To Laura In Death. Sonnet LXXV.

A poem by Francesco Petrarca

Gli angeli eletti e l' anime beate.

HE DIRECTS ALL HIS THOUGHTS TO HEAVEN, WHERE LAURA AWAITS AND BECKONS HIM.


The chosen angels, and the spirits blest,
Celestial tenants, on that glorious day
My Lady join'd them, throng'd in bright array
Around her, with amaze and awe imprest.
"What splendour, what new beauty stands confest
Unto our sight?"--among themselves they say;
"No soul, in this vile age, from sinful clay
To our high realms has risen so fair a guest."
Delighted to have changed her mortal state,
She ranks amid the purest of her kind;
And ever and anon she looks behind,
To mark my progress and my coming wait;
Now my whole thought, my wish to heaven I cast;
'Tis Laura's voice I hear, and hence she bids me haste.

NOTT.


The chosen angels, and the blest above,
Heaven's citizens!--the day when Laura ceased
To adorn the world, about her thronging press'd,
Replete with wonder and with holy love.
"What sight is this?--what will this beauty prove?"
Said they; "for sure no form in charms so dress'd,
From yonder globe to this high place of rest,
In all the latter age, did e'er remove!"
She, pleased and happy with her mansion new,
Compares herself with the most perfect there;
And now and then she casts a glance to view
If yet I come, and seems to wish me near.
Rise then, my thoughts, to heaven!--vain world, adieu!
My Laura calls! her quickening voice I hear!

CHARLEMONT.