To the Princes of Italy, Exhorting Them to Set Her Free
O my own Italy! though words are vainThe mortal wounds to close,Unnumber'd, that thy beauteous bosom stain,Yet may it soothe my painTo sigh forth Tyber's woes,And Arno's wrongs, as on Po's sadden'd shoreSorrowing I wander, and my numbers pour.Ruler of heaven! By the all-pitying loveThat could thy Godhead moveTo dwell a lowly sojourner on earth,Turn, Lord! on this thy chosen land thine eye:See, God of Charity!From what light cause this cruel war has birth;And the hard hearts by savage discord steel'd,Thou, Father! from on high,Touch by my humble voice, that stubborn wrath may yield!
Ye, to whose sovereign hands the fates confideOf this fair land the reins,--(This land for which no pity wrings your breast)--Why does the stranger's sword her plains invest?That her green fields be dyed,Hope ye, with blood from the Barbarians' veins?Beguiled by error weak,Ye see not, though to pierce so deep ye boast,Who love, or faith, in venal bosoms seek:When throng'd your standards most,Ye are encompass'd most by hostile bands.O hideous deluge gather'd in strange lands,That rushing down amainO'erwhelms our every native lovely plain!Alas! if our own handsHave thus our weal betray'd, who shall our cause sustain?
Well did kind Nature, guardian of our state,Rear her rude Alpine heights,A lofty rampart against German hate;But blind ambition, seeking his own ill,With ever restless will,To the pure gales contagion foul invites:Within the same strait foldThe gentle flocks and wolves relentless throng,Where still meek innocence must suffer wrong:And these,--oh, shame avow'd!--Are of the lawless hordes no tie can hold:Fame tells how Marius' swordErewhile their bosoms gored,--Nor has Time's hand aught blurr'd the record proud!When they who, thirsting, stoop'd to quaff the flood,With the cool waters mix'd, drank of a comrade's blood!
Great Caesar's name I pass, who o'er our plainsPour'd forth the ensanguin'd tide,Drawn by our own good swords from out their veins;But now--nor know I what ill stars preside--Heaven holds this land in hate!To you the thanks!--whose hands control her helm!--You, whose rash feuds despoilOf all the beauteous earth the fairest realm!Are ye impell'd by judgment, crime, or fate,To oppress the desolate?From broken fortunes, and from humble toil,The hard-earn'd dole to wring,While from afar ye bringDealers in blood, bartering their souls for hire?In truth's great cause I sing.Nor hatred nor disdain my earnest lay inspire.
Nor mark ye yet, confirm'd by proof on proof,Bavaria's perfidy,Who strikes in mockery, keeping death aloof?(Shame, worse than aught of loss, in honour's eye!)While ye, with honest rage, devoted pourYour inmost bosom's gore!--Yet give one hour to thought,And ye shall own, how little he can holdAnother's glory dear, who sets his own at noughtO Latin blood of old!Arise, and wrest from obloquy thy fame,Nor bow before a nameOf hollow sound, whose power no laws enforce!For if barbarians rudeHave higher minds subdued,Ours! ours the crime!--not such wise Nature's course.
Ah! is not this the soil my foot first press'd?And here, in cradled rest,Was I not softly hush'd?--here fondly rear'd?Ah! is not this my country?--so endear'dBy every filial tie!In whose lap shrouded both my parents lie!Oh! by this tender thought,Your torpid bosoms to compassion wrought,Look on the people's grief!Who, after God, of you expect relief;And if ye but relent,Virtue shall rouse her in embattled might,Against blind fury bent,Nor long shall doubtful hang the unequal fight;For no,--the ancient flameIs not extinguish'd yet, that raised the Italian name!
Mark, sovereign Lords! how Time, with pinion strong,Swift hurries life along!E'en now, behold! Death presses on the rear.We sojourn here a day--the next, are gone!The soul disrobed--alone,Must shuddering seek the doubtful pass we fear.Oh! at the dreaded bourne,Abase the lofty brow of wrath and scorn,(Storms adverse to the eternal calm on high!)And ye, whose crueltyHas sought another's harm, by fairer deedOf heart, or hand, or intellect, aspireTo win the honest meedOf just renown--the noble mind's desire!Thus sweet on earth the stay!Thus to the spirit pure, unbarr'd is Heaven's way!
My song! with courtesy, and numbers sooth,Thy daring reasons grace,For thou the mighty, in their pride of place,Must woo to gentle ruth,Whose haughty will long evil customs nurse,Ever to truth averse!Thee better fortunes wait,Among the virtuous few--the truly great!Tell them--but who shall bid my terrors cease?Peace! Peace! on thee I call! return, O heaven-born Peace!
Words in this poem 33
- beauteous a.
- Full of beauty; beautiful; very handsome. [Mostly poetic] -- Beau"te*ous*ly, adv. --
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
- pitying a.
- Expressing pity; as, a pitying eye, glance, or word.
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- sojourner n.
- One who sojourns.
- amain adv.
- With might; with full force; vigorously; violently; exceedingly. [Pref. a- + main. See 2d Main, n.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- relentless a.
- Unmoved by appeals for sympathy or forgiveness; insensible to the distresses of others; destitute of tenderness; unrelenting; unyielding; unpitying; as, a prey to relentless despotism.
- erewhile adv.
- Some time ago; a little while before; heretofore.
- aught n.
- Property; possession. [AS. , fr. agan to own, p. p. ahte.]
- quaff v. t.
- To drink with relish; to drink copiously of; to swallow in large draughts. [For quach, fr. Gael. & Ir. cuach a drinking cup; cf. L. caucus a drinking vessel. Cf. Quaigh.]
- drank n.
- Wild oats, or darnel grass. See Drake a plant. [Cf. 3d Drake.]
- despoil v. t.
- To strip, as of clothing; to divest or unclothe. [OF. despoiller, F. dépouiller, L. despoliare, despoliatum; de- + spoliare to strip, rob, spolium spoil, booty. Cf. Spoil, Despoliation.]
- afar adv.
- At, to, or from a great distance; far away; -- often used with from preceding, or off following; as, he was seen from afar; I saw him afar off. [Pref. a-.(for on or of) + far.]
- perfidy n.
- The act of violating faith or allegiance; violation of a promise or vow, or of trust reposed; faithlessness; teachery. [L. perfidia, fr. L. perfidus faithless; per (cf. Skr. para away) + fides faith: cf. F. perfidie. See Faith.]
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- obloquy n.
- Censorious speech; defamatory language; language that casts contempt on men or their actions; blame; reprehension. [L. obloquium, fr. obloqui. See Oblocutor.]
- fondly adv.
- Foolishly. Verstegan (1673).
- filial a.
- Of or pertaining to a son or daughter; becoming to a child in relation to his parents; as, filial obedience. [L. filialis, fr. filius son, filia daughter; akin to e. female, feminine. Cf. Fitz.]
- expect v. t.
- To wait for; to await. [L. expectatum, to look out for, await, expect; ex + out spectare to look at. See Spectacle.]
- relent v. i.
- To become less rigid or hard; to yield; to dissolve; to melt; to deliquesce. [F. ralentir, fr. L. pref. re- re- + ad to + lentus pliant, flexible, slow. See Lithe.]
- embattled a.
- Having indentations like a battlement.
- pinion n.
- A moth of the genus Lithophane, as L. antennata, whose larva bores large holes in young peaches and apples.
- hurries n.
- A staith or framework from which coal is discharged from cars into vessels.
- sojourn v. i.
- To dwell for a time; to dwell or live in a place as a temporary resident or as a stranger, not considering the place as a permanent habitation; to delay; to tarry. [OE. sojornen, sojournen, OF. sojorner, sejorner, F. séjourner, fr. L. sub under, about + diurnus belonging to the day. See Journal, Diurnal.]
- bourne n.
- A stream or rivulet; a burn. [OE. burne, borne, AS. burna; akin to OS. brunno spring, G. born, brunnen, OHG. prunno, Goth. brunna, Icel. brunnr, and perh. to Gr. burn, v., because the source]
- aspire v. t.
- To aspire to; to long for; to try to reach; to mount to.
- meed v. t.
- To reward; to repay. Waytt.
- sooth a.
- True; faithful; trustworthy. [OE. soth, AS. s, for san; akin to OS. s, OHG. sand, Icel. sannr, Sw. sann, Dan. sand, Skr. sat, sant, real, genuine, present, being; properly p. pr. from a root]
- ruth n.
- Sorrow for the misery of another; pity; tenderness. [From Rue, v.: cf. Icel. hryggedh, hrygedh.]
- haughty a.
- High; lofty; bold. [OE. hautein, F. hautain, fr. haut high, OF. also halt, fr. L. altus. See Altitude.]
- averse a.
- Turned away or backward. [L. aversus, p. p. of avertere. See Avert.]
- virtuous a.
- Possessing or exhibiting virtue. Specifically: -- (a) Exhibiting manly courage and strength; valorous; valiant; brave. [OE. vertuous, OF. vertuos, vertuous, F. vertueux, fr. L. Virtuous. See Virtue, and cf. Virtuoso.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To the Princes of Italy, Exhorting Them to Set Her Free is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, the various hands translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Petrarch, To the Princes of Italy, Exhorting Them to Set Her Free, in The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems (1859), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/petrarch-sonnets/to-the-princes-of-italy-exhorting-them-to-set-her-free.html, id L14643.
Form and metre
To the Princes of Italy, Exhorting Them to Set Her Free is 122 lines in 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.7 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAABCCDDEF-EGFG vainA · closeB · stainA · painA · woesB · shoreC · pourC · loveD · moveD · earthE · eyeF · charity · birthE · steel'dG · highF · yieldG
- 2 ABCCABDEDEFFGGFG confideA · reinsB · breastC · investC · dyedA · veinsB · weakD · boastE · seekD · mostE · bandsF · landsF · amainG · plainG · handsF · sustainG
- 3 ABACCBDEEFDGGFHH stateA · heightsB · hateA · illC · willC · invitesB · foldD · throngE · wrongE · avow'dF · holdD · swordG · goredG · proudF · floodH · bloodH
- 4 ABABCDEDCCEFFGFG plainsA · tideB · veinsA · presideB · hateC · helmD · despoilE · realmD · fateC · desolateC · toilE · wringF · bringF · hireG · singF · inspireG
- 5 A-A-BBCDCDEEFGGF proofA · perfidy · aloofA · eye · pourB · goreB · thoughtC · holdD · noughtC · oldD · fameE · nameE · enforceF · rudeG · subduedG · courseF
- 6 AABBCCDDEEFGFGHH press'dA · restA · rear'dB · endear'dB · tieC · lieC · thoughtD · wroughtD · griefE · reliefE · relentF · mightG · bentF · fightG · flameH · nameH
- 7 AAB--BCC--D-D-EE strongA · alongA · rearB · gone · alone · fearB · bourneC · scornC · high · cruelty · deedD · aspire · meedD · desire · stayE · wayE
- 8 ABBACCDDEE soothA · graceB · placeB · ruthA · nurseC · averseC · waitD · greatD · ceaseE · peaceE
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| O my own Italy! though words are vain | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| The mortal wounds to close, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Unnumber'd, that thy beauteous bosom stain, | 11 | ·····/˘˘/˘· |
| Yet may it soothe my pain | 6 | ······ |
| To sigh forth Tyber's woes, | 6 | ······ |
| And Arno's wrongs, as on Po's sadden'd shore | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Sorrowing I wander, and my numbers pour. | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| Ruler of heaven! By the all-pitying love | 10 | /˘·/···/˘· |
| That could thy Godhead move | 6 | ···/·· |
| To dwell a lowly sojourner on earth, | 10 | ···/˘/˘˘·· |
| Turn, Lord! on this thy chosen land thine eye: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| See, God of Charity! | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| From what light cause this cruel war has birth; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And the hard hearts by savage discord steel'd, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Thou, Father! from on high, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Touch by my humble voice, that stubborn wrath may yield! | 12 | ···/˘··/˘··· |
| Ye, to whose sovereign hands the fates confide | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| Of this fair land the reins,-- | 6 | ······ |
| (This land for which no pity wrings your breast)-- | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Why does the stranger's sword her plains invest? | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| That her green fields be dyed, | 6 | ······ |
| Hope ye, with blood from the Barbarians' veins? | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Beguiled by error weak, | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Ye see not, though to pierce so deep ye boast, | 10 | ·········· |
| Who love, or faith, in venal bosoms seek: | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| When throng'd your standards most, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Ye are encompass'd most by hostile bands. | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| O hideous deluge gather'd in strange lands, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| That rushing down amain | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| O'erwhelms our every native lovely plain! | 10 | ··//˘/˘/˘· |
| Alas! if our own hands | 7 | ˘/·/˘·· |
| Have thus our weal betray'd, who shall our cause sustain? | 12 | ··/·˘/··/·˘/ |
| Well did kind Nature, guardian of our state, | 10 | ···/˘/˘·/· |
| Rear her rude Alpine heights, | 6 | ···/·· |
| A lofty rampart against German hate; | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| But blind ambition, seeking his own ill, | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| With ever restless will, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| To the pure gales contagion foul invites: | 10 | ····˘/˘·˘/ |
| Within the same strait fold | 6 | ······ |
| The gentle flocks and wolves relentless throng, | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| Where still meek innocence must suffer wrong: | 10 | ···/˘˘·/˘· |
| And these,--oh, shame avow'd!-- | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Are of the lawless hordes no tie can hold: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Fame tells how Marius' sword | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| Erewhile their bosoms gored,-- | 9 | ·····/˘·˘ |
| Nor has Time's hand aught blurr'd the record proud! | 10 | ·······˘/· |
| When they who, thirsting, stoop'd to quaff the flood, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| With the cool waters mix'd, drank of a comrade's blood! | 12 | ···/˘····/·· |
| Great Caesar's name I pass, who o'er our plains | 10 | ·/˘·····/· |
| Pour'd forth the ensanguin'd tide, | 7 | ······· |
| Drawn by our own good swords from out their veins; | 10 | ··/······· |
| But now--nor know I what ill stars preside-- | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Heaven holds this land in hate! | 7 | /˘····· |
| To you the thanks!--whose hands control her helm!-- | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| You, whose rash feuds despoil | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Of all the beauteous earth the fairest realm! | 11 | ···/˘˘··/˘· |
| Are ye impell'd by judgment, crime, or fate, | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| To oppress the desolate? | 7 | ·˘/·/˘· |
| From broken fortunes, and from humble toil, | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| The hard-earn'd dole to wring, | 6 | ······ |
| While from afar ye bring | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Dealers in blood, bartering their souls for hire? | 10 | /˘··/˘···/ |
| In truth's great cause I sing. | 6 | ······ |
| Nor hatred nor disdain my earnest lay inspire. | 12 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘·˘/ |
| Nor mark ye yet, confirm'd by proof on proof, | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Bavaria's perfidy, | 7 | ˘/˘˘/˘˘ |
| Who strikes in mockery, keeping death aloof? | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| (Shame, worse than aught of loss, in honour's eye!) | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| While ye, with honest rage, devoted pour | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| Your inmost bosom's gore!-- | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Yet give one hour to thought, | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| And ye shall own, how little he can hold | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Another's glory dear, who sets his own at nought | 12 | ˘/˘/˘······· |
| O Latin blood of old! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Arise, and wrest from obloquy thy fame, | 10 | ˘/···/˘˘·· |
| Nor bow before a name | 6 | ······ |
| Of hollow sound, whose power no laws enforce! | 10 | ·/˘··/··˘/ |
| For if barbarians rude | 7 | ··˘/˘˘· |
| Have higher minds subdued, | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Ours! ours the crime!--not such wise Nature's course. | 10 | //·····/˘· |
| Ah! is not this the soil my foot first press'd? | 10 | ·········· |
| And here, in cradled rest, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Was I not softly hush'd?--here fondly rear'd? | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Ah! is not this my country?--so endear'd | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| By every filial tie! | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘˘· |
| In whose lap shrouded both my parents lie! | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Oh! by this tender thought, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Your torpid bosoms to compassion wrought, | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| Look on the people's grief! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Who, after God, of you expect relief; | 10 | ······˘/˘/ |
| And if ye but relent, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Virtue shall rouse her in embattled might, | 10 | /˘····˘/˘· |
| Against blind fury bent, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Nor long shall doubtful hang the unequal fight; | 11 | ···/˘··˘/˘· |
| For no,--the ancient flame | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Is not extinguish'd yet, that raised the Italian name! | 13 | ··˘/˘····˘/˘· |
| Mark, sovereign Lords! how Time, with pinion strong, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Swift hurries life along! | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| E'en now, behold! Death presses on the rear. | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| We sojourn here a day--the next, are gone! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| The soul disrobed--alone, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Must shuddering seek the doubtful pass we fear. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Oh! at the dreaded bourne, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Abase the lofty brow of wrath and scorn, | 10 | ˘/·/˘····· |
| (Storms adverse to the eternal calm on high!) | 11 | ·˘/··˘/˘··· |
| And ye, whose cruelty | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Has sought another's harm, by fairer deed | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| Of heart, or hand, or intellect, aspire | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| To win the honest meed | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Of just renown--the noble mind's desire! | 11 | ··˘/·/˘·˘/˘ |
| Thus sweet on earth the stay! | 6 | ······ |
| Thus to the spirit pure, unbarr'd is Heaven's way! | 11 | ···/····/˘· |
| My song! with courtesy, and numbers sooth, | 10 | ···/˘˘·/˘· |
| Thy daring reasons grace, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| For thou the mighty, in their pride of place, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Must woo to gentle ruth, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Whose haughty will long evil customs nurse, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Ever to truth averse! | 6 | /˘··˘/ |
| Thee better fortunes wait, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Among the virtuous few--the truly great! | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Tell them--but who shall bid my terrors cease? | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Peace! Peace! on thee I call! return, O heaven-born Peace! | 12 | ······˘/·/·· |
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