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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. 140-141, 354.
[For purists, the Italian text of the poems follows the English translation.]
LUIGI TANSILLO, 1510-1568
Notes and translation by Lorna de’ Lucchi
[354]
Biographical Note
LUIGI TANSILLO, born at Venosa; spent many years at the Court of Naples; Captain of Justice at Gaeta; died at Teano. He wrote Il Vendemmiatore, which was put on the index by Pope Paul IV., Capitoli giocosi e storici, Poemetti, Lagrime di S. Pietro. He excels among Petrarchists by reason of his originality and freshness of treatment.
Poems
141
LUIGI TANSILLO, 1510-1568
Sonetto I
LOVE feathereth my wings, and bold desire
Spreadeth them for such lofty flight that I,
For ever soaring, hour by hour aspire
To assail the very portals of the sky.
When I look down afraid through the boundless space,
He speaketh, proudly promising so be
I fall and perish in such noble race,
Death’s leap will be my immortality.
Whence, as of one who ardently desired,
And, dying, gave the sea his lasting name
Where the sun melted his brave wings apart,
The world might say of me: “He too aspired
Unto the stars, and if he did fell the blame
Is life’s, this failed, but not his daring heart!”
Sonetto II
WHEN I have spread my wings to sweet desire,
As ’neath me ever vaster space I spy,
Proudly I cleave the air and raise me higher,
And scorn the earth and yearn towards the sky.
Nor am I daunted by the cruel death
Of young Icarus, nay, I do but dare
The more, and though down-hurled, bereft of breath,
What life could with this death of mine compare?
I hear how on the breeze my heart doth call:
“Whither away, O reckless one? Descend,
Oft too great daring hath a bitter end!”
Whereon I answer: “Fear not the dire fall,
Go, rend the clouds, then die contentedly
If with such glorious death Heaven favour thee!”
140
LUIGI TANSILLO, 1510-1568
Sonetto I
Sonetto I
AMOR m’ impenna l’ ale, e tanto in alto
le spiega l’ animoso mio pensiero,
che, d’ ora in ora sormontando, spero
a le porte del cielo far novo assalto.
Temo, qualor giù gaurdo, il vol troppo alto,
ond’ ei mi grida, e mi promette altero
che sa dal nobil corso io cado e pero,
l’ onor sia eterno, se mortale il salto.
Chè s’ altri, cui disio simil compunse,
diè nome eterno al mar col suo morire,
ove l’ ardite penne il sol disgiunse,
il mondo ancor potrà di te ben dire:
“Questi aspirò a le steele, e, s’ ei non giunse,
la vita venne men, non già l’ ardire.”
Sonetto II
POI che spiegat’ ho l’ ale al bel desio,
quanto più sotto ’l piè l’ aria mi scorgo,
più le superbe penne al vento porgo,
e spregio il mndo e verso ’l ciel m’ invio.
Né del figliuol di Dedalo il fin rio
fa che giù pieghi, anzi più risorgo:
ch’ io cadrò morto a terra, ben m’ accorgo;
ma qual vita pareggia al mrir mio?
La voce del mio cor per l’ aria sento:
“Ove mi porti, temerario? china
chè raro è senza duol troppo ardimento.”
“Non temer,” rispond’ io, “l’ alta ruina,
fendi sicur le nubi, e muor’ contento,
se ’l ciel sì illustre morte ne destina!”
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