Now that lofty scorn and full piety,
the nobility of your soul all turn
your iron feet to rebuild for Jesus
our shaken armies, to honor yourself
I pray to God with a desire so
strong I feel it in my loins to help you
to your ends--may you shiver
of the fierce barbaric enemy and
scatter their bones across the continents.
Triumphs, rivers, mountains, immortal names,
victories like his, yours--he always loved
my punning on my name, for I was his--
but enough of my Sun's brief day--only
you are left to make his kind of splendor.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V, p. 383 (unnumbered). See also B E3:204; MSs L, CAS, CASI, RA. To Alfonso d'Avalos, Marchese del Vasto, said to have been written at the time of his expedition into Turkey; since it refers to Pescara's death, it has to have been written after November 1525; Del Vasto honored for fighting against the "infidels" in 1531-2. Key