Wit and Wisdom of Don Quixote
Hear the sad story of my love!
While with me here you pass your hours,
Should you grow faded with my cares,
I'll bribe you with refreshing showers;
You shall be watered with my tears.
Distant, though present in idea,
I mourn my absent Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
Love's truest slave, despairing, chose
This lonely wild, this desert plain,
This silent witness of the woes
Which he, though guiltless, must sustain.
Unknowing why these pains he bears,
He groans, he raves, and he despairs.
With lingering fires Love racks my soul:
In vain I grieve, in vain lament;
Like tortured fiends I weep, I howl,
And burn, yet never can repent.
Distant, though present in idea,
I mourn my absent Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
While I through Honor's thorny ways,
In search of distant glory rove,
Malignant fate my toil repays
With endless woes and hopeless love.
Thus I on barren rocks despair,
And curse my stars, yet bless my fair.
Love, armed with snakes, has left his dart,
And now does like a fury rave;
And scourge and sting on every part,
And into madness lash his slave.
Distant, though present in idea,
I mourn my absent Dulcinea
Del Toboso.
When the stars are adverse, what is human power?
Who is there in the world that can boast of having fathomed
and thoroughly penetrated the intricate and ever-changing
nature of a woman?
What causes all my grief and pain?
Cruel disdain.
What aggravates my misery?
Accursed jealousy.
How has my soul its patience lost?
By tedious absence crossed.
Alas! no balsam can be found
To heal the grief of such a wound.
When absence, jealousy, and scorn
Have left me hopeless and forlorn.
What in my breast this grief could move?
Neglected love.
What doth my fond desires withstand?
Fate's cruel hand.
And what confirms my misery?
Heaven's fixed decree.
Ah me! my boding fears portend,
This strange disease my life will end:
For die I must, when three such foes,
Heaven, fate, and love, my bliss oppose.
My peace of mind, what can restore?
Death's welcome hour.
What gains love's joys most readily?
Fickle inconstancy.
Its pains what medicine can assuage?
Wild frenzy's rage.
'Tis therefore little wisdom, sure,
For such a grief to seek a cure,
That knows no better remedy
Than frenzy, death, inconstancy.
The hour, the season, the solitude, the voice, and the skill of the
singer, all conspired to impress the auditors with wonder and delight,
and they remained for some time motionless, in expectation of hearing
more; but, finding the silence continue, they resolved to see who it was
who had sung so agreeably, and were again detained by the same voice
regaling their ears with this sonnet:--
Friendship, thou hast with nimble flight
Exulting gained the empyreal height,
In heaven to dwell, while here below
Thy semblance reigns in mimic show;
From thence to earth, at thy behest,
Descends fair peace, celestial guest!
Beneath whose veil of shining hue
Deceit oft lurks, concealed from view.
Leave, friendship! leave thy heavenly seat,
Or strip thy livery off the cheat.
If still he wears thy borrowed smiles,
And still unwary truth beguiles,
Soon must this dark terrestrial ball
Into its first confusion fall.
What is sudden death to a protracted life of anguish?
"O heavens! have I then at last found a place which may
afford a secret grave for this wretched body? Yes, if the
silence of this rocky desert deceive me not, here I may die
in peace. Ah, woe is me! Here at least I may freely pour
forth my lamentations to Heaven, and shall be less wretched
than among men, from whom I should in vain seek counsel,
redress, or consolation."
One evil produces another, and misfortunes never come
singly.
O memory, thou mortal enemy of my repose! wherefore now
recall to me the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of
mine! Were it not better, thou cruel faculty! to represent
to my imagination her conduct at that period--that moved by
so flagrant an injury, I may strive if not to avenge it, at
least to end this life of pain?
For no grievance can harass or drive the afflicted to such
extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their
ears against that counsel which is given with the most
humane and benevolent intention.
Music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the
dejected spirits.
All women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear
themselves celebrated for beauty.
The eyes of love or of idleness are like those of a lynx.
One mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune
is often the beginning of a worse.
Among friends we ought not to stand upon trifles.
No man can command the first emotions of his passions.
Every new fault deserves a new penance.
Where is the wonder one devil should be like another?
Gifts are good after Easter.
A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a bustard on the
wing.
He that will not when he may, when he would he shall have
nay.
Men may prove and use their friends, and not presume upon
their friendship in things contrary to the decrees of
Heaven.
A man dishonored is worse than dead.
"I have heard it preached," quoth Sancho, "that God is to be loved with
this kind of love, for Himself alone, without our being moved to it by
hope of reward or fear of punishment; though, for my part, I am inclined
to love and serve Him for what He is able to do for me."
"The devil take thee for a bumpkin," said Don Quixote; "thou sayest ever
and anon such apt things that one would almost think thee a scholar."
