I saw raysde up on yvorie pillowes tall,
Whose bases were of richest mettalls warke,
The chapters alablaster, the fryses christall,
The double front of a triumphall arke:
On each side purtraid was a victorie,

Clad like a nimph, that winges of silver weares,
And in triumphant chayre was set on hie,
The auncient glory of the Romaine peares.
No worke it seem'd of earthly craftsmans wit,
But rather wrought by his owne industry,
That thunder-dartes for love his syre doth fit.
Let me no more see faire thing under sky,
Sith that mine eyes have seene so faire a sight
With sodain fall to dust consumed quight.

Then was the faire Dodonian tree far seene,
Upon seaven hills to spread his gladsome gleame,
And conquerours bedecked with his greene,
Along the bancks of the Ausonian streame:
There many an auncient trophee was addrest,
And many a spoyle, and many a goodly show,
Which that brave races greatnes did attest,
That whilome from the Troyan blood did flow.
Ravisht I was so rare a thing to vew;
When lo! a barbarous troupe of clownish fone
The honour of these noble boughs down threw :
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to grone;
And, since, I saw the roote in great disdaine
A twinne of forked trees send forth againe.

Of the small beards, her thirst for to asswage.
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended
Downe from the mountaines bordring Lombardie,
That with an hundred speares her flank wide rended.
I saw her on the plaine outstretched lie,
Throwing out thousand throbs in her owne soyle;
Soone on a tree uphang'd I saw her spoyle.

I saw the bird, that can the Sun endure,
With feeble wings assay to mount on hight;
By more and more she gan her wings t' assure,
Following th' ensample of her mothers sight:
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight
To pierce the cloudes, and with wide pinneons
To measure the most haughtie mountaines hight,
Untill she raught the gods owne mansions:
There was she lost; when suddaine I behelde,
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie fold,
All flaming downe she on the plaine was felde,
And soone her bodie turn'd to ashes colde.
I saw the foule, that doth the light despise,
Out of her dust like to a worme arise.

Much was I mazde, to see this monsters kinde
In hundred formes to change his fearefull hew;
When as at length I saw the wrathfull winde,
Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scithian mew,
That sperst these cloudes; and, in so short as thought,
This dreadfull shape was vanished to nought.

Then all astoined with this mighty ghoast,
An hideous bodie big and strong I sawe,
With side-long beard, and locks down hanging loast,
Sterne face, and front full of Satúrnlike awe;
Who, leaning on the belly of a pot,
Pourd foorth a water, whose out gushing flood
Ran bathing all the creakie shore aflot,
Whereon the Troyan prince spilt Turnus blood;
And at his feete a bitch wolfe suck did yeeld
To two young babes: his left the palme tree stout,
His right hand did the peacefull olive wield;
And head with lawrell garnisht was about.
Sudden both palme and olive fell away,
And faire greene lawrell branch did quite decay.

Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire,
Folding her armes to Heaven with thousand throbs,
And outraging her cheekes and golden haire,
To falling rivers sound thus tun'd her sobs.
"Where is," quoth she, "this whilom honoured face?
Where the great glorie and the auncient praise,
In which all worlds felicitie had place,
When gods and men my honour up did raise?
Suffis'd it not that civill warres me made
The whole worlds spoile, but that this hydra new,
Of hundred Hercules to be assaide,

With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes anew,
So many Neroes and Caligulaes

Out of these crooked shores must dayly rayse?"

Waving aloft with triple point to skie,
Upon an hill a bright flame I did see
Which, like incense of precious cedar tree,
With balmie odours fil'd th' ayre farre and nie.
A bird all white, well feathered on each wing,
Hereout up to the throne of gods did flie,
And all the way most pleasant notes did sing,
Whilst in the smoake she unto Heaven did stie.
Of this faire fire the scattered rayes forth threw
On everte side a thousand shining beames:
When sudden dropping of a silver dew [flames;
(O grievous chance!) gan quench those precious
That it, which earst so pleasant sent did yeld,
Of nothing now but noyous sulphure smeld.

I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle,
As cleare as christall gainst the sunnie beames,
The bottome yeallow, like the golden grayle
That bright Pactolus washeth with his streames;
It seem'd that Art and Nature had assembled
All pleasure there, for which mans hart could long;
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft trembled,
Of manie accords more sweete than mermaids song:
The seates and benches shone as yvorie,
And hundred nymphes sate side by side about;
When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie,
A troupe of satyres in the place did rout,
Which with their villeine feete the streame did ray,
Threw down the seats, and drove the nymphs away.

