Garcilasso, que al bien siempre aspiraste.
1.
Tell me, dear Garcilasso, thou
Who ever aim'dst at Good,
And in the spirit of thy vow
So swift her course pursued,
That thy few steps sufficed to place
The angel in thy loved embrace,
Won instant, soon as wooed,—
Why took'st thou not, when winged to flee
From this dark world, Boscán with thee?
2.
Why, when ascending to the star
Where now thou sitt'st enshrined,
Left'st thou thy weeping friend afar,
Alas, so far behind!
Oh, I do think, had it remained
With thee to alter aught ordained
By the Eternal Mind,
Thou wouldst not on this desert spot
Have left thy other self forgot.
3.
For if through life thy love was such,
As still to take a pride
In having me so oft and much
Close to thy envied side—
I cannot doubt, I must believe
Thou wouldst at least have taken leave
Of me, or if denied,
Have come back afterwards, unblest
Till I too shared thy heavenly rest.
VILLEGAS, IN PRAISE OF GARCILASSO.
Si al apacible viento.
1.
To the soft wind, the' eternal guest
Of these delicious skies,
Thou yet, sweet lute, hast been but prest
In beauty's cause, at love's behest,
To sing of bright blue eyes.
2.
But leave these idle themes, and sound
His glory to the stars,
Whose footsteps ranged on classic ground,
Till Garonne saw him deal around
The battle-bolts of Mars.
3.
Woe to the heart of Aquitaine!
Woe to the men she bred!
When, sheathed in steel, with fierce disdain,
He loosed a stream in every vein,
And dyed her ramparts red.
4.
But, freed from war, he bound his brow
With myrtle leaves again,
To Venus paid a votary's vow,
And hymned her birth, assuming now
The falchion, now the pen.
5.
Sweet as the swan, when death was nigh,
On Danube's willowed banks,
He held the waters roaring by,
With magic of his melody,
Congealed in crystal ranks.
6.
Long, long that tune the stream shall keep,
And whisper as it flows;
Let Love too tell in murmurs deep
The noble words she heard him weep,
For well those words she knows.
7.
Well as his song, grave, tender, sweet,
Beneath the beechen shade,
The wild brook babbling at his feet,
When he bewailed the chaste deceit
Of his beloved maid.
8.
But hush the chords, for there, ah there,
Salicio too grew mute,
And broken-hearted with despair
For the too false, forsaking fair,
Hung up his useless lute!
FLORENCIO ROMANO, ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASSO.
Chi audace osera mai tue lodi sparte?
1.
What daring hand may hope to raise
To thee the double trophy due,
Whom not alone the poet's bays
Distinguished, but the warrior's too?
What tributary voice in one
Collect thy various praises? None.
2.
In thy melodious verse, where yet
Thy spirit breathes, thy glory glows,
Immortal shalt thou live, till set
The stars in darkness whence they rose.
Shower, virgins, shower with sad concern,
Wild thyme and rose-leaves round his urn!
3.
Whilst I his glories, dumb with grief,
Point to the frequent passer-by,
Worthy the blazoning bas-relief,
The sculptured bust, the speaking die:
'Lo! 'midst green ivies, flowers, and palms,
Lasso's hushed lyre and rusting arms!'
HERRERA, ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASSO.
Musa, esparze purpureas frescas flores.
1.
With purple flowers, oh Muse, each morn,
The freshest flowers in bloom,
Scattered with pious hands, adorn
Thy Lasso's holy tomb;
In grief for the lamented dead,
Thy golden tresses, Venus, spread
Dishevelled;—mourn his doom,
His timeless doom, ye little Loves,
In concord with your Mother's doves!
2.
As burns the bird whose perished frame
Arabian herbs inter,
Your broken bows give to the flame
With rosemary and myrrh;
And oh, for his lamented sake,
Apollo, to thy temples take
The wreath of funeral fir,
And sadly to the solemn string
His glory and thy sorrows sing!
3.
His name, Parnassus, whose proud song,
Pure, sweet, and tender, gave
Fame to thy rosy peaks, prolong
Through each revering cave;
Lasso, through whose harmonious shell
Tagus rich Tiber does excel,
And Arno's purer wave,—
For whose hushed voice a nation grieves,
Lies dead amidst green amaranth leaves!