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〃Manibus o date lilia plenis。〃
Oft have I seen； at the approach of day；
The orient sky all stained with roseate hues；
And the other heaven with light serene adorned；
And the sun's face uprising； overshadowed；
So that； by temperate influence of vapors；
The eye sustained his aspect for long while；
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers；
Which from those hands angelic were thrown up；
And down descended inside and without；
With crown of olive o'er a snow…white veil；
Appeared a lady； under a green mantle；
Vested in colors of the living flame。
。 。 。 。 。 。
Even as the snow； among the living rafters
Upon the back of ltaly； congeals；
Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds；
And then； dissolving； filters through itself；
Whene'er the land； that loses shadow； breathes；
Like as a taper melts before a fire；
Even such I was； without a sigh or tear；
Before the song of those who chime forever
After the chiming of the eternal spheres；
But； when I heard in those sweet melodies
Compassion for me； more than had they said；
〃O wherefore； lady； dost thou thus consume him？〃
The ice； that was about my heart congealed；
To air and water changed； and； in my anguish；
Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast。
。 。 。 。 。 。
Confusion and dismay； together mingled；
Forced such a feeble 〃Yes！〃 out of my mouth；
To understand it one had need of sight。
Even as a cross…bow breaks； when 't is discharged；
Too tensely drawn the bow…string and the bow；
And with less force the arrow hits the mark；
So I gave way beneath this heavy burden；
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs；
And the voice； fainting； flagged upon its passage。
TO ITALY
BY VINCENZO DA FILICAJA
Italy！ Italy！ thou who'rt doomed to wear
The fatal gift of beauty； and possess
The dower funest of infinite wretchedness
Written upon thy forehead by despair；
Ah！ would that thou wert stronger； or less fair。
That they might fear thee more； or love thee less；
Who in the splendor of thy loveliness
Seem wasting； yet to mortal combat dare！
Then from the Alps I should not see descending
Such torrents of armed men； nor Gallic horde
Drinking the wave of Po； distained with gore；
Nor should I see thee girded with a sword
Not thine； and with the stranger's arm contending；
Victor or vanquished； slave forever more。
SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE
＇The following translations are from the poems of Michael Angelo
as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger； and were
made before the publication of the original text by Guasti。＇
I
THE ARTIST
Nothing the greatest artist can conceive
That every marble block doth not confine
Within itself； and only its design
The hand that follows intellect can achieve。
The ill I flee； the good that I believe；
In thee； fair lady； lofty and divine；
Thus hidden lie； and so that death be mine
Art； of desired success； doth me bereave。
Love is not guilty； then； nor thy fair face；
Nor fortune； cruelty； nor great disdain；
Of my disgrace； nor chance； nor destiny；
If in thy heart both death and love find place
At the same time； and if my humble brain；
Burning； can nothing draw but death from thee。
II
FIRE
Not without fire can any workman mould
The iron to his preconceived design；
Nor can the artist without fire refine
And purify from all its dross the gold；
Nor can revive the phoenix； we are told；
Except by fire。 Hence if such death be mine
I hope to rise again with the divine；
Whom death augments； and time cannot make old。
O sweet； sweet death！ O fortunate fire that burns
Within me still to renovate my days；
Though I am almost numbered with the dead！
If by its nature unto heaven returns
This element； me； kindled in its blaze；
Will it bear upward when my life is fled。
III
YOUTH AND AGE
Oh give me back the days when loose and free
To my blind passion were the curb and rein；
Oh give me back the angelic face again；
With which all virtue buried seems to be！
Oh give my panting footsteps back to me；
That are in age so slow and fraught with pain；
And fire and moisture in the heart and brain；
If thou wouldst have me burn and weep for thee！
If it be true thou livest alone； Amor；
On the sweet…bitter tears of human hearts；
In an old man thou canst not wake desire；
Souls that have almost reached the other shore
Of a diviner love should feel the darts；
And be as tinder to a holier fire。
IV
OLD AGE
The course of my long life hath reached at last；
In fragile bark o'er a tempestuous sea；
The common harbor； where must rendered be
Account of all the actions of the past。
The impassioned phantasy； that； vague and vast；
Made art an idol and a king to me；
Was an illusion； and but vanity
Were the desires that lured me and harassed。
The dreams of love； that were so sweet of yore；
What are they now； when two deaths may be mine；
One sure； and one forecasting its alarms？
Painting and sculpture satisfy no more
The soul now turning to the Love Divine；
That oped； to embrace us； on the cross its arms。
V
TO VITTORIA COLONNA
Lady； how can it chanceyet this we see
In long experiencethat will longer last
A living image carved from quarries vast
Than its own maker； who dies presently？
Cause yieldeth to effect if this so be；
And even Nature is by Art at surpassed；
This know I； who to Art have given the past；
But see that Time is breaking faith with me。
Perhaps on both of us long life can I
Either in color or in stone bestow；
By now portraying each in look and mien；
So that a thousand years after we die；
How fair thou wast； and I how full of woe；
And wherefore I so loved thee； may be seen。
VI
TO VITTORIA COLONNA
When the prime mover of my many sighs
Heaven took through death from out her earthly place；
Nature； that never made so fair a face；
Remained ashamed； and tears were in all eyes。
O fate； unheeding my impassioned cries！
O hopes fallacious！ O thou spirit of grace；
Where art thou now？ Earth holds in its embrace
Thy lovely limbs； thy holy thoughts the skies。
Vainly did cruel death attempt to stay
The rumor of thy virtuous renown；
That Lethe's waters could not wash away！
A thousand leaves； since he hath stricken thee down；
Speak of thee； nor to thee could Heaven convey；
Except through death； a refuge and a crown。
VII
DANTE
What should be said of him cannot be said；
By too great splendor is his name attended；
To blame is easier those who him offended；
Than reach the faintest glory round him shed。
This man descended to the doomed and dead
For our instruction； then to God ascended；