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From An Anthology of Italian Poems 13th-19th Century selected and translated by Lorna de’ Lucchi, Alfred A. Knopf, New York; 1922; pp. 90-92, 350-51.

[For purists, the Italian text of the poems follows the English translation.]

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375

Notes and translation by Lorna de’ Lucchi

[350]

Biographical Note

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO (Giovanni di Boccaccio da Chellino), born at Paris, the son of a Florentine merchant. He came to Florence at an early age, studied commerce in Naples, but soon abandoned this for literature. About 1334 or 1338 he fell in love with Maria d’ Aquino, a natural daughter of King Robert of Naples, who, as “Fiammetta,” inspired a number of his works. In 1349, on his father’s death, he returned to Florence, where he entertained Petrarch, with whom he formed a close friendship. About 1362 he was so influenced by a priest called Gioacchino Ciani as completely to change his moral views and mode of life. In 1373 he read and commented in public the Divina Commedia. His chief works are, in Italian: the Rime, the Amorosa Visione, Filostrato, Teseide, and the Ninfale Fiesolano (verse). In prose: Filocolo, Ameto, Fiammetta, Corbaccio, the Vita di Dante, followed by his Commento sopra la Commedia, and finally the Decameron, which reveals him creator 351 of Italian prose and is his greatest title to fame. He wrote, in Latin: De casibus virorum illustrium, De claris mulieribus, the Bucolicon in 17 Eclogues, and the De genealogiis in 15 books.

Poems

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375

Ballata

I AM young and fain to sing
In this happy tide of spring
Of love and many a gentle thing,
   I wander through green meadows dight
With blossoms gold and red and white;
Rose by the thorn and lily fair,
Both one and all I do compare
With him who, worshipping my charms,
For aye would fold me in his arms
As one unto his service sworn.
   Then, when I find a flower that seems
Like to the object of my dreams,
I gather it and kiss it there,
I flatter it in accents fair,
My heart outpour, my soul stoop down,
Then weave it in a fragrant crown
Among my flaxen locks to wear.
   The rapture nature’s floweret gay
Awakes in me doth last alway,
As if I tarried face to face
With him whose true love is my grace;
Thoughts which its fragrancy inspires
I cannot frame to my desires,
My sighs their pilgrimage do trace.
   My sights are neither harsh nor sad
As other women’s are, but glad
And tender; in so fond a wise
They seek my love that he replies
By coming hither, and so gives
Delight to her who in him lives
Yet almost wept: “Come, for hope dies.”

Sonetto

BESIDE a fountain in a little grove
That fresh green fronds and pretty flowers did grace,
Three maidens sat and talked methinks of love.
Mid golden locks, o’ershadowing each sweet face,
For coolness was entwined a leaf-green spray,
And all the while a gentle zephyr played
Through green and golden in a tender way,
Weaving a web of sunshine and of shade.
After a while, unto the other two
One spoke, and I could hear her words: “Think you
That if our lovers were to happen by
We would all run away for very fright?”
The others answered her: “From such delight
She were a little fool who’d wish to fly!”

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375

Ballata

IO mi son giovenetta, e volentieri
m’allegro e canto en la stagion novella,
merzè d’ amore e de’ dolci pensieri.
   Io vo pe’ verdi prati riguardando
I bianchi fiori e’ gialli et i vermigli,
le rose in su le spini e i bianchi gigli;
e tutti quanti gli vo somigliando
al viso di colui, che me, amando,
ha presa e terrà sempre, come quella
ch’ altro non ha in disío che’ e’ suoi piaceri.
   De’ quai quando io ne trouovo alcun che sia,
al mio parer, ben simile di lui,
il colgo e bacio e parlomi con lui,
e com’ io so, così l’ anima mia
tututta gli apro, e ciò che ’l cor disia:
quindi con altri il metto in ghirlandella
legato co’ miei crin biondi e leggieri.
   E quel piacer, che di natura il fiore
agli occhi porge, quel simil me ‘’l dona
che s’ io vedessi la propia persona
che m’ ha accesa del suo dolce amore;
quel che mi faccia più il suo odore,
esprimer no ’l potrei con la favella;
ma i sospiri ne son testimon veri.
   Li quai non escon già mai del mio petto,
come dell’ altre donne, aspri nè gravi,
ma se ne vengon fuor caldi e soavi,
et al mio amor sen vanno nel cospetto;
il qual, come gli sente, a dar diletto
di sè a me si muove, e viene in quella
ch’ i’ son per dir: “Deh vien, ch’ i’ non disperi!”

Sonetto

INTORN’ ad una fonte, in un pratello
di verdi fronde pieno e di bei fiori,
sedean tre angiolette, i loro amori
forse narrando; et a ciascuna ’l bello
viso adombrava un verde ramicello
ch’ i capei d’ or cingea, al qual di fuori
e dentro insieme i dua vaghi colori
avvolgeva un suave venticello.
E dopo alquanto l’ una alle due disse,
com’ io udi’: “De’, se per avventura
di ciascuna l’ amante qui venisse,
fuggiremo noi quinci per paura?”
A cui le due risposer: “Chi fuggisse
poco savia saría co’ tal ventura!”