Canzone
O lovely hill, whence in the bitter season hangs debate 'twixt art and dubious nature, whose shoulders clad with flowers and grass are spread to the sun which glows and glitters on you, no sooner has he risen on the horizon than you delight to woo your lovely bosom and your leafy brow in your clear lake, even as a beautiful young woman who adorns herself in veil or kirtle at a mirror.
Even as the cunning bees go stealing from the flowers and then enrich their cells with sweets; so at the break of day I see an amorous troop of maids and ladies wandering on you; some, I see, pluck privet and some amaranth, and others bind together the narcissus and the hyacinth with tremulous and pallid lovers; roses, I mean, and violets whose mother is the Earth, whose sire the Sun.
So, if the ancient tale errs not, the cold yet burning mountain saw the fair Cyprian goddess and Minerva and Diana with Proserpina, to whom deceit was meant; nor did Cynthia bear her bow and ivory quiver, nor the other wiser and more chaste her helm and spear and that Medusa face that turns a man to stone; but with gentle violence they despoiled the new and flowering May.
A hundred and a hundred other nymphs were seen there vying in weaving garlands in their hair and flowers for their breasts; the very heaven seemed glad to see so new a sight and shed a clear serene glow; and like a glitter in the golden clouds appeared Love himself with his bow, bearing the heavy burden of his quiver and his wonted shafts; and pierced even to the heart the great god of the lower world.
Pluto cleft the earth for so lovely a prey, a dreadful lover moving haughtily; and, as to a just war, the two goddesses ran toward her who called them trembling. They sped on winged feet and already they had seized their arms; but the ferocious king vanished in his swift chariot before the one could speed her shaft or the other grasp her arms; and at their tardiness the Cyprian showed her dazzling laugh.
But where does ancient memory carry me so far from you, O shady hill? Yet may the high example make you more wary and more stealthy to hide the modest troop. Oh! if kindly Fortune but made me guardian of your sacred beauties, what sweet and happy days I should spend in your delight and praise! What calm and lovely nights, plunging a thousand bitter thoughts in Lethe's wave!
Every soft trunk should have carved upon it the name of Alcides's daughters and of his son's wife; the woods should sound with song of tresses and bright ruddy cheeks. Your gentle brood (I mean the flowers that bear the impress of the name of kings) should hear more epithets and even loftier names; and from the leafy crests the birds should make responses to my rimes.
O my rough song, seek out some cavern or grot among these verdant cloisters; and do not go where there are gems and purple.
Even as the cunning bees go stealing from the flowers and then enrich their cells with sweets; so at the break of day I see an amorous troop of maids and ladies wandering on you; some, I see, pluck privet and some amaranth, and others bind together the narcissus and the hyacinth with tremulous and pallid lovers; roses, I mean, and violets whose mother is the Earth, whose sire the Sun.
So, if the ancient tale errs not, the cold yet burning mountain saw the fair Cyprian goddess and Minerva and Diana with Proserpina, to whom deceit was meant; nor did Cynthia bear her bow and ivory quiver, nor the other wiser and more chaste her helm and spear and that Medusa face that turns a man to stone; but with gentle violence they despoiled the new and flowering May.
A hundred and a hundred other nymphs were seen there vying in weaving garlands in their hair and flowers for their breasts; the very heaven seemed glad to see so new a sight and shed a clear serene glow; and like a glitter in the golden clouds appeared Love himself with his bow, bearing the heavy burden of his quiver and his wonted shafts; and pierced even to the heart the great god of the lower world.
Pluto cleft the earth for so lovely a prey, a dreadful lover moving haughtily; and, as to a just war, the two goddesses ran toward her who called them trembling. They sped on winged feet and already they had seized their arms; but the ferocious king vanished in his swift chariot before the one could speed her shaft or the other grasp her arms; and at their tardiness the Cyprian showed her dazzling laugh.
But where does ancient memory carry me so far from you, O shady hill? Yet may the high example make you more wary and more stealthy to hide the modest troop. Oh! if kindly Fortune but made me guardian of your sacred beauties, what sweet and happy days I should spend in your delight and praise! What calm and lovely nights, plunging a thousand bitter thoughts in Lethe's wave!
Every soft trunk should have carved upon it the name of Alcides's daughters and of his son's wife; the woods should sound with song of tresses and bright ruddy cheeks. Your gentle brood (I mean the flowers that bear the impress of the name of kings) should hear more epithets and even loftier names; and from the leafy crests the birds should make responses to my rimes.
O my rough song, seek out some cavern or grot among these verdant cloisters; and do not go where there are gems and purple.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.