Much richer then that vessell seem'd to bee,
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare,
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see
Upon the Latine coast herselfe to reare:

But suddenly arose a tempest great,
Bearing close envie to these riches rare,
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull threat,
This ship to which none other might compare:
And finally he storme impetuous

Sunke up these riches, second unto none,
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus.

I saw both ship and mariners each one,
And all that treasure drowned in the maine:
But I the ship saw after raisd againe.

Long having deeply gron'd these visions sad,
I saw a citie like unto that same,
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad;
But that on sand was built the goodly frame:
It seem'd her top the firmament did rayse
And, no lesse rich than faire, right worthie sure
(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes,
Or if ought under Heaven might firme endure.
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall:
When from the northerne coast a storme arose,
Which, breathing furie from his inward gall
On all which did against his course oppose,
Into a clowde of dust sperst in the aire

ne weake foundations of this citie faire.

At length, even at the time, when Morpheus
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare,
Wearie to see the Heavens still wavering thus,
I saw Typhoeus sister comming neare;
Whose head, full bravely with a morion hidd,
Did seeme to match the gods in maiestie.
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe slidd,
Over all the world did raise a trophee hie;
An hundred vanquisht kings under her lay,
With armes bound at their backs in shamefull wize;
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray,
I saw the Heavens in warre against her rize:
Then downe she stricken fell with clap of thonder,
That with great noyse I wakte in sudden wonder.

THE

VISIONS OF PETRARCH,

FORMERLY TRANSLATED.

1591.

BEING one day at my window all alone,
So manie strange things happened me to see,
As much it grieveth me to thinke thereon.
At my right hand a hynde appear'd to mee,
So faire as mote the greatest god delite;
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace,
Of which the one was blacke, the other white:
With deadly force so in their cruell race
They pincht the haunches of that gentle beast,
That at the last, and in short time, I spide,
Under a rocke, where she alas, opprest,
Fell to the ground, and there untimely dide.
Cruell death vanquishing so noble beautie,
Oft makes me wayle so hard a destenie.

After, at sea a tall ship did appeare,
Made all of heben and white yvorie;
The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were:
Milde was the winde, calme seem'd the sea to bee,

The skie eachwhere did show full bright and faire:
With rich treasures this gay ship fraighted was:
But sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire,
And tumbled up the sea, that she (alas)
Strake on a rock, that under water lay,
And perished past all recoverie.
O! how great ruth, and sorrowfull assay,
Doth vex my spirite with perplexitie,
Thus in a moment to see lost, and drown'd,
So great riches, as like cannot be found.

The heavenly branches did I see arise
Out of the fresh and lustie lawrell tree,
Amidst the yong greene wood of Paradise;
Some noble plant I thought my selfe to see:
Such store of birds therein yshrowded were,
Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodie,
That with their sweetnes I was ravish't nere.
While on this lawrell fixed was mine eie,
The skie gan everie where to overcast,
And darkned was the welkin all about,
When sudden flash of Heavens fire out brast,
And rent this royall tree quite by the roote;
Which makes me much and ever to complaine;
For no such shadow shalbe had againe.

Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise
A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,
Whereto, approched not in anie wise
The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;
But manie Muses, and the nymphes withall,
That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce
To the soft sounding of the waters fall;
That my glad hart thereat did much reioyce.
But, while herein I tooke my chiefe delight,
I saw (alas) the gaping Earth devoure
The spring, the place, and all cleane out of sight;
Which yet aggreeves my hart even to this houre,
And wounds my soule with rufull memorie,
To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.

I saw a phoenix in the wood alone,
With purple wings, and crest of golden hewe;
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone,
That of some heavenly wight I had the vewe;
Untill he came unto the broken tree,
And to the spring, that late devoured was.
What say I more? each thing at last we see
Doth passe away: the phoenix there, alas,
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride,
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in disdaine,
And so foorthwith in great despight he dide;
That yet my heart burnes, in exceeding paine,
For ruth and pitie of so haples plight:
O! let mine eyes no more see such a sight.

At last so faire a ladie did I spie,
That thinking yet on her I burne and quake;
On hearbs and flowres she walked pensively,
Milde, but yet love she proudly did forsake:
White seem'd her robes, yet woven so they were,
As snow and golde together had been wrought:
Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded her,
A stinging serpent by the heele her caught;
Wherewith she languisht as the gathered floure;
And, well assur'd, she mounted up to ioy.
Alas, on Earth so nothing doth endure,
But bitter griefe and sorrowfull annoy:
Which make this life wretched and miserable,
Tossed with stormes of fortune variable.

Yet halfe in doubt, because of his disguize,
I softlie sayd, "Alcyon!" Therewithall
He lookt aside as in disdainefull wise,
Yet stayed not, till I againe did call:
Then, turning back, he saide, with hollow sound,
"Who is it that dooth name me, wofull thrall,
The wretchedst man that treads this day on ground?"