"And yet, by my faith," quoth Sancho, "I cannot so much as read."
Squires and knight-errants are subject to much hunger and
ill-luck.
A man on whom Heaven has bestowed a beautiful wife should be
as cautious respecting the friends he introduces at home as
to her female acquaintance abroad.
If from equal parts we take equal parts, those that remain
are equal.
To attempt voluntarily that which must be productive of evil
rather than good, is madness and folly. Difficult works are
undertaken for the sake of Heaven, or of the world, or both:
the first are such as are performed by the saints while they
endeavor to live the life of angels in their human frames;
such as are performed for love of the world are encountered
by those who navigate the boundless ocean, traverse
different countries and various climates to acquire what are
called the goods of fortune. Those who assail hazardous
enterprises for the sake of both God and man are brave
soldiers, who no sooner perceive in the enemy's wall a
breach made by a single cannon-ball, than, regardless of
danger and full of zeal in the defence of their faith, their
country, and their king, they rush where death in a thousand
shapes awaits them. These are difficulties commonly
attempted, and, though perilous, are glorious and
profitable.
TEARS OF ST. PETER.
Shame, grief, remorse, in Peter's breast increase,
Soon as the blushing morn his crime betrays;
When most unseen, then most himself he sees,
And with due horror all his soul surveys.
For a great spirit needs no censuring eyes
To wound his soul, when conscious of a fault;
But, self-condemn'd, and e'en self-punished, lies,
And dreads no witness like upbraiding Thought.
Expect not, therefore, by concealment, to banish sorrow;
for, even though you weep not openly, tears of blood will
flow from your heart. So wept that simple doctor, who,
according to the poet, would venture to make a trial of the
cup which the more prudent Rinaldo wisely declined doing;
and although this be a poetical fiction, there is a
concealed moral in it worthy to be observed and followed.
There is no jewel in the world so valuable as a chaste and
virtuous woman. The honor of women consists in the good
opinion of the world; and since that of your wife is
eminently good, why would you have it questioned? Woman, my
friend, is an imperfect creature; and, instead of laying
stumbling-blocks in her way, we should clear the path before
her, that she may readily attain that virtue which is
essential in her. Naturalists inform us that the ermine is a
little creature with extremely white fur, and that when the
hunters are in pursuit of it, they spread with mire all the
passes leading to its haunts, to which they then drive it,
knowing that it will submit to be taken rather than defile
itself. The virtuous and modest woman is an ermine, and her
character whiter than snow; and in order to preserve it, a
very different method must be taken from that which is used
with the ermine.
The reputation of a woman may also be compared to a mirror
of crystal, shining and bright, but liable to be sullied by
every breath that comes near it. The virtuous woman must be
treated like a relic--adored but not handled; she should be
guarded and prized, like a fine flower-garden, the beauty
and fragrance of which the owner allows others to enjoy only
at a distance, and through iron rails.
The devil, when he would entrap a cautious person, assumes
an angel form till he carries his point, when the cloven
foot appears.
He who builds on impossibilities should be denied the
privilege of any other foundation.
Hope is ever born with love.
Castles should not be left without governors, nor armies
without generals.
The passion of love is to be conquered by flight alone; it
is vain to contend with a power which, though human,
requires more than human strength to subdue.
SONNET.
In the dead silence of the peaceful night,
When others' cares are hushed in soft repose,
The sad account of my neglected woes
To conscious Heaven and Chloris I recite.
And when the sun, with his returning light,
Forth from the east his radiant journey goes,
With accents such as sorrow only knows,
My griefs to tell is all my poor delight.
And when bright Phoebus from his starry throne
Sends rays direct upon the parched soil,
Still in the mournful tale I persevere;
Returning night renews my sorrow's toil;
And though from morn to night I weep and moan,
Nor Heaven nor Chloris my complainings hear.
Are we to take all that enamored poets sing for truth?
SONNET.
Believe me, nymph, I feel th' impending blow,
And glory in the near approach of death;
For when thou see'st my corse devoid of breath,
My constancy and truth thou sure wilt know,
Welcome to me Oblivion's shade obscure!
Welcome the loss of fortune, life, and fame!
But thy loved features, and thy honored name,
Deep graven on my heart, shall still endure.
And these, as sacred relics, will I keep
Till that sad moment when to endless night
My long-tormented soul shall take her flight
Alas for him who on the darkened deep
Floats idly, sport of the tempestuous tide,
No port to shield him, and no star to guide!
He who gives freely gives twice.
That which is lightly gained is little valued.
For love sometimes flies and sometimes walks--runs with one
person, and goes leisurely with another: some he warms, and
some he burns; some he wounds, and others he kills: in one
and the same instant he forms and accomplishes his projects.
He often in the morning lays siege to a fortress which in
the evening surrenders to him--for no force is able to
resist him.