The hapless bosom of a lovèd friend
In turn made tender mine,
At once I undertook the dread emprize.
Oh sweet and bitter plight none can divine!
Oh deed that ne'er shall end!
Oh strategy that madness did devise!
To win for him the prize
How bounteous and how kind Love did appear,
To me how full of fear
And loyalty, and yet how covetous!
To more than this a friend constraineth us.
An unjust guerdon for a wish as just
At every step we see
By a distrustful fortune's hand bestowed,
And, traitorous Love, by thine; we know of thee
That 'tis thy joy and trust
That lovers e'en in life should bear death's load.
The living flame that glowed—
Oh may it kindle in thy pinions light
And may, in thy despite,
To ashes sink each good and evil dart,
Or turn, when thou dost loose it, 'gainst thine heart.
How comes it then, by what deceit or wile,
By what strange wanderings,
Didst thou possession take of me by storm?
How 'midst my longings after higher things
Within the heart, from guile
Yet free, didst thou my healthy will transform,
False traitor to my harm?
Who is so wise as patiently to see
How that I entered, free
And safe, to sing thy glories and thy pains,
And now upon my neck do feel thy chains?
'Twere right that I should of myself complain,
Nor to thee give the blame,
That 'gainst thy fire I did not strive to fight.
I yielded, and the wind, amidst my shame,
That slept, I roused amain
Even the wind of chance with furious might.
A just decree and right
Hath Heaven pronounced against me that I die;
This only fear have I,
Amidst my luckless fate and hapless doom,
Misfortune will not end e'en in the tomb.
Thou, sweetest friend, and thou, my sweetest foe,
Timbrio, Nisida fair,
Happy and hapless both? What unjust power
Of ruthless fate, what unrelenting star,
Enemy of my woe,
Hard and unkind, hath in this evil hour
Parted us evermore?
Oh wretched and unstable lot of man!
How soon to sudden pain
Is changed our joy, that swiftly flies away,
And cloudy night doth follow cloudless day!
What man will put his trust with might and main
In the instability
And in the change, pervading human things?
On hasty pinions time away doth flee
And draweth in its train
The hope of him who weeps, and him who sings.
Whenever Heaven brings
Its favour, 'tis to him, in holy love
Raising to Heaven above
The soul dissolved in heavenly passion's fire,
To him that doth nor loss nor gain desire.
Here, gracious Lord, with all my power I raise
To holy Heaven on high
My hands, my eyes, my thoughts, in prayer always;
My soul doth hope thereby
To see its ceaseless mourning turned to praise.
With a deep sigh, the secluded youth, who was within the hermitage, ended his mournful song, and the shepherds, perceiving that he was not going on, without more delay, went in all together, and saw there, at one end, sitting on a hard stone, a comely and graceful youth, apparently two and twenty years of age, clad in a rough kersey, his feet unshod and his body girt with a coarse rope, which served him as belt. His head was drooping on one side, one hand clutched the portion of the tunic over his heart, the other arm fell limply on the other side. As they saw him in this plight, and as he had made no movement on the entry of the shepherds, they clearly recognised that he had fainted, as was the truth, for his deep brooding over his sorrows often brought him to such a pass. Erastro went up to him, and seizing him roughly by the arm, made him come to himself, though so dazed that he seemed to be waking from a heavy sleep; which tokens of grief caused no small grief in those who witnessed it, and straightway Erastro said to him:
'What is it, sir, that your troubled breast feels? Do not fail to tell it, for you have before you those who will not refuse any trouble to give relief to yours.'