Part 8 (1/2)

Myself am ever mine own counterfeit; And as deep night grows still more dim and dun, So still of more misdoing must I rue: Meanwhile this solace to my soul is sweet, That my black night doth make more clear the sun Which at your birth was given to wait on you.

XLII.

_SACRED NIGHT._

_Ogni van chiuso._

All hollow vaults and dungeons sealed from sight, All caverns circ.u.mscribed with roof and wall, Defend dark Night, though noon around her fall, From the fierce play of solar day-beams bright.

But if she be a.s.sailed by fire or light, Her powers divine are nought; they tremble all Before things far more vile and trivial-- Even a glow-worm can confound their might.

The earth that lies bare to the sun, and breeds A thousand germs that burgeon and decay-- This earth is wounded by the ploughman's share: But only darkness serves for human seeds; Night therefore is more sacred far than day, Since man excels all fruits however fair.

XLIII.

_THE IMPEACHMENT OF NIGHT._

_Perche Febo non torce._

What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend His s.h.i.+ning arms around this terrene sphere, The people call that season dark and drear Night, for the cause they do not comprehend.

So weak is Night that if our hand extend A glimmering torch, her shadows disappear, Leaving her dead; like frailest gossamere, Tinder and steel her mantle rive and rend.

Nay, if this Night be anything at all, Sure she is daughter of the sun and earth; This holds, the other spreads that shadowy pall.

Howbeit they err who praise this gloomy birth, So frail and desolate and void of mirth That one poor firefly can her might appal.

XLIV.

_THE DEFENCE OF NIGHT._

_O nott' o dolce tempo._

O night, O sweet though sombre span of time!-- All things find rest upon their journey's end-- Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend; And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom's prime.

Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime; For dews and darkness are of peace the friend: Often by thee in dreams upborne, I wend From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb.

Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart, Whom mourners find their last and sure relief!

Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength, Driest our tears, a.s.suagest every smart, Purging the spirits of the pure from grief.

XLV.

_LOVE FEEDS THE FLAME OF AGE._

_Quand' il servo il signior._

When masters bind a slave with cruel chain, And keep him hope-forlorn in bondage pent, Use tames his temper to imprisonment, And hardly would he fain be free again.