Petrarch - Ite, rime dolenti, al duro sa**o lyrics

HE PRAYS THAT SHE WILL BE NEAR HIM AT HIS DEATH, WHICH HE FEELS APPROACHING. Go, plaintive verse, to the cold marble go, Which hides in earth my treasure from these eyes; There call on her who answers from yon skies, Although the mortal part dwells dark and low. Of life how I am wearied make her know, Of stemming these dread waves that round me rise: But, copying all her virtues I so prize, Her track I follow, yet my steps are slow. I sing of her, living, or dead, alone; (Dead, did I say? She is immortal made!) That by the world she should be loved, and known. Oh! in my pa**age hence may she be near, To greet my coming that's not long delay'd; And may I hold in heaven the rank herself holds there! Nott. Go, melancholy rhymes! your tribute bring To that cold stone, which holds the dear remains Of all that earth held precious;—uttering, If heaven should deign to hear them, earthly strains. Tell her, that sport of tempests, fit no more To stem the troublous ocean,—here at last Her votary treads the solitary shore; His only pleasure to recall the past. Tell her, that she who living ruled his fate, In d**h still holds her empire: all his care, So grant the Muse her aid,—to celebrate Her every word, and thought, and action fair. Be this my meed, that in the hour of d**h Her kindred spirit may hail, and bless my parting breath! Woodhouselee.