"One, whom like wofulnesse, impressed deepe, Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to heare, And given like cause with thee to waile and wepe; Griefe finds some ease by him that like does beare. Then stay, Alcyon, gentle shepheard! stay," Quoth I, "till thou have to my trustie eare Committed what thee dooth so ill apay."

"Cease, foolish man!" (saide he, halfe wrothfully) "To seeke to heare that which cannot be told, For the huge anguish, which doeth multiply My dying paines, no tongue can well unfold; Ne doo I care that any should bemone My hard mishap, or any weepe that would, But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone.”

"Then be it so," quoth I, "that thou art bent
To die alone, unpitied, unplained;
Yet, ere thon die, it were convenient

To tell the cause which thee thereto constrained,
Least that the world thee dead accuse of guilt,
And say, when thou of none shalt be maintained,
That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilt."
"Who life does loath, and longs to be unbound
From the strong shackles of fraile flesh," quoth he,
"Nought cares at all what they, that live on ground,
Deem the occasion of his death to bee;
Rather desires to be forgotten quight,
Than question made of his calamitie;
For harts deep sorrow hates both life and light.

"Yet since so much thou seemst to rue my griefe,
And car'st for one that for himselfe cares nought,
(Sign of thy love, though nought for my reliefe,
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought;)
I will to thee this heavie case relate:
Then harken well till it to end be brought,
For never didst thou heare more haplesse fate.
"Whilome I usde (as thou right well doest know)
My little flocke on westerne downes to keep,
Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth flow,
And flowrie bancks with silver liquor steepe;
Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaunce,
For all my ioy was on my gentle sheepe,
And to my pype to caroll and to daunce.

"It there befell, as I the fields did range
Fearlesse and free, a faire young lionesse,
White as the native rose before the chaunge
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impresse,
I spied playing on the grassie plaine

Her youthfull sports and kindlie wantonnesse,
That did all other beasts in beawtie staine.

"Much was I moved at so goodlie sight,
Whose like before mine eye had seldome seene,
And gan to cast how I her compasse might,
And bring to hand that yet had never beene:
So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine,
That I her caught disporting on the greene,
And brought away fast bound with silver chaine.

"And afterwardes I handled her so fayre,
That though by kind shee stout and salvage were,
For being borne an auncient lions bayre,
And of the race that all wild beasts do feare,
Yet I her fram'd, and wan so to my bent,
That shee became so meeke and milde of cheare,
As the least lamb in all my flock that went:

"For shee in field, where-ever I did wend,
Would wend with me, and waite by me all day;
And all the night that I in watch did spend,
If cause requir'd, or els in sleepe, if nay,
Shee would all night by me or watch or sleepe;
And evermore when I did sleepe or play,
She of my flock would take full warie keepe.

Safe then, and safest were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear'd the wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest beast,
All were I drown'd in carelesse quiet deepe:
My lovely lionesse without beheast

So careful was for them, and for my good,
That when I waked, neither most nor least
I found miscarried or in plaine or wood.

"Oft did the shepheards, which my hap did heare,
And oft their lasses, which my luck envyde,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my lyonesse, whose praises wyde
Were spred abroad; and when her worthinesse
Much greater than the rude report they tryde,
They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse.
"Long thus I ioyed in my happinesse,
And well did hope my ioy would have no end;
But oh! fond man! that in worlds ficklenesse
Reposedst hope, or weenedst her thy frend
That glories most in mortall miseries,
And daylie doth her changefull counsels bend
To make new matter fit for tragedies;
"For whilest I was thus without dread or dout,
A cruel satyre with his murdrous dart,
Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about,
Gave her the fatall wound of deadly smart,
And reft from me my sweete companion,
And reft from me my love, my life, my hart:
My lyonesse (ah, woe is me!) is gon!

"Out of the world thus was she reft away,
Out of the world, unworthy such a spoyle,
And borne to Heaven, for Heaven a fitter pray;
Much fitter then the lyon, which with toyle
Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament;
Her now I seeke throughout this earthly soyle,
And seeking misse, and missing doe lament."

Therewith he gan afresh to waile and weepe,
That I for pittie of his heavie plight
Could not abstaine mine eyes with teares to steepe;
But, when I saw the anguish of his spright
Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe;
"Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight,
That it in me breeds almost equall paine.

"Yet doth not my dull wit well understand
The riddle of thy loved lionesse ;

For rare it seemes in reason to be skand,
That man, who doth the whole worlds rule possesse,
Should to a beast his noble hart embase,
And be the vassall of his vassalesse;
Therefore more plain areade this doubtfull case.”