: The Poems of Leopardi by Leopardi Giacomo Cliffe Francis Henry Translator - Italian poetry Translations into English

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style. He deserted the hackneyed vehicles of expression current in his day, the minute Sonnet and the elaborate Petrarchan Canzone. His thoughts, for the most part, flow in an easy and pellucid style through an alternation of rhymed and unrhymed verses. He knew, what so few poets of modern times even suspect, the value of economy. What he can say in one line, he does not dilute into five, If one simile suffices for his purpose, he does not regale the reader with ten. Bombast and grandiloquence he shunned, nay, he rather courted the other extreme of severe simplicity. Though a man of vast learning, he seldom indulged in allusions. In reading his poems we are brought into direct contact with Nature, and with her alone, so perfectly does he divest himself of every thought foreign to his present subject. His verses seem the inspiration of the moment, and not the result of elaborate study. We see him in the "Ricordanze," surveying the objects that revive the memories of the past; we see him in the little poem to the Moon, ascending the hill to behold the familiar radiance; we see him in the "Ginestra," gazing on the sparkling heavens and the fiery crater of Vesuvius, until we quite lose the sense of perusing a written performance.

And yet we know that he bestowed elaborate care on his works. He says himself that he had an ideal of unattainable perfection in his mind, which deterred him from writing works of great extent, whether in prose or verse. But that ideal I think he really has attained in some of his finest poems. The merit of his works, not only in degree, but in kind, is so immeasurably superior to that of his contemporaries, that we cannot find a standard for judging it without going back to the greatest masters of the art of poetry. I have no hesitation in placing him immediately after Dante and Ariosto for strength of poetical genius. He surpasses Petrarch in variety and comprehensiveness of mind, although he may not always equal him in richness of style. For genuine poetical inspiration in the purely lyrical sphere he has no rivals in modern times except Shelley, Keats, and Goethe. To prove that this eulogy is not exaggerated, we will now examine the "Canti" in the order of their arrangement.

"Di lor querela il boreal deserto, E conscie fur le sibilanti selve."

The apostrophe to Dante in the fifth stanza is full of fervour; but, perhaps the only instance of bombast to be found in our poet is the preceding address to the sculptors.

"O casi! O gener vano! Abbietta parte Siam delle cose."

He himself looked upon this as one of his most remarkable poems, but I cannot consider it one of the most beautiful; the thoughts are not always presented with all possible force, and the odd idea of animals committing suicide is rather ludicrous. But the poem is full of significance. Montefredini observes very justly: "It is the first wail of his tortured soul, the first malediction against the cruelty of Nature. The sentiment is powerful, and rushes forth furiously. So young, he is utterly miserable, and his opinions of life and the world are already full of despair. Even the calm aspect of nature wounds him as though it were an insult to his sorrow, a cruel mocking of the tempest of the soul.... The physical and mental life of Leopardi assumed too soon a fatal bent. As in his youth his bodily sufferings were excessive, so are his early poems finally and immensely sad. No other youthful poems contain so much despair or proceed from such a bleeding heart. Leopardi buries himself in his immense sorrow, deserting the region of airy fancy in which young poets delight.... This tumult of emotion proves that he had not yet resigned himself to his fate. He was not born for such bitter utterance, nor are these the fit inspirations of early poetry. Instead of the beautiful themes of joy, hope and fond desire, our poet can only sing of his despair."

"Che tra lontani monti, Dopo il giorno sereno, Cadendo si dilegua, e par che dica Che la beata giovent? vien meno,"

always seemed to me the most perfect instance of subjective colouring of nature in the whole range of poetry.

"E tu pendevi allor su quella selva Siccome or fai, che tutta la rischiari."

"Credei ch'ai tutto fossero In me, sul fier degl 'anni, Mancati i dolci affanni Della mia prima et?: I dolci affanni, i teneri Moti del cor profondo, Qualunque cosa al mondo Grato il sentir ci fa."

What melody and sweetness of style! How richly h e describes his gloom, and how vividly his revival to the joys of life!

"Meco ritorna a vivere La piaggia, il bosco, il monte; Parla al mio core il fonte, Meco favella il mar."

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