Giacomo Leopardi

“ Hath hope, perchance, O my poor heart, Beguiled thee of thy pain? Ah, no, the gracious smile of hope I ne’er shall see again.
Nature bestowed these impulses, And these illusions blest; Their inborn influence, in me, By suffering was suppressed;
But not annulled, not overcome By cruel blows of Fate; Nor by the inauspicious frown Of Truth, importunate!
I know she has no sympathy For fond imaginings; I know that Nature, too, is deaf, Nor heeds our sufferings;
That for our good she nothing cares, Our being, only heeds; And with the sight of our distress Her wild caprices feeds. ”

“ O love, O love, long since, thou from this breast Hast flown, that was so warm, so ardent, once. Misfortune in her cold and cruel grasp Has held it fast, and it to ice has turned, E’en in the flower of my youth. The time I well recall, when thou this heart didst fill; That sweet, irrevocable time it was, When this unhappy scene of life unto The ardent gaze of youth reveals itself, Expands, and wears the smile of Paradise. How throbs the heart within the boyish breast, By virgin hope and fond desire impelled! The wretched dupe for life’s hard work prepares, As if it were a dance, or merry game. ”

“ Without the lofty counsel of the gods, It surely could not be, that now, When we were never sunk so low, In desperate oblivion of the Past, Each moment, comes a cry renewed, From our great sires, to shake our souls, at last! Heaven still some pity shows for Italy; Some god hath still our happiness at heart: Since this, or else no other, is the hour, Italian virtue to redeem, And its old lustre once more to impart, These pleading voices from the grave we hear; Forgotten heroes rise from earth again, To see, my country, if at this late day, Thou still art pleased the coward’s part to play. ”

“ And when the humble herdsman’s cot Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn, The one will wake the valleys with his song, The other, o’er the cliffs, the frightened throng Of smaller beasts before him drive. O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all! Nor are these blood-stained fields, These caverns, that our groans have heard, Regardful of our misery; Nor shines one star less brightly in the sky. Not the deaf kings of heaven or hell, Or the unworthy earth, Or night, do I in death invoke, Or thee, last gleam the dying hour that cheers, The voice of coming ages. ”

“ Far worse than what appeared to thee so sad And infamous, have all our lives become. Dear friend, who now would pity thee, When none save for himself hath thought or care? Who would not thy keen anguish folly call, When all things great and rare the name of folly bear? When envy, no, but worse than envy, far, Indifference pervades our rulers all? Ah, who would now, when we all think Of song so little, and so much of gain, A laurel for thy brow prepare again?
Ah, since thy day, there has appeared but one, Who has the fame of Italy redeemed: Too good for his vile age, he stands alone ”

“ Thee it hath pleased, that youthful hope Should ever be by life beguiled; The current of our years with woes be filled, And death against all ills the only shield: And this inevitable seal, And this immutable decree, Hast thou assigned to human destiny, Why, after such a painful race, Should not the goal, at least, Present to us a cheerful face? Why that, which we in constant view, Must, while we live, forever bear, Sole comfort in our hour of need, Thus dress in weeds of woe, And gird with shadows so, And make the friendly port to us appear More frightful than the tempest drear? ”

“ Now that the sun the faded charms Of heaven again restores, And gentle zephyr the sick air revives, And the dark shadows of the clouds Are put to flight, And birds their naked breasts confide Unto the wind, and the soft light, With new desire of love, and with new hope, The conscious beasts, in the deep woods, Amid the melting frosts, inspires; May not to you, poor human souls, Weary, and overborne with grief, The happy age return, which misery, And truth’s dark torch, before its time, consumed? ”

“ The northern desert and the whispering groves, Sole witnesses of their lament, As thus they passed away! And their neglected corpses, as they lay Upon that horrid sea of snow exposed, Were by the beasts consumed; The memories of the brave and good, And of the coward and the vile, Unto the same oblivion doomed! Dear souls, though infinite your wretchedness, Rest, rest in peace! And yet what peace is yours, Who can no comfort ever know While Time endures! Rest in the depths of your unmeasured woe, O ye, her children true, Whose fate alone with hers may vie, In endless, hopeless misery! ”

“ A languor strange doth o’er us steal; A strange desire of death we feel. I know not why, but such we ever prove The first effect of true and potent love. It may be, that this wilderness Then first appals our sight; And earth henceforth to us a dreary waste Appears, without that new, supreme delight, That in our thought is fondly traced; And yet our hearts, foreboding, feel the storm Within, that it may cause, the misery. We long for rest, we long to flee, Hoping some friendly haven may be found Of refuge from the fierce desire, That raging, roaring, darkens all around. ”

“ Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired, Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed, Save, when in visions of the night revealed, Or seen in daydreams bright, When all the fields are filled with light, And Nature’s smile is sweet, Say, hast thou blessed Some golden age of innocence, And floatest, now, a shadow, o’er the earth? Or hath Fate’s envious doom Reserved thee for some happier day to come?
To see thee e’er alive, No hope remains to me; Unless perchance, when from this body free, My wandering spirit, lone, O’er some new path, to some new world hath flown. ”

“ Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant, Serene old age the beasts conducts Unto the death they ne’er foresee. But if, by misery impelled, they sought To dash their heads against the rugged tree, Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock, Their limbs to scatter to the winds. No law mysterious, misconception dark, Would the sad wish refuse to grant. Of all that breathe the breath of life, You, only, children of Prometheus, feel That life a burden hard to bear; Yet, would you seek the silent shores of death, If sluggish fate the boon delay, To you, alone, stern Jove forbids the way. ”

“ To one, heaven guides Me now, in youth; and in the other, I Am fortunate. Ah, hadst thou once, but once, Responded to my long-enduring love, To my changed eyes this earth for evermore Had been transformed into a Paradise. E’en to old age, detestable old age, Could I have been resigned and reconciled. To bear its heavy load, the memory Of one transcendent moment had sufficed, When I was happier than the happiest, But, ah, such bliss supreme the envious gods To earthly natures ne’er have given! Love In such excess ne’er leads to happiness. ”

“ Ah, since the mansions of Olympus all Are desolate, and without guide, the bolt, That, wandering o’er the cloud-capped mountain-tops, In horror cold dissolves alike The guilty and the innocent; Since this, our earthly home, A stranger to her children has become, And brings them up, to misery; Lend thou an ear, dear Nature, to the woes And wretched fate of mortals, and revive The ancient spark within my breast; If thou, indeed, dost live, if aught there is, In heaven, or on the sun-lit earth, Or in the bosom of the sea, That pities? ”

“ For these, increasing constantly, are still By merchants and by work-shops amply met; But I will sing of hope, of hope whereof The gods now grant a pledge so palpable. The first-fruits of our new felicity Behold, in the enormous growth of hair, Upon the lip, upon the cheek, of youth!
O hail, thou salutary sign, first beam Of light of this our wondrous, rising age! See, how before thee heaven and earth rejoice, How sparkle all the damsels’ eyes with joy, How through all banquets and all festivals The fame of the young bearded heroes flies! Grow for your country’s sake, ye manly youth! ”

“ Oh, fortunate a thousand-fold is he, Who loses not his fancy’s freshness as The years roll by; whom envious Fate permits To keep eternal sunshine in his heart, Who, in his ripe and his declining years, As was his custom in his glorious youth, In his deep thought enhances Nature’s charms, Gives life to death, and to the desert, bloom. May heaven this fortune give to thee; and may The spark that now so warms thy breast, make thee In thy old age a votary of song! I feel no more the sweet illusions of That happy time ”

“ Arrived at heaven’s boundary, Behind the Apennine or Alp, Or into the deep bosom of the sea, The moon descends, the world grows dim; The shadows disappear, darkness profound Falls on each hill and vale around, And night is desolate, And singing, with his plaintive lay, The parting gleam of friendly light The traveller greets, whose radiance bright, Till now, hath guided him upon his way;
So vanishes, so desolate Youth leaves our mortal state. The shadows disappear, And the illusions dear; And in the distance fading all, are seen The hopes on which our suffering natures lean. ”

“ Thy holy ashes still were warm, Whom hostile fortune ne’er unmanned; Unto whose anger and whose grief, Hell was more grateful than thy native land. Ah, what, but hell, has Italy become? And thy sweet cords Still trembled at the touch of thy right hand, Unhappy bard of love. Alas, Italian song is still the child Of sorrow born. And yet, less hard to bear, Consuming grief than dull vacuity! O blessed thou, whose life was one lament! Disgust and nothingness are still our doom, And by our cradle sit, and on our tomb. ”

“ And when this formidable power Hath his whole soul possessed, And raging care will give his heart no rest, How many times implored With most intense desire, Art thou, O Death, by the poor wretch, forlorn! How oft at eve, how oft at dawn, His weary frame upon the couch he throws, Too happy, if he never rose, In hopeless conflict with his pain, Nor e’er beheld the bitter light again! And oft, at sound of funeral bell, And solemn chant, that guides Departed souls unto eternal rest, With sighs most ardent from his inmost breast, How hath he envied him, Who with the dead has gone to dwell! ”

“ Angelic beauty! Every lovely face, On which I gaze, A phantom seems to me, That vainly strives to copy thee, Of all the graces that our souls inthral, Sole fount, divine original!
Since first I thee beheld, Of what most anxious care of mine, Hast thou not been the end and aim? What day has ever passed, what hour, When I thought not of thee? What dream of mine Has not been haunted by thy face divine? Angelic countenance, that we In dreams, alas, alone may see, What else on earth, what in the universe, Do I e’er ask, or hope for, more, Than those dear eyes forever to behold? ”

“ For cruel fate propitious gales Hath e’er to virtue’s course denied, Nor in weak souls can purity reside.
Thy sons must either poor, or cowards be. Prefer them poor. It is the custom still. Desert and fortune never yet were friends; The strife between them never ends. Unhappy they, who in these evil days Are born when all things totter to their fall! But that we must to heaven leave. Be this, above all things, thy care, Thy children still to rear, As those who court not Fortune’s smiles, Nor playthings are of idle hope, or fear: And so the future age will call them blessed ”