their might. 
The earth that lies bare to the sun, and breeds
    A thousand germs that burgeon and decay—­
    This earth is wounded by the ploughman’s share: 
But only darkness serves for human seeds;
    Night therefore is more sacred far than day,
    Since man excels all fruits however fair.

XLIII.

THE IMPEACHMENT OF NIGHT.

Perche Febo non torce.

What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend
    His shining arms around this terrene sphere,
    The people call that season dark and drear
    Night, for the cause they do not comprehend. 
So weak is Night that if our hand extend
    A glimmering torch, her shadows disappear,
    Leaving her dead; like frailest gossamere,
    Tinder and steel her mantle rive and rend. 
Nay, if this Night be anything at all,
    Sure she is daughter of the sun and earth;
    This holds, the other spreads that shadowy pall. 
Howbeit they err who praise this gloomy birth,
    So frail and desolate and void of mirth
    That one poor firefly can her might appal.

XLIV.

THE DEFENCE OF NIGHT.

O nott’ o dolce tempo.

O night, O sweet though sombre span of time!—­
    All things find rest upon their journey’s end—­
    Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend;
    And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom’s prime. 
Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime;
    For dews and darkness are of peace the friend: 
    Often by thee in dreams upborne, I wend
    From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb. 
Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length
    Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart,
    Whom mourners find their last and sure relief! 
Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength,
    Driest our tears, assuagest every smart,
    Purging the spirits of the pure from grief.

XLV.

LOVE FEEDS THE FLAME OF AGE.

Quand’ il servo il signior.

When masters bind a slave with cruel chain,
    And keep him hope-forlorn in bondage pent,
    Use tames his temper to imprisonment,
    And hardly would he fain be free again. 
Use curbs the snake and tiger, and doth train
    Fierce woodland lions to bear chastisement;
    And the young artist, all with toil forspent,
    By constant use a giant’s strength doth gain
But with the force of flame it is not so: 
    For while fire sucks the sap of the green wood,
    It warms a frore old man and makes him grow;
With such fine heat of youth and lustihood
    Filling his heart and teaching it to glow,
    That love enfolds him with beatitude. 
                If then in playful mood