Of my first youth and of myself
Was squandered, I would start,

And, on the balcony of my father's house,
Listening unto thy voice would stand,
Watching the while thy nimble hand
O'er the intricate canvas flit.

Then I would scan the tranquil sky,
The orchard and the gilded roads,
The distant ocean and the hill;
No mortal language can express
What in my soul did lie.

What gentle thoughts, what hopes,
What harmony, Silvia mine!
The human and divine
How marvellously unrolled!
Considering those brave years,
I am oppressed with tears
Bitter and unconsoled,
And sorrow as of old.
O Nature, Nature, why
Deceive thy children so ?

Ere winter sapped the grass,
Stricken and overwhelmed,
Didst perish, tender one,
Nor see thy life's full flower!
Thy ebon locks' sweet praise
Never entranced thy heart,
Nor glances fond and meek,
Nor was it thine to speak
Of love on festal days.

My fair hope perished too;
Youth's blessing was denied

anche negâro i fati
la giovanezza. Ahi come,
come passata sei,

cara compagna dell' età mia nova,
mia lacrimata speme!

Questo è quel mondo ? questi
i diletti, l' amor, l' opre, gli eventi
onde cotanto ragionammo insieme ?
questa la sorte delle umane genti?
all' apparir del vero

tu, misera, cadesti: e con la mano
la fredda morte ed una tomba ignuda
mostravi di lontano.

C

HE fai tu, luna, in ciel? dimmi, che fai, silenziosa luna?

Sorgi la sera, e vai

contemplando i deserti; indi ti posi. Ancor non sei tu paga

di rïandare i sempiterni calli ?

ancor non prendi a schivo, ancor sei vaga di mirar queste valli ?

somiglia alla tua vita

la vita del pastore.

Sorge in sul primo albore,

move la greggia oltre pel campo, e vede

greggi, fontane ed erbe ;

poi stanco si riposa in su la sera :

altro mai non ispera.

Dimmi, o luna: a che vale

al pastor la sua vita,

la vostra vita a voi? Dimmi: ove tende

Unto my years as well.
And thou, dear one, alas,
No more art at my side,
Companion of my spring,
O unfulfilled desire!

Is the world thus? Are these
The deeds, the love, the bliss
Of which we did not tire
To reason? And is this
Man's fate? Beholding truth
Didst fall, Ah, piteous doom,
And pointedst out afar

Chill death and a bare tomb !

HAT dost thou, Moon? What dost thou in the sky?
Tell me, O silent Moon !

WH

Rising at eventide, thou wanderest by

And broodest o'er the waste, then standest still.

Dost thou contentment prove

Repassing by these everlasting alleys?

Dost thou not seek to shun, dost thou still love

The vision of these valleys?

Like to the shepherd's life

Thine own would seem to be;

He riseth up at early dawn to see
His sheep to pasture move,
Flocks, fountains, fields beholds,
Then weary seeketh rest at eventide
And hath no wish beside.
Tell me, O Moon, wherefore
The shepherd hath his life;
What meaneth life to you?

questo vagar mio breve,
il tuo corso immortale ?
Vecchierel bianco, infermo,
mezzo vestito e scalzo,

con gravissimo fascio in su le spalle,
per montagna e per valle,

per sassi acuti, ed alta rena, e fratte,

al vento, alla tempesta, e quando avvampa l'ora, e quando poi gela,

corre via, corre, anela,

varca torrenti e stagni,

cade, risorge, e più e più s'affretta, senza posa o ristoro,

lacero, sanguinoso; infin ch' arriva colà dove la via

e dove il tanto affaticar fu vòlto: abisso orrido, immenso,

ov' ei, precipitando, il tutto obblia. Vergine luna, tale

è la vita mortale.

Nasce l'uomo a fatica,

ed è rischio di morte il nascimento.

Prova pena e tormento

per prima cosa; e in sul principio stesso

la madre e il genitore

il prende a consolar dell' esser nato.

Poi che crescendo viene

l'uno e l'altro il sostiene, e via pur sempre

con atti e con parole

studiasi fargli core,

e consolarlo dell' umano stato :

altro ufficio più grato

non si fa da parenti alla lor prole. Ma perchè dare al sole,

Whither doth my so brief a roaming tend,
Thy course for evermore ?

An old man, white and frail,

Half-naked and unshod,

A grievous burden lying on his shoulders,

By mountain and by valley, o'er sharp boulders,

Through sand-drifts and through brushwood, wind and tempest, In the full blaze of noon,

Upon a frosty day,

Breathless runs, runs away,

And crosses torrents, marshes, stumbles, falls,

Rises, then onwards faster, ever faster

Speeds with nor rest nor food,

Tattered and bloodstained, till he reaches what

The road and effort sought,

Dread, deep abyss where he precipitates

With everything forgot.

O virgin Moon, even so

Is this our life below!

With suffering man is born,

Death at his birth stands near;

Firstly to him appear

Anguish and tribulation, whereupon

Mother and father start

To comfort him because he hath been born;

Then, as he grows, they give

Support with word and deed,

Fain to uplift his heart

And to console him for his mortal state;

No more acceptable fate

Remains for parents in their children's need.

If he must comfort plead,

Wherefore give light of day?