SONNET LX.

CHARLES DESERTS ITALY.

PROPHET of Florence, read thy prophecy !

Is this whom thou foretold'st at Heav'n's command

Sent forth, with the avenging fan in hand,

To sweep, and purge all places low and high?

See! sunk in indolence and luxury

He wakens but to vex the afflicted land;

And now, when dangers press, his own true band

He leaves ill-match'd to fight, in vain to die. Just Heav'n! how vile, contemptible a thing,

Destruction o'er the beauteous world can spread! And brave men bow'd before this dastard king, And France for him her blood, and treasure shed! And centuries of shame and suffering

Have seen on Italy the spoiler tread!

SONNET LXI.

TAKEN FROM HABAKKUK, CHAP. III.

It had but recently occurred to the author that he might find subjects for his graver Sonnets in the sacred Scriptures, (he was perhaps the first that has done so) when he sunk under the disease by which he had been so long afflicted.

FROM Paran God came down to quell the proud;

The wasting pestilence before him strode ;
Consuming fire beneath his footsteps glow'd;

He stood, and measur'd Earth; he look'd, and bow'd

The everlasting mountains, and the crowd

Of nations fled in terror; where they stood

The sun and moon were stay'd; the ocean-flood
Trembled, and lifted up his voice aloud.

To free thy chosen race from heathen thrall
O Lord, thou cam'st in dreadful majesty ;
And I will trust in thee, tho' fig and vine
Bear not; the olive fail; in fold and stall
Perish the flocks and herds; yet still will I
Fear not, reposing on thy word divine.

SONNET LXII.

TAKEN FROM ISAIAH, CHAP. 47.

FROM thy high place, Daughter of Babylon,

Come down, unbind the diadem from thy hair,
Thy delicate and tender feet make bare,

And for thy garments shame and grief put on;
Lady of kingdoms, thy dominion's gone;

For thou wert pitiless, and didst not spare

My people, but with heaviest yoke didst wear, Ceaseless, the gall'd neck of my chosen one. Therefore, O drunk with pleasure, swoln with power, E'en in the midst shall vengeance come on thee,

And in one moment of that same dread hour

Shalt thou be made a widow, and shalt see
Thy children fall, and mighty men expire,
Prophets and chiefs, like stubble in the fire.

PETRARCH.

BORN 1304, DIED 1374.

ΤΟΜΟ Ι.

PROEMIO DI FRANCESCO PETRARCA.

Voi, ch'ascoltate in rime sparse il

suono

Di quei sospiri, ond'io nodriva il core

In sul mio primo giovenile errore,

Quand'era in parte altr' uom da quel ch'i' sono;

Dal vario stile, in ch'io piango, e ragiono,

Fra le vane speranze, e'l van dolore ;

Ove sia chi per prova intenda Amore, Spero trovar pietà, non che perdono. Ma ben veggi' or, sì come al popol tutto Favola fui gran tempo; onde sovente Di me medesmo meco mi vergogno: E del mio vaneggiar vergogna è'l frutto, E'l pentirsi, e'l conoscer chiaramente,

Che quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno.