The Memories

Ye stars of Ursa's sign, I did not thinkI should return, as formerly, to gazeUpon you, shining on my father's garden,And with you to hold parley from the windowsOf this old mansion where in youth I dwelt,And of my joys beheld the bitter end.How many strange imaginings of yoreYour 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 longUpon the sky and list'ning to the soundThat issued from frog-haunted marshes far.'Twas then the glow-worm hovered round the hedgesAnd o'er the beds of flowers; while to the windThe fragrant alleys rustled, and beyondThe cypress forest moaned; and 'neath our roofVoices proceeded, and the quiet workOf the attendants. And what thoughts immense,What sweetest dreams inspired me at the viewOf that far-distant sea, those azure mountains,Which yonder I discern, and which some dayI hoped to cross, an unknown world, unknownFelicity 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 doomedTo consummate my youthful years in thisMy native hamlet rude; amid a raceRibaldrous, 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 deemMy worth superior, but because it knowsThat in my heart I think so, though thereofAn outward sign to none I ever gave.Here do I pass my years, abandoned, hidden,And without love or life; and needs amidA 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 dearThan fame or laurels, dearer than the pureRadiance of day and vital breath; I lose theeWithout a joy, and uselessly, in thisInhuman dwelling-place, immersed in woes,Of barren life thou solitary flower!

I hear the wind that wafts the striking timeFrom yonder village-clock. I well rememberThat 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 nothingI see or hear, whence fancies old do notReturn, or sweet remembrances arise,Sweet in themselves; but full of pain appearsThe present to my mind, the vain desireFor what is past, though sad, the thought "I was!"Yon loggia, turned towards the dying lightOf the expiring day; these pictured walls,Those herds that live in painting, and the sunO'er lonely country rising, to my leisureGave many joys, what time my mighty errorBeside me stood, wherever I might be,Prompting my heart. Here in these ancient halls,When shone the snow without, and stormy blastsWere whistling round these ample windows high,My pleasures had their scene, and my gay laughRe-echoed in that time when we supposeThe bitter, cruel mystery of thingsEntirely sweet; an inexperienced lover,Admiring heavenly beauty he conceives,The youth pays court unto his life which yetBefore him lies untasted, unconsumed.

Ye hopes, ye vanished hopes, ye sweet illusionsOf my beginning years! always in songTo 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 emptyAre these my years, and desolate and darkMy lot on earth, I see that fortune keepsLittle from me. Alas! but when my thoughtsRecur to you, oh ye my ancient hopes!And to my fond imagining of yore,And then consider my existence, madeSo painful and so vile that death is allThat of such high aspiring still is mine:I feel my heart contract, I feel that whollyThere is no consolation for my fate.And when at last this long implored for deathShall come to me, and thus the end be reachedOf all my woes; when to my soul this earthShall be a vale remote; and from my sightThe future shall escape: of ye in truthI will be mindful, and even then your imageWill make me sigh, will make the thought most bitterThat I have lived in vain, and even the sweetnessOf dying it will temper with affliction.

Even in the earliest youthful turbulenceOf happiness, of anguish, of desire,I often called for death; and long I satOut there, upon the margin of yon fountain,And thought of ending in that lucid streamMy hope and pain. But soon Misfortune blindConducted me through life's most various maze,And I then wept for youth and for the flowerOf my ill-fated days, that ere its timeWithered; and often through belated hoursUpon my bed reclining, mournfullyConning my verses at the lamp's dim ray,With silence and with night I did lamentMy spirit flying hence, and on myselfIn languid pain a funeral dirge I sang.

Who without sighing can remember ye,O early dawn of youth, O happy daysCharming beyond narration? When on manFair women first do smile and make him blestWith tokens of their love; when all aroundIs radiant; when even envy still is silent,Not yet roused, or else kind; and when it seems,Oh unaccustomed miracle! the worldDoth offer him a helping, generous hand,Forgives his errors, celebrated his newArrival in this life, and full of homageAppears to hail him and receive him lord?Ah fleeting days! As swift as lightning's flashThey disappear. And who of those on earthCan be to woe a stranger, if for himThat season is no more, if his fair time,If youth, ah youth! for evermore be gone?

O my Nerina I and perchance of theeThese scenes I hear not tell? Art thou perchanceFallen from my recollection? Where art thou,That here of thee the memory aloneI find, my sweetest love? This native soilSees thee no more; that window, whence thy wontIt was to hold discourse with me, and whenceSadly the starry radiance is reflected,Is desolate. Where art thou, that no moreI hear thy voice as in a former day,When every distant accent from thy lipsThat reached mine ear, had in it such a charm,It changed my hue? Those times are gone. Those daysAre over, my adored. Thou passedst. OthersBy Fate are now allowed on earth to liveAnd 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 eyesThat fond imagining, that radiant lightOf youth, when Fate extinguished them, and thouDidst lie in death. Ah me, Nerina! StillThe old love reigns in my heart. If I at timesTo festive pleasures go, unto myselfI say: "Alas, Nerina I For such joysThou dost no more array thee, nor proceed."If May returns, and flowers and roundelaysThe lovers offer to their well-beloved,I say, "Nerina mine! for thee no moreDoth Spring return, nor do the sweets of love."Each day serene in beauty, and each bedOf 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 unitedWith all my musings, with my tenderest feelings,And with the heart's emotions, sad yet dear.Shall be for aye the bitter memory.