# Sonnets and Ballate of Guido Cavalcanti/Ballate

BALLATE
BALLATE
BALLATA I
Sith need hath bound my heart in bands of grief, Sith I turn flame in pleasure’s saffron fire, I sing how I lost a treasure by desire And left all virtue and am low descended.
I tell, with senses dead, what scant relief My heart from war hath in his life’s small might. Nay! were not death turned pleasure in my sight, Then Love would weep to see me so offended.
Yet, for I’m come upon a madder season, The firm opinion which I held of late Stands in a changèd state, And I show not how much my soul is grievèd There where I am deceivèd Since through my heart, midway, a mistress went And in her passage all mine hopes were spent.
Note.–This is not really a ballata but is the first stanza of a lost canzone, one mentioned by Dante in the D. V. E.
BALLATA II
Ladies I saw a-passing where she passed; Not that they seemed as ladies to my vision, Who were like nothing save her shadow cast.
I praise her in no cause save verity’s, None other dispraise, if ye comprehend me. A spirit moveth speaking prophecies Foretelling: Spirits mine, swift death shall end ye, Cruel! if seeing me no tears forelend ye, Sith but the being in thought sets wide mine eyes For sobbing out my heart’s full memories.
BALLATA III
Tho’ all thy piteous mercy fall away Not for thy failing shall my faith so fall, That Faith speaks on of services unpaid To the unpitièd heart.
What that heart feeleth? Ye believe me not. Who sees such things? Surely no one at all, For Love me gives a spirit on his part Who dieth if portrayed.
Thence when that pleasure so assaileth me, And the sighing faileth me, Within my heart a rain of love descendeth So fragrantly, so purely That I cry out, “Lady, thou hold'st me surely!”
BALLATA IV
Weeping ye see me, in Grief’s company, One showing forth Love’s jurisdiction. Of pity-shrouded hearts I find not one Who sigheth, seeing me disconsolate.
New is the grief that’s come upon my heart, And mournful is the press of my deep sighs, And oft Death greeteth me, by tricksome art Drawn dose upon me with his agonies, Yea close, drawn close till every dullard sees; I hear their murmuring, “How grief hath bent This man! And we from the apparent testament, Deem stranger torments in him sublimate.”
Within my heart this grievous weight descended Hath slain that band of spirits which was bent Heartward, that th’ heart might by them be defended. When the sad heart had summoned them they’d left Mine eyes of every other guard bereft Till Rumour, courier through the mind, ran crying, “A vileness in the heart, Oyez! lies dying. On guard lest vileness strike at your estate!”
BALLATA V
Light do I see within my Lady’s eyes And loving spirits in its plenisphere Which bear in strange delight on my heart’s care Till Joy’s awakened from that sepulchre.
That which befalls me in my Lady’s presence Bars explanations intellectual, I seem to see a lady wonderful Forth issue from Her lips, one whom no sense Can fully tell the mind of and one whence Another fair, swift born, moves marvellous, From whom a star goes forth and speaketh thus: “Lo, thy salvation is gone forth from thee.”
There where this Lady’s loveliness appeareth, There’s heard a voice which goes before her ways And seems to sing her name with such sweet praise That my mouth fears to speak what name she beareth, And my heart trembles for the grace she weareth, While far in my soul’s deep the sighs astir Speak thus: “Look well! For if thou look on her, Then shalt thou see her virtue risen in heaven.”
Vide Introduction.
BALLATA VI
The harshness of my strange and new misventure Hath in my mind distraught The wonted fragrance of love’s every thought.
Already is my Life in such part shaken That she, my gracious lady of delight, Hath left my soul most desolate forsaken And e’en the place she was, is gone from sight; And there rests not within me so much might That my mind can reach forth To comprehend the flower of her worth.
This noble thought is come well winged with death, Namely, that I shall ne’er see her again, And this harsh torment, with no pity fraught, Increaseth bitterness and in its strain I cry, and find none to attend my pain, While for the flame I feel, I thank that lord who turns grief’s fortune wheel.
Full of all anguish and within Fear’s gates The spirit of my heart lies sorrowfully, Thanks to that Fortune who my fortune hates, Who ’th spun death’s lot where it most irketh me
And given hope that’s ta’en in treachery, Which ere it died aright Had robbed me of mine hours of delight.
words of mine foredone and full of terror, Whither it please ye, go forth and proclaim Grief. Throughout all your wayfare, in your error Make ye soft clamour of my Lady’s name, While I downcast and fallen upon shame Keep scant shields over me, To whomso runs, death’s colours cover me.
BALLATA VII
Being in thought of love I came upon Two damsels strange Who sang, “The joyous rains Of love descend within us.”
