The Memories

Ye stars of Ursa's sign, I did not think
I should return, as formerly, to gaze
Upon you, shining on my father's garden,
And with you to hold parley from the windows
Of this old mansion where in youth I dwelt,
And of my joys beheld the bitter end.
How many strange imaginings of yore
Your aspect and the stars that near you shine,
Created in my thoughts when 'twas my wont,
In silence wrapped, on verdant sward reclining,
To pass the hours of evening, gazing long
Upon the sky and list'ning to the sound
That issued from frog-haunted marshes far.
'Twas then the glow-worm hovered round the hedges
And o'er the beds of flowers; while to the wind
The fragrant alleys rustled, and beyond
The cypress forest moaned; and 'neath our roof
Voices proceeded, and the quiet work
Of the attendants. And what thoughts immense,
What sweetest dreams inspired me at the view
Of that far-distant sea, those azure mountains,
Which yonder I discern, and which some day
I hoped to cross, an unknown world, unknown
Felicity depicting to my years!
This life of mine, so painful and so bare,
I willingly with death would have exchanged!

Nor did my heart foretell I should be doomed
To consummate my youthful years in this
My native hamlet rude; amid a race
Ribaldrous, vile; to which are names most strange,
And often themes of mockery and jibes,
Learning and science; and it hates and shuns me,
Not out of envy, for it does not deem
My worth superior, but because it knows
That in my heart I think so, though thereof
An outward sign to none I ever gave.
Here do I pass my years, abandoned, hidden,
And without love or life; and needs amid
A rabble so malignant, bitter grow;
Here I discard all pity and all virtue,
And a despiser of mankind become,
Because of those around me; and, meanwhile,
The cherished time of youth escapes, more dear
Than fame or laurels, dearer than the pure
Radiance of day and vital breath; I lose thee
Without a joy, and uselessly, in this
Inhuman dwelling-place, immersed in woes,
Of barren life thou solitary flower!

I hear the wind that wafts the striking time
From yonder village-clock. I well remember
That sound was the sole comfort to my nights,
When as a child, in darkness of my room,
I passed a sleepless vigil, full of terrors,
Sighing for day. Around me there is nothing
I see or hear, whence fancies old do not
Return, or sweet remembrances arise,
Sweet in themselves; but full of pain appears
The present to my mind, the vain desire
For what is past, though sad, the thought "I was!"
Yon loggia, turned towards the dying light
Of the expiring day; these pictured walls,
Those herds that live in painting, and the sun
O'er lonely country rising, to my leisure
Gave many joys, what time my mighty error
Beside me stood, wherever I might be,
Prompting my heart. Here in these ancient halls,
When shone the snow without, and stormy blasts
Were whistling round these ample windows high,
My pleasures had their scene, and my gay laugh
Re-echoed in that time when we suppose
The bitter, cruel mystery of things
Entirely sweet; an inexperienced lover,
Admiring heavenly beauty he conceives,
The youth pays court unto his life which yet
Before him lies untasted, unconsumed.

Ye hopes, ye vanished hopes, ye sweet illusions
Of my beginning years! always in song
To you I come; and although time doth fly,
And thoughts do change, and even affections vary,
Forget you, I shall never. Shades, I know,
Are glory and honour, riches and delight,
Merest desire; life doth not yield a fruit,
Tis useless misery. And although empty
Are these my years, and desolate and dark
My lot on earth, I see that fortune keeps
Little from me. Alas! but when my thoughts
Recur to you, oh ye my ancient hopes!
And to my fond imagining of yore,
And then consider my existence, made
So painful and so vile that death is all
That of such high aspiring still is mine:
I feel my heart contract, I feel that wholly
There is no consolation for my fate.
And when at last this long implored for death
Shall come to me, and thus the end be reached
Of all my woes; when to my soul this earth
Shall be a vale remote; and from my sight
The future shall escape: of ye in truth
I will be mindful, and even then your image
Will make me sigh, will make the thought most bitter
That I have lived in vain, and even the sweetness
Of dying it will temper with affliction.

Even in the earliest youthful turbulence
Of happiness, of anguish, of desire,
I often called for death; and long I sat
Out there, upon the margin of yon fountain,
And thought of ending in that lucid stream
My hope and pain. But soon Misfortune blind
Conducted me through life's most various maze,
And I then wept for youth and for the flower
Of my ill-fated days, that ere its time
Withered; and often through belated hours
Upon my bed reclining, mournfully
Conning my verses at the lamp's dim ray,
With silence and with night I did lament
My spirit flying hence, and on myself
In languid pain a funeral dirge I sang.

Who without sighing can remember ye,
O early dawn of youth, O happy days
Charming beyond narration? When on man
Fair women first do smile and make him blest
With tokens of their love; when all around
Is radiant; when even envy still is silent,
Not yet roused, or else kind; and when it seems,
Oh unaccustomed miracle! the world
Doth offer him a helping, generous hand,
Forgives his errors, celebrated his new
Arrival in this life, and full of homage
Appears to hail him and receive him lord?
Ah fleeting days! As swift as lightning's flash
They disappear. And who of those on earth
Can be to woe a stranger, if for him
That season is no more, if his fair time,
If youth, ah youth! for evermore be gone?

O my Nerina I and perchance of thee
These scenes I hear not tell? Art thou perchance
Fallen from my recollection? Where art thou,
That here of thee the memory alone
I find, my sweetest love? This native soil
Sees thee no more; that window, whence thy wont
It was to hold discourse with me, and whence
Sadly the starry radiance is reflected,
Is desolate. Where art thou, that no more
I hear thy voice as in a former day,
When every distant accent from thy lips
That reached mine ear, had in it such a charm,
It changed my hue? Those times are gone. Those days
Are over, my adored. Thou passedst. Others
By Fate are now allowed on earth to live
And make their dwelling 'mid these fragrant hills.
But far too rapidly thy life did end,
Even as a dream. It was thy wont to dance,
And on thy brow shone joy, and in thine eyes
That fond imagining, that radiant light
Of youth, when Fate extinguished them, and thou
Didst lie in death. Ah me, Nerina! Still
The old love reigns in my heart. If I at times
To festive pleasures go, unto myself
I say: "Alas, Nerina I For such joys
Thou dost no more array thee, nor proceed."
If May returns, and flowers and roundelays
The lovers offer to their well-beloved,
I say, "Nerina mine! for thee no more
Doth Spring return, nor do the sweets of love."
Each day serene in beauty, and each bed
Of flowers I see, each joyaunce that I feel,
I say: "Nerina now no more enjoys them,
Nor sees the earth and sky." Ah, thou art gone,
Thou my eternal sigh, gone: and united
With all my musings, with my tenderest feelings,
And with the heart's emotions, sad yet dear.
Shall be for aye the bitter memory.