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TRANSLATION OF PETRARCH'S CANZONE
"CHIARE, FRESCHE, E DOLCI ACQUE."

	CLEAR, fresh, and gentle wave,
	That the fair form enclosed
	Of her, sole lady of the world to me:—
	Light stem that whilome gave
	Supporting aid where she reposed,—
	(I sigh in memory;)
	Herbage and flowerets fair,
	That hung her robe and angel bosom o'er,
	And sacred ambient air,
	Where love my heart pierced through her eyes;—
	List, list once more
	To the last doleful lay my grief shall solemnize.

	If 'tis my fate of woe,
	And Heaven decree it so,
	That Love should close these lids in tears,
	Oh, let this harass'd frame,
	When all its sorrows cease,
	Amongst you rest in peace,
	And the free soul return to whence it came

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	Less hard the mortal hour appears
	While this sweet hope is mine;
	In the dark parting strife,
	My spirit, tired of life,
	Ne'er to more sweet refreshment can consign
	Nor to a dearer cell,
	The toil-worn bones to which it bids farewell.

	And then may come the time,
	That to this favoured clime
	My fair and meek destroyer will draw nigh,
	There, where she saw me stand,
	Will turn her beaming eye
	To seek me.—On the strand,
	The rugged rocks beneath,
	A heap of earth she sees;—and Love will breathe
	From her full heart a sigh so dear,
	That gentle violence shall be done to Heaven,
	And all my sins forgiven,
	As with her lovely veil she wipes the falling tear.

	There, as she sat beneath the tree,
	(Oh, sweet and bitter memory!)
	Blossoms shower'd down in tints divinely bright.
	So humble there she seemed,
	While glory o'er her streamed,
	Cover'd with flowers, and love and light.
	Some on her garment's hem,
	Some in her tresses sheen,
	That seem'd as though with many a gem
	Their wreath had braided been.

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	Some on the green grass fell, some on the river;
	Some with vague motion wandering round
	Appear'd to bless the sacred ground,
	As though they said, "Here Love shall reign for ever!"

	And then I cried with swelling heart,
	Where almost fear had part,
	"Behold a creature born of Paradise!"
	Confused I gazed upon her radiant face,
	Hung on her voice, her smile, her eyes,
	Till time and truth no more my sense could trace,—
	All was oblivion dim, save her alone.
	At last I sighing said,
	"How came I here, and when?"—
	I thought from earth my soul had fled,
	And into heavenly bliss was gone;
	And evermore since then
	That turf has been to me so passing fair,
	Rest, elsewhere sought in vain, still, still I find it there.

	My lay, wert thou at my desire adorned,
	Thy verse would not be scorned
	Though issuing from this woody glen,—
	The city thou might'st seek, and boldly mix with men.

28th February, 1821.