THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, VOL. 8 (Completed)

XXI - AT FLORENCE -- FROM MICHAEL ANGELO

[However at first these two sonnets from Michael Angelo may seem in their spirit somewhat inconsistent with each other, I have not scrupled to place them side by side as characteristic of their great author, and others with whom he lived. I feel, nevertheless, a wish to know at what periods of his life they were respectively composed.[156] The latter, as it expresses, was written in his advanced years, when it was natural that the Platonism that pervades the one should give way to the Christian feeling that inspired the other: between both there is more than poetic affinity.--I.F.]

Rapt above earth by power of one fair face,

Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights,

I mingle with the blest on those pure heights

Where Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place.

With Him who made the Work that Work accords

So well, that by its help and through his grace

I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words,

Clasping her beauty in my soul's embrace.

Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn,

I feel how in their presence doth abide

Light which to God is both the way and guide;

And, kindling at their lustre, if I burn,

My noble fire emits the joyful ray

That through the realms of glory shines for aye.

[156] The second of the two sonnets translated by Wordsworth is No.lxxiii. in Signor Cesare Guastî's edition of Michael Angelo (1863).

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS

._Scaro d'un' importuna._

It was evidently written in old age. The following is Mr. JohnAddington Symond's translation of the same sonnet.

Freed from a burden sore and grievous band,

Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied,

Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side,

As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land.

Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand,

With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide

Promise of help and mercies multiplied,

And hope that yet my soul secure may stand.

Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see

My evil part, Thy chastened ears to hear,

And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime:

Let Thy blood only love and succour me,

Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer,

As older still I grow with lengthening time.

The Sonnets of Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Tomaso Campanella, by John Addington Symonds, p. 110.

Compare Wordsworth's translation of other three sonnets by Michael Angelo (vol. iii. pp. 380-384).--ED.