So quiet in their modest courtesies Their aspect coming softly on my vision Made me reply, “Surely ye hold the keys O’ the virtues noble, high, without omission. Ah, little maids, hold me not in derision, For the wound I bear within me And this heart o’ mine ha’ slain me. I was in Toulouse lately.”
And then toward me they so turned their eyes That they could see my wounded heart’s ill ease, And how a little spirit born of sighs Had issued forth from out the cicatrice. Perceiving so the depth of my distress, She who was smiling, said, “Love’s joy hath vanquished This man. Behold how greatly!”
Then she who had first mocked me, in better part Gave me all courtesy in her replies.
She said, “That Lady, who upon thine heart Cut her full image, clear, by Love’s device, Hath looked so fixedly in through thine eyes That she’s made Love appear there; If thou great pain or fear bear, Recommend thee unto him!”
Then the other piteous, full of misericorde, Fashioned for pleasure in love’s fashioning: “His heart’s apparent wound, I give my word, Was got from eyes whose power’s an o’er great thing, Which eyes have left in his a glittering That mine cannot endure. Tell me, hast thou a sure Memory of those eyes?”
To her dread question with such fears attended, “Maid o’ the wood,” I said, “my memories render Tolosa and the dusk and these things blended: A lady in a corded bodice, slender –Mandetta is the name Love’s spirits lend her– A lightning swift to fall, And naught within recall Save, Death! My wounds! Her eyes!”
(Envoi) Speed Ballatet’ unto Tolosa city And go in softly neath the golden roof And there cry out, “Will courtesy or pity Of any most fair lady, put to proof, Lead me to her with whom is my behoof?” Then if thou get her choice Say, with a lowered voice, “It is thy grace I seek here.”
BALLATA VIII
The eyes of this gentle maid of the forest Have set my mind in such bewilderment That all my wistful thoughts on her are bent.
So doth she pierce me when mine eyes regard her That I hear sighs a-trembling in mine heart As from her eyes aye sources of mine ardour The quaint small spirits of Amor forth-dart From which small sprites such greater powers start That when they reach me my faint soul is sent Exhausted forth to swoon in banishment.
I feel how from mine eyes the sighs forth-fare When my mind reasoneth with me of her, Till I see torments raining through the air. Draggled by griefs, which I by these incur, Mine every strength turns mine abandoner, And I know not what place I am toward, Save that Death hath me in his castle-yard.
And I am so outworn that now for mercy I am not bold to cry out even in thought, And I find Love, who speaking saith of her, “See, She is not one whose image could be wrought.
Unto her presence no man could be brought Who did not well to tremble for the daring.” And I? Would swoon if I should meet her faring.
(Envoi) Go! Ballad mine, and when thy journey has won Unto my Lady’s presence wonderful, Speak of mine anguish in some fitting fashion, Sorrowfully thus, “My sender is sorrowful, Lo, how he saith, he hath no hope at all Of drawing pity from such courtesy As keeps his Lady’s gracious company.”
BALLATA IX
In wood-way found I once a shepherdess, More fair than stars are was she to my seeming.
Her hair was wavy somewhat, like dull gold. Eyes? Love-worn, and her face like some pale rose. With a small twig she kept her lambs in hold, And bare her feet were bar the dewdrop’s gloze; She sang as one whom mad love holdeth close, And joy was on her for an ornament.
I greeted her in love without delaying: “Hast thou companion in thy solitude?” And she replied to me most sweetly, saying, “Nay, I am quite alone in all this wood, But when the birds ’gin singing in their coverts My heart is fain that time to find a lover.”
As she was speaking thus of her condition I heard the bird-song ’neath the forest shade And thought me how ’t was but the time’s provision To gather joy of this small shepherd maid. Favour I asked her, but for kisses only, And then I felt her pleasant arms upon me.
She held to me with a dear wilfulness, Saying her heart had gone into my bosom, She drew me on to a cool leafy place Where I gat sight of every coloured blossom, And there I drank in so much summer sweetness Meseemed Love’s god connived at its completeness.
BALLATA X
Now can I tell you tidings of mine eyes, News which such pleasure to my heart supplieth That Love himself for glory of it sigheth.
This new delight which my heart drinketh in Was drawn from nothing save a woman seen Who hath such charm and a so courtly mien And such fair fashion that the heart is fain To greet her beauty, which nor base nor mean Can know, because its hue and qualities demand Intelligence in him who would understand.
I see Love grow resplendent in her eyes With such great power and such noble thought As hold therein all gracious ecstasies, From them there moves a soul so subtly wrought That all compared thereto are set at naught And judgment of her speaks no truth save this: “A splendour strange and unforeseen she is.”
(Envoi) Go, Ballatetta, forth and find my Lady, Ask if she have this much of mercy ready, This namely, that she turn her eyes toward thee?
Ask in his name whose whole faith rests in her, And if she gracious, this much grace accord thee, Offer glad-voicèd incense of sweet savour Proclaiming of whom thou receiv’st such favour.
BALLATA XI
Because no hope is left me, Ballatetta, Of return to Tuscany, Light-foot go thou some fleet way Unto my Lady straightway, And out of her courtesy Great honour will she do thee.
Tidings thou bearest with thee sorrow-fain Full of all grieving, overcast with fear. On guard! Lest any one see thee or hear, Any who holds high nature in disdain, For sure if so, to my increase of pain, Thou wert made prisoner And held afar from her, Hereby new harms were given Me, and after death even Dolour and griefs renewed.
Thou knowest, Ballatetta, that Death layeth His hand upon me whom hath Life forsaken; Thou knowest well how great a tumult swayeth My heart at sound of her whom each sense crieth Till all my mournful body is so shaken That I cannot endure here,
Would’st thou make service sure here? Lead forth my soul with thee (I pray thee earnestly) When it parts from my heart here.
Ah, Ballatetta, to thy friendliness I do give o’er this trembling soul’s poor case. Bring thou it there where her dear pity is, And when thou hast found that Lady of all grace Speak through thy sighs, my Ballad, with thy face Low bowed, thy words in sum: “Behold, thy servant is come, This soul who would dwell with thee, Asundered suddenly From Him, Love’s servitor.”
O smothered voice and weak that tak’st the road Out from the weeping heart and dolorous, Go crying out my most sad mind’s alarm Forth with my soul and this song piteous Until thou find a lady of such charm, So sweetly intelligent That e’en thy sorrow is rent. Take thy fast place before her. And thou, Soul mine, adore her Alway, with all thy might.
BALLATA XII
If all my life be but some deathly moving, Joy dragged from heaviness; Seeing my deep distress How doth Love’s spirit call me unto loving?
How summon up my heart for dalliance? When ’tis so sorrowful And manacled by sighs so mournfully That e’en the will for grace dare not advance? Weariness over all Spoileth that heart of power, despoiling me. And song, sweet laughter, and benignity Are grown three grievous sighs, Till all men’s careless eyes May see Death risen to my countenance.
Love that is born of loving like delight Within my heart sojourneth And fashions a new person from desire Yet toppleth down to vileness all his might, So all Love’s daring spurneth That man who knoweth service and its hire. For Love, then why doth he of me inquire? Only because he sees
Me cry on Death for ease, While Death doth point me on toward all mischance.
And I can cry for Grief so heavily As hath man never, For Grief drags to my heart a heart so sore With wandering speech of her, who cruelly Outwearieth me ever…. O Mistress, spoiler of my valour’s store! Accursed by the hour when Amor Was born in such a wise That my life in his eyes Grew matter of pleasure and acceptable!
BALLATA XIII
For naught save pity do I pray thy youth That thou have care for Mercy’s castaway Lo, Deaths upon me in his battle array!
And my soul finds him in his decadence So over-wearied by that spirit wried (For whom thou car’st not till his ways be tried, Showing thyself thus wise in ignorance To hold him hostile) that I pray that mover And victor and slayer of every hard-wrought thing That ere mine end he show him conquering.
Sith at his blows, who holds life in despite, Thou seest clear how in my barbed distress He wounds me there where dwells mine humbleness, Till my soul living turneth in my sight To speech, in words that grievous sighs o’ercover. Until mine eyes see worth’s self wavering Grant me thy mercies for my covering!
BALLATA XIV
I pray ye gentles, ye who speak of grief, Out of new clemency, for my relief That ye disdain not to attend my pain.
I see my heart stand up before mine eyes, While my self-slaying mournful soul receiveth Love’s mortal stroke and in that moment dies, Yea, in the very instant he perceiveth Milady, and yet that smiling sprite who cleaveth To her in joy, that very one is he Who sets the seal of my mortality.
But should ye hear my sad heart’s lamentation Then would a trembling reach your heart’s midmost. For Love holds with me such sweet conversation That Pity, by your sighs, ye would accost. To all less keen than ye the sense were lost, Nor other hearts could think soft nor speak loudly How dire the throng of sorrows that enshroud me.
Yea from my mind behold what tears arise As soon as it hath news of Her, Milady, Forth move they making passage through the eyes
Wherethrough there goes a spirit sorrowing, Which entereth the air so weak a thing That no man else its place discovereth Or deems it such an almoner of Death.
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