their lovepoetry. It is a mosaic of antithesis: their songs and their passions being chilled by epigrammatic refinement, they discover that they were neither inspired poets nor warm lovers

S'una fede amorosa, un cor non finto,
Un languir dolce, un desïar cortese;
S'oneste voglie in gentil foco accese;
S' un lungo error in cieco laberinto;

Se nella fronte ogni pensier dipinto,

Od in voci interrotte appena intese,

paura, or da

vergogna

offese;

Or da
S'un pallor di vïola, e d'amor tinto;
S'aver altrui più caro che se stesso;
Se lagrimar, e sospirar mai sempre;
Pascendosi di duol, d'ira, e d'affanno;

S'arder da lunge, ed agghiacciar da presso
Son le cagion ch' amando i' mi distempre:
Vostro, donna, è'l peccato, e mio fia 'l danno.

If faith most true, a heart that cannot feign,
If love's sweet languishment and chasten'd thought,
And wishes pure by nobler feelings taught,
If in a labyrinth wanderings long and vain,

If on the brow each pang pourtray'd to bear,
Or from the heart low broken sounds to draw,
Withheld by shame, or check'd by pious awe,
If on the faded cheek love's hue to wear,

If than myself to hold one far more dear,
If sighs that cease not, tears that ever flow,
Wrung from the heart by all love's various woe,

In absence if consumed, and chill'd when near,
If these be ills in which I waste my prime,
Though I the sufferer be, yours, lady, is the crime.

LADY DACRE.

VI. ON this imitation of the Troubadours, Petrarch has engrafted a line borrowed from the Classics

"Et tinctus viola pallor amantium.”—HORACE.

Yet with what delicacy and truth has he improved it, by the happy expression-Pallore tinto di viola e d'amore. Mary Stuart, fated from her earliest youth to love and sorrow, has translated the same line of Horace in her monody (preserved by Brantome) on the death of her young husband, Francis the Second

Mon pâle visage de violet teint
Qui est l'amoureux teint.

Although the Latin poets were his professed masters, yet, fortunately, Petrarch fancied that they could not be worthily imitated in the Italian language, and he has therefore sparingly borrowed from them. I can recognize only one or two lines of Virgil, of Ovid, or of Horace; of which, tempted rather by unavoidable remembrance than designed imitation, he occasionally availed himself

"Agnovit longe gemitum præsaga mali mens."-VIRGIL. Mente mia che presaga de' tuoi danni.

Elige cui dicas, tu mihi sola places.”—OVID.

A cui io dissi Tu sola a me piaci.

:

Horace, by the transposition of a few words, has converted the real passion of Sappho into mere gaiety and gallantry—

"Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
"Dulce loquentem."-

Petrarch, although he scarcely read Greek, and the fragments of Sappho were not yet known, restored the glow and the warmth which Horace had effaced, and, by adding the sigh to the smile and the voice of his mistress, shewed that even the Greek poetess had left the picture unfinished

Per divina bellezza indarno mira

Chi gli occhi di costei giammai non vide—
Che non sa come dolce ella sospira

E come dolce parla e dolce ride.

Neither could the sensual love of the Romans and of the Greeks be reconciled with the delicacy of Petrarch's poetry. His finest imitations are drawn from the sacred writings, which I do not believe has yet been remarked by any critic, although it must be obvious to every one how deeply all his thoughts were imbued with religion

E femmisi all' incontra

A mezza via, come nemico armato.-P. 2. Son. 47.

"So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man."-Prov. c. xxiv. v. 34.

E la cetera mia rivolta è in pianto.-P. 1. Son. 24. "My harp also is turned to mourning."-Job, c. xxx. v. 31.

Qual grazia, qual amore, o qual destino

Mi darà penne a guisa di colomba,

Ch'io mi riposi, e levimi da terra?—P. 1. Son. 60.

“O that I had wings like a dove! for then would I flee away, and be at rest."-Psalm lv. v. 5.

Vergine bella, che di Sol vestita,

Coronata di stelle.-P. 2. Canz. ult.

"A woman clothed with the sun-and upon her head a crown of twelve stars."-Revel. c. xii. v. 1. 2.

The elevated strain of piety and love which breathes through his works, borders occasionally on profaneness—

Baciale il piede, e la man bella e bianca;
Dille, e il baciar sia in vece di parole,
Lo spirto è pronto, ma la carne è stanca.

Her lovely feet and gentle hands salute,
Wafting a poor reply with semblance mute,
Mourning and humble-signs that seem to speak
"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Matth. c. xxvi. v. 41.

To dissipate Laura's jealousy, he compares the eagerness with which he sought her resemblance in the face of beautiful women, to the devotion of a pilgrim gazing at the image of his Saviour

Movesi'l vecchierel canuto, e bianco,

Dal dolce loco ov' ha sua età fornita,
E dalla famigliuola sbigottita

Che vede 'l caro Padre venir manco: