Dost thou lament that life, urg'd-on too quickly,Rolls round its course in hasting revolution?Dost blame the thrifty gods, when thou thyself artLavish of lifetime?What thyself wastest, mourn'st thou if it perish?Dost drive it from thee, but deplore it going?Is life thy servant? Sooth, a very servantTurn'd off departeth.Life's stream is fleeting—I confess it—always;But once let Pleasure yield an easy incline,With headlong wave and with more fleeting currentOnward it glideth.Sleep, the thief, closing drowsy eyelids, snatchethOne mighty portion; while as large a portionPleasure, the robber, carries off unchalleng'd—Time's precious gold-dust.Thou for thyself a thousand deaths createst;And the more lifetimes thou dost spend in folly,So many more in lieu of them demandest;Wasting and wanting.R. Wi.
Dost thou lament that life, urg'd-on too quickly,Rolls round its course in hasting revolution?Dost blame the thrifty gods, when thou thyself artLavish of lifetime?What thyself wastest, mourn'st thou if it perish?Dost drive it from thee, but deplore it going?Is life thy servant? Sooth, a very servantTurn'd off departeth.Life's stream is fleeting—I confess it—always;But once let Pleasure yield an easy incline,With headlong wave and with more fleeting currentOnward it glideth.Sleep, the thief, closing drowsy eyelids, snatchethOne mighty portion; while as large a portionPleasure, the robber, carries off unchalleng'd—Time's precious gold-dust.Thou for thyself a thousand deaths createst;And the more lifetimes thou dost spend in folly,So many more in lieu of them demandest;Wasting and wanting.R. Wi.
Felices, properatis io, properatis, et altamVicistis gyro sub breviore viam.Vos per non magnum vestri mare sanguinis illucCymba tulit nimiis non operosa notis,Quo nos tam lento sub remigio luctantesDucit inexhausti vis male fida freti.Nos mora, nos longi consumit inertia lethi;In ludum mortis luxuriemque sumus.Nos aevo et senio et latis permittimur undis;Spargimur in casus, porrigimur furiis.Nos miseri sumus ex amplo spatioque perimus;In nos inquirunt fata, probantque manus;Ingenium fati sumus, ambitioque malorum.Conatus mortis consiliumque sumus.In vitae multo multae patet area mortis[95]· · · · · · · ·Non vitam nobis numerant, quot viximus anni:Vita brevis nostra est; sit licet acta diu.Vivere non longum est, quod longam ducere vitam:Res longa in vita saepe peracta brevi est.Nec vos tam vitae Deus in compendia misit,Quam vetuit vestrae plus licuisse neci.Accedit vitae quicquid decerpitur aevo,Atque illo brevius, quo citius morimur.
Felices, properatis io, properatis, et altamVicistis gyro sub breviore viam.Vos per non magnum vestri mare sanguinis illucCymba tulit nimiis non operosa notis,Quo nos tam lento sub remigio luctantesDucit inexhausti vis male fida freti.Nos mora, nos longi consumit inertia lethi;In ludum mortis luxuriemque sumus.Nos aevo et senio et latis permittimur undis;Spargimur in casus, porrigimur furiis.Nos miseri sumus ex amplo spatioque perimus;In nos inquirunt fata, probantque manus;Ingenium fati sumus, ambitioque malorum.Conatus mortis consiliumque sumus.In vitae multo multae patet area mortis[95]· · · · · · · ·Non vitam nobis numerant, quot viximus anni:Vita brevis nostra est; sit licet acta diu.Vivere non longum est, quod longam ducere vitam:Res longa in vita saepe peracta brevi est.Nec vos tam vitae Deus in compendia misit,Quam vetuit vestrae plus licuisse neci.Accedit vitae quicquid decerpitur aevo,Atque illo brevius, quo citius morimur.
TRANSLATION.
MARTYRS.
Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest,And by a shorter course won heavenly rest;Over a narrow sea of your own bloodDeath's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood:While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain,Through boisterous fury of the boundless main.Wewaste with lingering, indolent decay;We are Death's pastime and his wanton play;O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown,Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown.Wretched in full are we, perish at length;Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength.We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine,Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design.In a long life wide field for Death there lies;In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96]By years we live we reckon not our life;Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife.To spend long years, let not long life be thought;A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought.God not so much contracted your life's space,As order'd Death the sooner to give place.What earth's life loses, gains the life on high:By how much sooner, so much less we die.R. Wi.
Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest,And by a shorter course won heavenly rest;Over a narrow sea of your own bloodDeath's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood:While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain,Through boisterous fury of the boundless main.Wewaste with lingering, indolent decay;We are Death's pastime and his wanton play;O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown,Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown.Wretched in full are we, perish at length;Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength.We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine,Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design.In a long life wide field for Death there lies;In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96]By years we live we reckon not our life;Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife.To spend long years, let not long life be thought;A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought.God not so much contracted your life's space,As order'd Death the sooner to give place.What earth's life loses, gains the life on high:By how much sooner, so much less we die.R. Wi.
Spes diva, salve! diva avidam tuoNecessitatem numine prorogans,Vindicta fortunae furentis,Una salus mediis ruinis.Regina quamvis, tu solium facisDepressa parvi tecta tugurii;Surgit jacentes inter; illicFirma magis tua regna constant.Cantus catenis, carmina carcere,Dolore ab ipso gaudiaque exprimis:Scintilla tu vivis sub imoPectoris, haud metuens procellas.Tu regna servis, copia pauperi,Victis triumphus, littora naufrago,Ipsisque damnatis patrona,Anchora sub medio profundo.Quin ipse alumnus sum tuus, uberePendens ab isto, et hinc animam traho.O Diva nutrix, ô foventesPande sinus, sitiens laboro.
Spes diva, salve! diva avidam tuoNecessitatem numine prorogans,Vindicta fortunae furentis,Una salus mediis ruinis.Regina quamvis, tu solium facisDepressa parvi tecta tugurii;Surgit jacentes inter; illicFirma magis tua regna constant.Cantus catenis, carmina carcere,Dolore ab ipso gaudiaque exprimis:Scintilla tu vivis sub imoPectoris, haud metuens procellas.Tu regna servis, copia pauperi,Victis triumphus, littora naufrago,Ipsisque damnatis patrona,Anchora sub medio profundo.Quin ipse alumnus sum tuus, uberePendens ab isto, et hinc animam traho.O Diva nutrix, ô foventesPande sinus, sitiens laboro.
TRANSLATION.
HOPE.
Hail, goddess Hope!Who Fate remorseless movestFar off, and canst with raging Fortune cope;'Mid ruin thou our sole salvation provest.A mighty queen,Thy throne on roof-trees lowlyAnd prostrate souls is fix'd, and there are seenThe firm foundations of thy kingdom holy.A gladsome hymnFrom fetters disengaging,And joy from grief, thou liv'st in bosom dim,A spark that laughs at tempests wildly raging.A crown to slaves;Abundance to the needy;To shipwreck'd men a refuge from the waves;To conquer'd and condemn'd deliverance speedy.An 'Anchor sure,'The eternal Rock thou graspest,The strain of ocean 'stedfast' to endure;And Heaven's calm joys 'within the veil' thou claspest.Nay, I thy child,Dependent here adore thee:From thee I draw my life, O Mother mild;Open thy fostering bosom, I implore thee.R. Wi.
Hail, goddess Hope!Who Fate remorseless movestFar off, and canst with raging Fortune cope;'Mid ruin thou our sole salvation provest.A mighty queen,Thy throne on roof-trees lowlyAnd prostrate souls is fix'd, and there are seenThe firm foundations of thy kingdom holy.A gladsome hymnFrom fetters disengaging,And joy from grief, thou liv'st in bosom dim,A spark that laughs at tempests wildly raging.A crown to slaves;Abundance to the needy;To shipwreck'd men a refuge from the waves;To conquer'd and condemn'd deliverance speedy.An 'Anchor sure,'The eternal Rock thou graspest,The strain of ocean 'stedfast' to endure;And Heaven's calm joys 'within the veil' thou claspest.Nay, I thy child,Dependent here adore thee:From thee I draw my life, O Mother mild;Open thy fostering bosom, I implore thee.R. Wi.
Ecce tuos lapides! nihil est pretiosius illis;Seu pretium capiti dent, capiantve tuo.Scilicet haec ratio vestri diadematis: hoc est,Unde coronatis vos decet ire comis.Quisque lapis quanto magis in se vilis habetur,Ditior hoc capiti est gemma futura tuo.Haec est, quae sacra didicit florere figura,Non nisi per lacrymas charta videnda tuas.Scilicet ah dices, haec cum spectaveris ora,Ora sacer sic, ô sic tulit ille pater.Sperabis solitas illinc, pia fulmina, voces;Sanctaque tam dulci mella venire via.Sic erat illa, suas Famae cum traderet alas,Ad calamum, dices, sic erat illa manus.Tale erat et pectus, celsae domus ardua mentis,Tale suo plenum sidere pectus erat.O bene fallacis mendacia pulchra tabellae,Et qui tam simili vivit in aere, labor!Cum tu tot chartis vitam, Pater alme, dedisti,Haec merito vitam charta dat una tibi.
Ecce tuos lapides! nihil est pretiosius illis;Seu pretium capiti dent, capiantve tuo.Scilicet haec ratio vestri diadematis: hoc est,Unde coronatis vos decet ire comis.Quisque lapis quanto magis in se vilis habetur,Ditior hoc capiti est gemma futura tuo.Haec est, quae sacra didicit florere figura,Non nisi per lacrymas charta videnda tuas.Scilicet ah dices, haec cum spectaveris ora,Ora sacer sic, ô sic tulit ille pater.Sperabis solitas illinc, pia fulmina, voces;Sanctaque tam dulci mella venire via.Sic erat illa, suas Famae cum traderet alas,Ad calamum, dices, sic erat illa manus.Tale erat et pectus, celsae domus ardua mentis,Tale suo plenum sidere pectus erat.O bene fallacis mendacia pulchra tabellae,Et qui tam simili vivit in aere, labor!Cum tu tot chartis vitam, Pater alme, dedisti,Haec merito vitam charta dat una tibi.
TRANSLATION.
ON STEPHEN'S CROWN.
[This poem seems only intelligible by our supposing that a double reference is intended; first, and faintly, to St. Stephen the proto-martyr; and mainly to Stephens (Stephanus), father and son, Robert and Henry, the great scholars, commentators, printers, and publishers of the sixteenth century, whose books would always be in Crashaw's hands. Stephens, father and son, suffered persecution, banishment, poverty, and excommunication alike from Protestants and Catholics, while engaged in bringing out the Bible, Greek Testament, and numerous Classic Authors. 'In two years Henry revised and published more than 4000 pages of Greek text.' In the latter years of his life, being driven from Geneva (as it is alleged) by the 'petty surveillance and censorship of the pious pastors there, he wandered in poverty over Europe, his own family often ignorant where he was to be found.']
[This poem seems only intelligible by our supposing that a double reference is intended; first, and faintly, to St. Stephen the proto-martyr; and mainly to Stephens (Stephanus), father and son, Robert and Henry, the great scholars, commentators, printers, and publishers of the sixteenth century, whose books would always be in Crashaw's hands. Stephens, father and son, suffered persecution, banishment, poverty, and excommunication alike from Protestants and Catholics, while engaged in bringing out the Bible, Greek Testament, and numerous Classic Authors. 'In two years Henry revised and published more than 4000 pages of Greek text.' In the latter years of his life, being driven from Geneva (as it is alleged) by the 'petty surveillance and censorship of the pious pastors there, he wandered in poverty over Europe, his own family often ignorant where he was to be found.']
Behold thy stones! more precious nought is seen,Whether they deck with precious rays sereneThy head, or from it take a precious glow.This is your style of diadem; e'en soWith crownèd locks 'tis seemly ye should go:The viler in itself each stone may seem,A richer gem upon thy head will gleam.Behold the Book where, seen through mist of tears,A sacred form in manhood's bloom appears.Ah, you will say, when you behold this face,Such looks, O such, our father us'd to grace.The accustom'd sounds you hope for—holy thunder,And the blest honey hid that sweet tongue under:So, o'er his pen, you say, that hand was bent,When her own wings to fetter'd Fame he lent.Such was that breast, his spirit's lofty dwelling—That breast with its own starry thoughts high swelling.O pleasing fantasies of picture fair,And kindred forms which laboured brass may bear!Since through thee, Sire, such countless writings live,Life unto thee let this one writing give.R. Wi.
Behold thy stones! more precious nought is seen,Whether they deck with precious rays sereneThy head, or from it take a precious glow.This is your style of diadem; e'en soWith crownèd locks 'tis seemly ye should go:The viler in itself each stone may seem,A richer gem upon thy head will gleam.Behold the Book where, seen through mist of tears,A sacred form in manhood's bloom appears.Ah, you will say, when you behold this face,Such looks, O such, our father us'd to grace.The accustom'd sounds you hope for—holy thunder,And the blest honey hid that sweet tongue under:So, o'er his pen, you say, that hand was bent,When her own wings to fetter'd Fame he lent.Such was that breast, his spirit's lofty dwelling—That breast with its own starry thoughts high swelling.O pleasing fantasies of picture fair,And kindred forms which laboured brass may bear!Since through thee, Sire, such countless writings live,Life unto thee let this one writing give.R. Wi.
CUM MUNDO INGRATO.
Sum pulcher: at nemo tamem me diligit.Sum nobilis: nemo est mihi qui serviat.Sum dives: a me nemo quicquam postulat.Et cuncta possum: nemo me tamen timet.Aeternus exsto: quaeror a paucissimis.Prudensque sum: sed me quis est qui consulit?Et sum Via: at per me quotusquisque ambulat?Sum Veritas: quare mihi non creditur?Sum Vita: verum rarus est qui me petit.Sum Vera Lux: videre me nemo cupit.Sum misericors: nullus fidem in me collocat.Tu, si peris, non id mihi imputes, homo:Salus tibi est a me parata: hac utere.[97]
Sum pulcher: at nemo tamem me diligit.Sum nobilis: nemo est mihi qui serviat.Sum dives: a me nemo quicquam postulat.Et cuncta possum: nemo me tamen timet.Aeternus exsto: quaeror a paucissimis.Prudensque sum: sed me quis est qui consulit?Et sum Via: at per me quotusquisque ambulat?Sum Veritas: quare mihi non creditur?Sum Vita: verum rarus est qui me petit.Sum Vera Lux: videre me nemo cupit.Sum misericors: nullus fidem in me collocat.Tu, si peris, non id mihi imputes, homo:Salus tibi est a me parata: hac utere.[97]
TRANSLATION.
JESUS CHRIST'S EXPOSTULATION
WITH AN UNGRATEFUL WORLD.
I am all-fair, yet no one loveth Me:Noble, yet no one would My servant be:Rich, yet no suppliant at My gate appears:Almighty, yet before Me no one fears:Eternal, I by very few am sought:Wise am I, yet My counsel goes for nought:I am the Way, yet by Me walks scarce one:The Truth, why am I not relied upon?The Life, yet seldom one My help requires:The True Light, yet to see Me none desires:And I am merciful, yet none is knownTo place his confidence in Me alone.Man, if thou perish, 'tis that thou dost choose it;Salvation I have wrought for thee, O use it!R. Wi.
I am all-fair, yet no one loveth Me:Noble, yet no one would My servant be:Rich, yet no suppliant at My gate appears:Almighty, yet before Me no one fears:Eternal, I by very few am sought:Wise am I, yet My counsel goes for nought:I am the Way, yet by Me walks scarce one:The Truth, why am I not relied upon?The Life, yet seldom one My help requires:The True Light, yet to see Me none desires:And I am merciful, yet none is knownTo place his confidence in Me alone.Man, if thou perish, 'tis that thou dost choose it;Salvation I have wrought for thee, O use it!R. Wi.
Decoration H
FROM 'STEPS TO THE TEMPLE' AND 'DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES,' ETC.
1646-1648.
NOTE.
Among the English poems of the 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses' of 1646 were the following, in order: In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews (p. 89)—Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium (pp. 92-3)—Principi recens natae omen maternae indolis (pp. 108-9)—In Serenissimae Reginae partum hyemalem (pp. 118-9)—Ad Reginam (pp. 121-2)—In faciem Augustiss. Regis a morbillis integram (p. 127)—Rex Redux (pp. 131-2), and Ad Principem nondum natum (p. 133). In the enlarged edition of 1648 besides these, there appeared: Bulla (pp. 54-58)—Thesaurus Malorum Foemina (p. 59)—In Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen (pp. 60-1)—Aeneas Patris sui Bajulus (p. 61)—In Pygmaliona (p. 61)—Arion (pp. 61-2)—Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion (p. 63)—Epitaphium (p. 64)—Damno affici saepe fit Lucrum (pp. 64-5)—Humanae Vitae Descriptio (p. 65)—Tranquillitas Animi, Similitudine ducta ab Ave captiva et canora tamen (pp. 66-7).These Poems I have arranged under two classes: (a) Miscellaneous, really, not merely formally, poetry: (b) Royal and other commemorative pieces. The former in the present section, the latter in the next. See our Essay on each. Nearly the whole of the translations in this division are by myself, with additional renderings of some by Rev. Thomas Ashe, M.A., as before, and others by Rev. Richard Wilton, M.A., as before, as pointed out in the places.As before, I note here the more misleading errors of Turnbull's text. In 'Bulla,' l. 1, 'timores' for 'tumores;' l. 4, 'dextera mihi' for 'dextra mei;' l. 54, 'nitent' for 'niteat;' l. 80, 'avis' for 'uvis;' l. 84, 'nives' for 'niveae;' l. 85, 'sint' for 'sunt;' l. 154, 'desinet' for 'defluet;' l. 157, 'Tempe' for 'Nempe:' in Tranquillitas Animi,' l. 13, 'minis minisque' for 'nimis nimisque;' l. 16, 'patrisque' for 'patreaeque;' l. 20, 'provocabit' for 'provocabat:' in 'Humanae Vitae Descriptio,' l. 13, 'more' for 'mare:' in 'Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen,' l. 12, 'ores' for 'oris:' in Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion,' l. 5, 'teipsum' for 'teipsam:' in 'Epitaphium,' l. 6, 'tremulum' for 'tremulam;' l. 7, 'discas' for 'disces,' 'hinc' for 'huc,' and 'reponas' for 'repones;' l. 10, 'miseris' for 'nimis:' in 'Thesaurus Malorum Foemina,' l. 16, 'Pietas' for 'Pectus.'G.
Among the English poems of the 'Steps to the Temple' and 'Delights of the Muses' of 1646 were the following, in order: In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews (p. 89)—Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium (pp. 92-3)—Principi recens natae omen maternae indolis (pp. 108-9)—In Serenissimae Reginae partum hyemalem (pp. 118-9)—Ad Reginam (pp. 121-2)—In faciem Augustiss. Regis a morbillis integram (p. 127)—Rex Redux (pp. 131-2), and Ad Principem nondum natum (p. 133). In the enlarged edition of 1648 besides these, there appeared: Bulla (pp. 54-58)—Thesaurus Malorum Foemina (p. 59)—In Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen (pp. 60-1)—Aeneas Patris sui Bajulus (p. 61)—In Pygmaliona (p. 61)—Arion (pp. 61-2)—Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion (p. 63)—Epitaphium (p. 64)—Damno affici saepe fit Lucrum (pp. 64-5)—Humanae Vitae Descriptio (p. 65)—Tranquillitas Animi, Similitudine ducta ab Ave captiva et canora tamen (pp. 66-7).
These Poems I have arranged under two classes: (a) Miscellaneous, really, not merely formally, poetry: (b) Royal and other commemorative pieces. The former in the present section, the latter in the next. See our Essay on each. Nearly the whole of the translations in this division are by myself, with additional renderings of some by Rev. Thomas Ashe, M.A., as before, and others by Rev. Richard Wilton, M.A., as before, as pointed out in the places.
As before, I note here the more misleading errors of Turnbull's text. In 'Bulla,' l. 1, 'timores' for 'tumores;' l. 4, 'dextera mihi' for 'dextra mei;' l. 54, 'nitent' for 'niteat;' l. 80, 'avis' for 'uvis;' l. 84, 'nives' for 'niveae;' l. 85, 'sint' for 'sunt;' l. 154, 'desinet' for 'defluet;' l. 157, 'Tempe' for 'Nempe:' in Tranquillitas Animi,' l. 13, 'minis minisque' for 'nimis nimisque;' l. 16, 'patrisque' for 'patreaeque;' l. 20, 'provocabit' for 'provocabat:' in 'Humanae Vitae Descriptio,' l. 13, 'more' for 'mare:' in 'Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen,' l. 12, 'ores' for 'oris:' in Phoenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion,' l. 5, 'teipsum' for 'teipsam:' in 'Epitaphium,' l. 6, 'tremulum' for 'tremulam;' l. 7, 'discas' for 'disces,' 'hinc' for 'huc,' and 'reponas' for 'repones;' l. 10, 'miseris' for 'nimis:' in 'Thesaurus Malorum Foemina,' l. 16, 'Pietas' for 'Pectus.'G.
Decoration M
Quid tibi vana suos offert mea Bulla tumores?Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane meum?Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior. IstaEn mea Bulla, lares en tua dextra mei.Quid tu? quae nova machina,5Quae tam fortuito globoIn vitam properas brevem?Qualis virgineos adhucCypris concutiens sinus,Cypris jam nova, jam recens,10Et spumis media in suis,Promsit purpureum latus;Concha de patria micas,Pulchroque exsilis impetu;Statim et millibus ebria15Ducens terga coloribusEvolvis tumidos sinusSphaera plena volubili.Cujus per varium latus,Cujus per teretem globum20Iris lubrica cursitansCentum per species vagas,Et picti facies choriCircum regnat, et undique,Et se Diva volatilis25Jucundo levis impetuEt vertigine perfidaLasciva sequitur fuga,Et pulchre dubitat; fluitTam fallax toties novis,30Tot se per reduces vias,Erroresque reciprocosSpargit vena coloribus;Et pompa natat ebria.Tali militia micans35Agmen se rude dividit;Campis quippe volantibus,Et campi levis aequoreOrdo insanus obambulansPassim se fugit, et fugat.40Passim perdit, et invenit.Pulchrum spargitur hic Chaos.Hic viva, hic vaga fluminaRipa non propria meant,Sed miscent socias vias,45Communique sub alveoStipant delicias suas.Quarum proximitas vagaTam discrimine lubrico,Tam subtilibus arguit50Juncturam tenuem notis,Pompa ut florida nullibiSinceras habeat vias;Nec vultu niteat suo.Sed dulcis cumulus novos55Miscens purpureus sinusFlagrant divitiis suis,Privatum renuens jubar.Floris diluvio vagi,Floris sidere publico60Late ver subit aureum,Atque effunditur in suaeVires undique copiae.Nempe omnis quia cernitur,Nullus cernitur hic color,65Et vicinia contumaxAllidit species vagas.Illic contiguis aquisMarcent pallidulae faces.Unde hic vena tenellulae,70Flaminis ebria proximisDiscit purpureas vias,Et rubro salit alveo.Ostri sanguineum jubarLambunt lactea flumina;75Suasu caerulei marisMansuescit seges aurea;Et lucis faciles genaeVanas ad nebulas stupent;Subque uvis rubicundulis80Flagrant sobria lilia;Vicinis adeo rosisVicinae invigilant nives;Ut sint et niveae rosae,Ut sunt et roseae nives,85Accenduntque rosae nives,Extinguuntque nives rosas.Illic cum viridi rubet,Hic et cum rutile viret,Lascivi facies chori.90Et quicquid rota lubricaCaudae stelligerae notat,Pulchrum pergit et in ambitum.Hic coeli implicitus labor,Orbes orbibus obvii;95ex velleris aurei,Grex pellucidus aetheris;Qui noctis nigra pascuaPuris morsibus atterit;Hic quicquid nitidum et vagum100Coeli vibrat arenula,Dulci pingitur in joco;Hic mundus tener impeditSese amplexibus in suis.Succinctique sinu globi105Errat per proprium decus.Hic nictant subitae faces,Et ludunt tremulum diem,Mox se surripiunt sui etQuaerunt tecta supercili,110Atque abdunt petulans jubar,Subsiduntque proterviter.Atque haec omnia quam brevisSunt mendacia machinae!Currunt scilicet omnia115Sphaera, non vitrea quidem—Ut quondam Siculus globus—Sed vitro nitida magis,Sed vitro fragili magis,Et vitro vitrea magis.120Sum venti ingenium breve,Flos sum, scilicet, aëris,Sidus scilicet aequoris;Naturae jocus aureus,Naturae vaga fabula,125Naturae breve somnium.Nugarum decus et dolor;Dulcis doctaque vanitas.Aurae filia perfidae;Et risus facilis parens.130Tantum gutta superbior,Fortunatius et lutum.Sum fluxae pretium spei;Una ex Hesperidum insulis.Formae pyxis, amantium135Clare caecus ocellulus;Vanae et cor leve gloriae.Sum caecae speculum Deae,Sum Fortunae ego tessera,Quam dat militibus suis;140Sum Fortunae ego symbolum,Quo sancit fragilem fidemCum mortalibus ebriis,Obsignatque tabellulas.Sum blandum, petulans, vagum,145Pulchrum, purpureum, et decens,Comptum, floridulum, et recens,Distinctum nivibus, rosis,Undis, ignibus, aere,Pictum, gemmeum, et aureum,150O sum, scilicet, ônihil.Si piget, et longam traxisse in taedia pompamVivax, et nimium Bulla videtur anus:Tolle tuos oculos pensum leve defluet, illamParca metet facili non operosa manu.155Vixit adhuc. Cur vixit? adhuc tu nempe legebas.Nempe fuit tempus tum potuisse mori?
Quid tibi vana suos offert mea Bulla tumores?Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane meum?Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior. IstaEn mea Bulla, lares en tua dextra mei.Quid tu? quae nova machina,5Quae tam fortuito globoIn vitam properas brevem?Qualis virgineos adhucCypris concutiens sinus,Cypris jam nova, jam recens,10Et spumis media in suis,Promsit purpureum latus;Concha de patria micas,Pulchroque exsilis impetu;Statim et millibus ebria15Ducens terga coloribusEvolvis tumidos sinusSphaera plena volubili.Cujus per varium latus,Cujus per teretem globum20Iris lubrica cursitansCentum per species vagas,Et picti facies choriCircum regnat, et undique,Et se Diva volatilis25Jucundo levis impetuEt vertigine perfidaLasciva sequitur fuga,Et pulchre dubitat; fluitTam fallax toties novis,30Tot se per reduces vias,Erroresque reciprocosSpargit vena coloribus;Et pompa natat ebria.Tali militia micans35Agmen se rude dividit;Campis quippe volantibus,Et campi levis aequoreOrdo insanus obambulansPassim se fugit, et fugat.40Passim perdit, et invenit.Pulchrum spargitur hic Chaos.Hic viva, hic vaga fluminaRipa non propria meant,Sed miscent socias vias,45Communique sub alveoStipant delicias suas.Quarum proximitas vagaTam discrimine lubrico,Tam subtilibus arguit50Juncturam tenuem notis,Pompa ut florida nullibiSinceras habeat vias;Nec vultu niteat suo.Sed dulcis cumulus novos55Miscens purpureus sinusFlagrant divitiis suis,Privatum renuens jubar.Floris diluvio vagi,Floris sidere publico60Late ver subit aureum,Atque effunditur in suaeVires undique copiae.Nempe omnis quia cernitur,Nullus cernitur hic color,65Et vicinia contumaxAllidit species vagas.Illic contiguis aquisMarcent pallidulae faces.Unde hic vena tenellulae,70Flaminis ebria proximisDiscit purpureas vias,Et rubro salit alveo.Ostri sanguineum jubarLambunt lactea flumina;75Suasu caerulei marisMansuescit seges aurea;Et lucis faciles genaeVanas ad nebulas stupent;Subque uvis rubicundulis80Flagrant sobria lilia;Vicinis adeo rosisVicinae invigilant nives;Ut sint et niveae rosae,Ut sunt et roseae nives,85Accenduntque rosae nives,Extinguuntque nives rosas.Illic cum viridi rubet,Hic et cum rutile viret,Lascivi facies chori.90Et quicquid rota lubricaCaudae stelligerae notat,Pulchrum pergit et in ambitum.Hic coeli implicitus labor,Orbes orbibus obvii;95ex velleris aurei,Grex pellucidus aetheris;Qui noctis nigra pascuaPuris morsibus atterit;Hic quicquid nitidum et vagum100Coeli vibrat arenula,Dulci pingitur in joco;Hic mundus tener impeditSese amplexibus in suis.Succinctique sinu globi105Errat per proprium decus.Hic nictant subitae faces,Et ludunt tremulum diem,Mox se surripiunt sui etQuaerunt tecta supercili,110Atque abdunt petulans jubar,Subsiduntque proterviter.Atque haec omnia quam brevisSunt mendacia machinae!Currunt scilicet omnia115Sphaera, non vitrea quidem—Ut quondam Siculus globus—Sed vitro nitida magis,Sed vitro fragili magis,Et vitro vitrea magis.120Sum venti ingenium breve,Flos sum, scilicet, aëris,Sidus scilicet aequoris;Naturae jocus aureus,Naturae vaga fabula,125Naturae breve somnium.Nugarum decus et dolor;Dulcis doctaque vanitas.Aurae filia perfidae;Et risus facilis parens.130Tantum gutta superbior,Fortunatius et lutum.Sum fluxae pretium spei;Una ex Hesperidum insulis.Formae pyxis, amantium135Clare caecus ocellulus;Vanae et cor leve gloriae.Sum caecae speculum Deae,Sum Fortunae ego tessera,Quam dat militibus suis;140Sum Fortunae ego symbolum,Quo sancit fragilem fidemCum mortalibus ebriis,Obsignatque tabellulas.Sum blandum, petulans, vagum,145Pulchrum, purpureum, et decens,Comptum, floridulum, et recens,Distinctum nivibus, rosis,Undis, ignibus, aere,Pictum, gemmeum, et aureum,150O sum, scilicet, ônihil.Si piget, et longam traxisse in taedia pompamVivax, et nimium Bulla videtur anus:Tolle tuos oculos pensum leve defluet, illamParca metet facili non operosa manu.155Vixit adhuc. Cur vixit? adhuc tu nempe legebas.Nempe fuit tempus tum potuisse mori?
NOTE.
A collation of the 'Bulla' with the TannerMS.corrects the punctuation of the original and subsequent printed texts, and specially puts right in the last line 'Nempe' for 'Tempe,' so long retained. In the fourth line from close the printed texts read 'desinet' for 'defluet.' Nothing else noticeable.G.
A collation of the 'Bulla' with the TannerMS.corrects the punctuation of the original and subsequent printed texts, and specially puts right in the last line 'Nempe' for 'Tempe,' so long retained. In the fourth line from close the printed texts read 'desinet' for 'defluet.' Nothing else noticeable.G.
Decoration F
Translation.THE BUBBLE. [TO REV. DR. LANY.]
What art thou? What new device,Globe, chance-fashion'd in a trice,Into brief existence bounding,Perfectly thy circle rounding?As when Cypris, her breast smiting—Virgin still, all love inviting—Cypris in young lovelinessCouch'd rosy where the white waves pressHer to bear and her to bless;Soforth from thy native shellGleamest thou ineffable!Springing up with graceful boundAnd describing dainty round;Thousand colours come and goAs thou dost thy fair curves show,Swelling out—a whirling ballMeet for Fairy-Festival;Through whose sides of shifting hue,Through whose smooth-turn'd globe, we viewIris' gliding rainbow sitting,In a hundred forms soft-flitting:And semblance of a troop displaying,All around dominion swaying:And the Goddess volatileWith witching step and luring smileFollows still with twinkling footIn link'd mazes involute:With many a sight-deceiving turnAnd flight which makes pursuers burn,And a graceful hesitation—Only treacherous simulation:Just so, and no less deceiving,OurBubble, all its colours weaving,Follows ever-varying courses,Or in air itself disperses:Here now, there now, coming, going,Wand'ring as if ebbing, flowing:Sporting Passion's colours allIn ways that are bacchanal;And theGlobesundisciplin'dAs though driven by the wind,Borne along the fleeting plainsLight as air; nor order reigns—But the heaven-possess'd arrayMoving each in its own way,Hither now and thither flying,Glancing, wavering, and dying,Losing still their path and finding,In a random inter-winding:Rising, falling, on careering,Vis'ble now, now disappearing;Living wand'ring streams outgoing,Ev'n Confusion beauteous showing:Flowing not each in its course,But each to other joining force;Moving in pleasant pastime stillIn a mutual good-will:And a nearness that's so nearYou the contact almost fear,Yet so finely drawn to eyeIn its delicate subtletyThat the procession, blossom-fair,Nowhere has direction clear:Nor with their own aspect glance,But in the sweet luxurianceWhich skiey influences lend,As in new windings on they trend:Throwing off the stol'n sunlightIn a flood of blossoms bright,Scatter'd on the fields of light;Such a brilliancy of bloomAs all may share if all will come.Now golden Spring advances lightly,Spreading itself on all sides brightly,Out of its rich and full supplyOpen-handed, lavishly.Since all colours you discern,No one colour may you learn:All tints melted into oneIn a sweet confusion,You cannot tell 'tis that or this,So shifting is the loveliness:Gleams as of the peacock's crest,Or such as on dove's neck rest;Opal, edg'd with amethyst,Or the sunset's purpl'd mist,Or the splendour that there liesIn a maiden's azure eyes,Kindling in a sweet surprise:Flower-tints, shell-tints, tender-dy'd,Save to curious unespied:Lo, oneBubblefollows t'other,Differing still from its frail brother,Striking still from change to changeWith a quick and vivid range.There in the contiguous waveTorches palely-glist'ning lave;Here what delicate love-lights shine!Through them near flames bick'ring shine.Matching flushing of the rose,As the ruddy channel flows:Milky rivers in white tideLucent, hush, still onwards glide:Purple rivers in high flood—Red as is man's awful blood:Corn-fields smiling goldenlyMeet the blue laugh of the sea:Mist-clouds sailing on their wayDarken the changeful cheeks of Day:And beneath vine-clusters redLilies are transfigurèd:Here you mark as 'twere the snowsFolding o'er the neighb'ring rose;Snow into blown roses flushing,Roses wearied of their blushing,As the shifting tints embrace,And their course you scarce can trace;Now retiring, now advancing,Now in wanton mazes dancing;Now a flow'ry red appears,Now a purpl'd green careers.All the signs in heaven that burnWhere the gliding wheel doth turn,Here in radiant courses go,As though 'twere a heaven below:The sky's mazes involuteCircling onward with deft foot,Sphere on heavenly sphere attending,Coming, going, inter-blending:And the gold-fleec'd flocks of airWand'ring inviolate and fair;Flocks that drink in chaste delightDewy pastures of the Night,Leaving no trace of foot or bite.Whate'er of change above you note,As these clouds o'er heaven float,Lo, repeated here we seeIn a sportive mimicry.Here the tiny tender worldWithin its own brightness furl'dWavers, as in fairy robe'Twere a belted linèd globe.Lights as of the breaking DayTremble with iridescent play,But now swiftly upward going,Evanescent colours showing,In some nook their beams concealing,Nor their wantonness revealing.O, what store of wonders hereIn this short-liv'd slenderSphere!For all wonders I have toldAre within itsGlobeenroll'd:Not such globe as skillèd heFashion'd of old in Sicily:Brighter e'en than crystals are,And than crystal frailer far.'I am Spirit of the Wind,For a flitting breath design'd;I am Blossom born of air;I'm of Ocean, guiding Star;I'm a golden sport of Nature,Frolic stamp'd on ev'ry feature:I'm a myth, an idle theme,The brief substance of a dream:Grace and grief of trifles, ICharm—a well-skill'd vanity;Begotten of the treacherous breeze,Parent of absurdities:Yet, a drop or mote, at best,Favour'd more than are the rest.I'm price of Hope that no more is,One of the Hesperides:Beauty's casket, doating eyeOf lovers blinded wilfully:The light Spirit of Vanity.I am Fortune's looking-glass,The countersign which she doth passTo her troop of warriors:I'm the oath by which she swears,And wherewith she doth induceMen to trust a fragile truce.Charming, provoking, still astray,Fair and elegant and gay,Trim and fresh and blossom-hu'd;Interchangeably imbu'dWith rosy-red and the snow's whiteness,Air and water and fire's brightness:Painted, gemm'd, of golden dye,Nothing—after all—am I!'If now, O gentle Reader, it appearIrksome myBubble'schatterings to hear;If on it frowning, 'Words, words, words!' thou say,No more I'll chatter, but at once obey.So, turn thine eye, my Friend, no more give heed;MyBubblelives but if thou choose to read.Cease thou to read, and I resign my breath;Cease thou to read, and that will be my death.G.
What art thou? What new device,Globe, chance-fashion'd in a trice,Into brief existence bounding,Perfectly thy circle rounding?As when Cypris, her breast smiting—Virgin still, all love inviting—Cypris in young lovelinessCouch'd rosy where the white waves pressHer to bear and her to bless;Soforth from thy native shellGleamest thou ineffable!Springing up with graceful boundAnd describing dainty round;Thousand colours come and goAs thou dost thy fair curves show,Swelling out—a whirling ballMeet for Fairy-Festival;Through whose sides of shifting hue,Through whose smooth-turn'd globe, we viewIris' gliding rainbow sitting,In a hundred forms soft-flitting:And semblance of a troop displaying,All around dominion swaying:And the Goddess volatileWith witching step and luring smileFollows still with twinkling footIn link'd mazes involute:With many a sight-deceiving turnAnd flight which makes pursuers burn,And a graceful hesitation—Only treacherous simulation:Just so, and no less deceiving,OurBubble, all its colours weaving,Follows ever-varying courses,Or in air itself disperses:Here now, there now, coming, going,Wand'ring as if ebbing, flowing:Sporting Passion's colours allIn ways that are bacchanal;And theGlobesundisciplin'dAs though driven by the wind,Borne along the fleeting plainsLight as air; nor order reigns—But the heaven-possess'd arrayMoving each in its own way,Hither now and thither flying,Glancing, wavering, and dying,Losing still their path and finding,In a random inter-winding:Rising, falling, on careering,Vis'ble now, now disappearing;Living wand'ring streams outgoing,Ev'n Confusion beauteous showing:Flowing not each in its course,But each to other joining force;Moving in pleasant pastime stillIn a mutual good-will:And a nearness that's so nearYou the contact almost fear,Yet so finely drawn to eyeIn its delicate subtletyThat the procession, blossom-fair,Nowhere has direction clear:Nor with their own aspect glance,But in the sweet luxurianceWhich skiey influences lend,As in new windings on they trend:Throwing off the stol'n sunlightIn a flood of blossoms bright,Scatter'd on the fields of light;Such a brilliancy of bloomAs all may share if all will come.Now golden Spring advances lightly,Spreading itself on all sides brightly,Out of its rich and full supplyOpen-handed, lavishly.Since all colours you discern,No one colour may you learn:All tints melted into oneIn a sweet confusion,You cannot tell 'tis that or this,So shifting is the loveliness:Gleams as of the peacock's crest,Or such as on dove's neck rest;Opal, edg'd with amethyst,Or the sunset's purpl'd mist,Or the splendour that there liesIn a maiden's azure eyes,Kindling in a sweet surprise:Flower-tints, shell-tints, tender-dy'd,Save to curious unespied:Lo, oneBubblefollows t'other,Differing still from its frail brother,Striking still from change to changeWith a quick and vivid range.There in the contiguous waveTorches palely-glist'ning lave;Here what delicate love-lights shine!Through them near flames bick'ring shine.Matching flushing of the rose,As the ruddy channel flows:Milky rivers in white tideLucent, hush, still onwards glide:Purple rivers in high flood—Red as is man's awful blood:Corn-fields smiling goldenlyMeet the blue laugh of the sea:Mist-clouds sailing on their wayDarken the changeful cheeks of Day:And beneath vine-clusters redLilies are transfigurèd:Here you mark as 'twere the snowsFolding o'er the neighb'ring rose;Snow into blown roses flushing,Roses wearied of their blushing,As the shifting tints embrace,And their course you scarce can trace;Now retiring, now advancing,Now in wanton mazes dancing;Now a flow'ry red appears,Now a purpl'd green careers.All the signs in heaven that burnWhere the gliding wheel doth turn,Here in radiant courses go,As though 'twere a heaven below:The sky's mazes involuteCircling onward with deft foot,Sphere on heavenly sphere attending,Coming, going, inter-blending:And the gold-fleec'd flocks of airWand'ring inviolate and fair;Flocks that drink in chaste delightDewy pastures of the Night,Leaving no trace of foot or bite.Whate'er of change above you note,As these clouds o'er heaven float,Lo, repeated here we seeIn a sportive mimicry.Here the tiny tender worldWithin its own brightness furl'dWavers, as in fairy robe'Twere a belted linèd globe.Lights as of the breaking DayTremble with iridescent play,But now swiftly upward going,Evanescent colours showing,In some nook their beams concealing,Nor their wantonness revealing.O, what store of wonders hereIn this short-liv'd slenderSphere!For all wonders I have toldAre within itsGlobeenroll'd:Not such globe as skillèd heFashion'd of old in Sicily:Brighter e'en than crystals are,And than crystal frailer far.'I am Spirit of the Wind,For a flitting breath design'd;I am Blossom born of air;I'm of Ocean, guiding Star;I'm a golden sport of Nature,Frolic stamp'd on ev'ry feature:I'm a myth, an idle theme,The brief substance of a dream:Grace and grief of trifles, ICharm—a well-skill'd vanity;Begotten of the treacherous breeze,Parent of absurdities:Yet, a drop or mote, at best,Favour'd more than are the rest.I'm price of Hope that no more is,One of the Hesperides:Beauty's casket, doating eyeOf lovers blinded wilfully:The light Spirit of Vanity.I am Fortune's looking-glass,The countersign which she doth passTo her troop of warriors:I'm the oath by which she swears,And wherewith she doth induceMen to trust a fragile truce.Charming, provoking, still astray,Fair and elegant and gay,Trim and fresh and blossom-hu'd;Interchangeably imbu'dWith rosy-red and the snow's whiteness,Air and water and fire's brightness:Painted, gemm'd, of golden dye,Nothing—after all—am I!'If now, O gentle Reader, it appearIrksome myBubble'schatterings to hear;If on it frowning, 'Words, words, words!' thou say,No more I'll chatter, but at once obey.So, turn thine eye, my Friend, no more give heed;MyBubblelives but if thou choose to read.Cease thou to read, and I resign my breath;Cease thou to read, and that will be my death.G.
SIMILITUDINE DUCTA AB AVE CAPTIVA, ET CANORA TAMEN.
Ut cum delicias leves, loquacemConvivam nemoris vagamque musamObservans, dubia viator artePrendit desuper: horridusve rurisEversor, male perfido paratu,5Heu durus! rapit, atque io triumphansVadit: protinus et sagace nisuEvolvens digitos, opus tenellumDucens pollice lenis erudito,Virgarum implicat ordinem severum,10Angustam meditans domum volucri.Illa autem, hospitium licet vetustumMentem solicitet nimis nimisque,Et suetum nemus, hinc opaca mitisUmbrae frigora, et hinc aprica puri15Solis fulgura, patriaeque sylvaeNunquam muta quies; ubi illa dudumTotum per nemus, arborem per omnem,Hospes libera liberis querelisCognatum bene provocabat agmen:20Quanquam ipsum nemus arboresque alumnamImplorant profugam, atque amata multumQuaerant murmura lubricumque carmenBlandi gutturis et melos serenum.Illa autem, tamen, illa jam relictae,25Simplex! haud meminit domus, nec ultraSylvas cogitat; at brevi sub antro,Ah penna nimium brevis recisa,Ah ritu vidua sibique sola,Privata heu fidicen! canit, vagoque30Exercens querulam domum susurroFallit vincula, carceremque mulcet;Nec pugnans placidae procax quietiLuctatur gravis, orbe sed reductoDiscursu vaga saltitans tenello,35Metitur spatia invidae cavernae.Sic in se pia mens reposta, secumAlte tuta sedet, nec ardet extra,Aut ullo solet aestuare fato:Quamvis cuncta tumultuentur, atrae40Sortis turbine non movetur illa.Fortunae furias onusque tristeNon tergo minus accipit quieto,Quam vectrix Veneris columba blandoAdmittat juga delicata collo.45Torvae si quid inhorruit procellae,Si quid saeviat et minetur, illaSpernit, nescit, et obviis furoremFallit blanditiis, amatque et ambitIpsum, quo male vulneratur, ictum.50Curas murmure non fatetur ullo;Non lambit lacrymas dolor, nec atraeMentis nubila frons iniqua prodit.Quod si lacryma pervicax rebelliErumpit tamen evolatque gutta,55Invitis lacrymis, negante luctu,Ludunt perspicui per ora risus.
Ut cum delicias leves, loquacemConvivam nemoris vagamque musamObservans, dubia viator artePrendit desuper: horridusve rurisEversor, male perfido paratu,5Heu durus! rapit, atque io triumphansVadit: protinus et sagace nisuEvolvens digitos, opus tenellumDucens pollice lenis erudito,Virgarum implicat ordinem severum,10Angustam meditans domum volucri.Illa autem, hospitium licet vetustumMentem solicitet nimis nimisque,Et suetum nemus, hinc opaca mitisUmbrae frigora, et hinc aprica puri15Solis fulgura, patriaeque sylvaeNunquam muta quies; ubi illa dudumTotum per nemus, arborem per omnem,Hospes libera liberis querelisCognatum bene provocabat agmen:20Quanquam ipsum nemus arboresque alumnamImplorant profugam, atque amata multumQuaerant murmura lubricumque carmenBlandi gutturis et melos serenum.Illa autem, tamen, illa jam relictae,25Simplex! haud meminit domus, nec ultraSylvas cogitat; at brevi sub antro,Ah penna nimium brevis recisa,Ah ritu vidua sibique sola,Privata heu fidicen! canit, vagoque30Exercens querulam domum susurroFallit vincula, carceremque mulcet;Nec pugnans placidae procax quietiLuctatur gravis, orbe sed reductoDiscursu vaga saltitans tenello,35Metitur spatia invidae cavernae.Sic in se pia mens reposta, secumAlte tuta sedet, nec ardet extra,Aut ullo solet aestuare fato:Quamvis cuncta tumultuentur, atrae40Sortis turbine non movetur illa.Fortunae furias onusque tristeNon tergo minus accipit quieto,Quam vectrix Veneris columba blandoAdmittat juga delicata collo.45Torvae si quid inhorruit procellae,Si quid saeviat et minetur, illaSpernit, nescit, et obviis furoremFallit blanditiis, amatque et ambitIpsum, quo male vulneratur, ictum.50Curas murmure non fatetur ullo;Non lambit lacrymas dolor, nec atraeMentis nubila frons iniqua prodit.Quod si lacryma pervicax rebelliErumpit tamen evolatque gutta,55Invitis lacrymis, negante luctu,Ludunt perspicui per ora risus.
Translation.PEACE OF MIND:[98]
UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A CAPTIVE SONG-BIRD.
The time of the singing of birds is come;I will away i' the greenwood to roam;I will away; and thou azure-ey'd MuseDeign with thy gifts my mind to suffuse.—So o'erheard I one say, as he withdrewTo a fairy scene that well I knew,Light lac'd with shadow, shadow with light,Leaves playing bo-peep from morn unto night.But, ah, what is this? Alas, and alas,A sweet bird flutters upon the grass;Flutters and struggles with quivering wing!Tempted and snar'd—gentle, guileless thing.Vain, vain thy struggles; for, lo, a handHollow'd above, makes thee captive stand.Home hies the Captor, loud singing his joy;He has got a pet song-bird for his boy.Now twining and twisting, a cage he makesWire-wrought and fast'n'd. Ah, my heart aches!It is a prison, for the poor bird prepar'd;Shut close and netted, netted and barr'd.Comes the flutter and gleam of forest-leavesThrough the trellis'd window under the eaves;Comes the breath and stir of the vernal wind,Comes the goldening sunshine—to remindOf all that is lost; comes now and againFar off a song from the blading grain;Calling, still calling the Songster to comeBack—once more back—to its woodland home.I mark eyelids rise; mark the lifting wing;Mark the swelling throat, as if it would sing;Mark the weary 'chirp, chirp,' like infant's cry,Yearning after the free and boundless sky;For the grand old woods; once more to sitOn the swinging bough into blossom smit.Vain, vain, poor bird! thou'rt captive still;Thou must bend thee to thy Captor's will:Thy wing is cut; from thy mate thou'rt taken;All alone thou abidest, sad, forsaken.The days pass on; and I look in once moreOn the captive bird 'bove the ivied door.Sweetly it sings, as if all by itself,A short, quiet song. O thou silly elf,Hast forgot the greenwood, the forest hoar,The flash of the sky, the wind's soften'd roar?Hast forgot that thou still a captive art,Prison'd in wire-work? hast forgot thy smart?'Tis even so: for now down, and now up,Now hopping on perch, now sipping from cup,I mark it sullen and pining no more,But keeping within, though open the door.List ye, now list—from its swelling throat,Of its woodland song you miss never a note.Alone, it is true, and in a wir'd cage;But kindness has melted the captive's rage.Behold a sweet meaning in this bird's story—How the child of God is ripen'd for glory:For it is thus with the child of God,Smitten and bleeding 'neath His rod:Thus 'tis with him; for, tranquil and calm'Mid dangers and insults, he singeth his psalm:Alone, all alone, deserted of man,Slander'd and trampl'd and plac'd under ban,He frets not, he pines not, he plains not still,But sees clear in all his dear Father's will:Come loss, come cross, come bereavement, come wrong,He sets all to music, turns all to song;Come terror, come trial, come dark day, come bright,Still upward he looks, and knows all is right:Wounded, he sees the Hand gives the stroke,Bending his neck to bear his Lord's yoke,And finds it grow light, by grace from Above,As love's slender collars o' the Queen of Love;Comes the starting tear, 'tis dried with a smile;Comes a cloud, as you look 'tis gone the while;Stirs the 'old Adam' to tempt and to dare,He thinks Who was tempted and knows what we are;Gentle and meek, murmurs not nor rebels,But serene as in heaven and tranquil dwells:And so the Believer has 'songs in the night,'And so every cloud has a lining of light.Thus, even thus, the captive bird's storyTells how a soul is ripen'd for glory.G.
The time of the singing of birds is come;I will away i' the greenwood to roam;I will away; and thou azure-ey'd MuseDeign with thy gifts my mind to suffuse.—So o'erheard I one say, as he withdrewTo a fairy scene that well I knew,Light lac'd with shadow, shadow with light,Leaves playing bo-peep from morn unto night.But, ah, what is this? Alas, and alas,A sweet bird flutters upon the grass;Flutters and struggles with quivering wing!Tempted and snar'd—gentle, guileless thing.Vain, vain thy struggles; for, lo, a handHollow'd above, makes thee captive stand.Home hies the Captor, loud singing his joy;He has got a pet song-bird for his boy.Now twining and twisting, a cage he makesWire-wrought and fast'n'd. Ah, my heart aches!It is a prison, for the poor bird prepar'd;Shut close and netted, netted and barr'd.Comes the flutter and gleam of forest-leavesThrough the trellis'd window under the eaves;Comes the breath and stir of the vernal wind,Comes the goldening sunshine—to remindOf all that is lost; comes now and againFar off a song from the blading grain;Calling, still calling the Songster to comeBack—once more back—to its woodland home.I mark eyelids rise; mark the lifting wing;Mark the swelling throat, as if it would sing;Mark the weary 'chirp, chirp,' like infant's cry,Yearning after the free and boundless sky;For the grand old woods; once more to sitOn the swinging bough into blossom smit.Vain, vain, poor bird! thou'rt captive still;Thou must bend thee to thy Captor's will:Thy wing is cut; from thy mate thou'rt taken;All alone thou abidest, sad, forsaken.The days pass on; and I look in once moreOn the captive bird 'bove the ivied door.Sweetly it sings, as if all by itself,A short, quiet song. O thou silly elf,Hast forgot the greenwood, the forest hoar,The flash of the sky, the wind's soften'd roar?Hast forgot that thou still a captive art,Prison'd in wire-work? hast forgot thy smart?'Tis even so: for now down, and now up,Now hopping on perch, now sipping from cup,I mark it sullen and pining no more,But keeping within, though open the door.List ye, now list—from its swelling throat,Of its woodland song you miss never a note.Alone, it is true, and in a wir'd cage;But kindness has melted the captive's rage.Behold a sweet meaning in this bird's story—How the child of God is ripen'd for glory:For it is thus with the child of God,Smitten and bleeding 'neath His rod:Thus 'tis with him; for, tranquil and calm'Mid dangers and insults, he singeth his psalm:Alone, all alone, deserted of man,Slander'd and trampl'd and plac'd under ban,He frets not, he pines not, he plains not still,But sees clear in all his dear Father's will:Come loss, come cross, come bereavement, come wrong,He sets all to music, turns all to song;Come terror, come trial, come dark day, come bright,Still upward he looks, and knows all is right:Wounded, he sees the Hand gives the stroke,Bending his neck to bear his Lord's yoke,And finds it grow light, by grace from Above,As love's slender collars o' the Queen of Love;Comes the starting tear, 'tis dried with a smile;Comes a cloud, as you look 'tis gone the while;Stirs the 'old Adam' to tempt and to dare,He thinks Who was tempted and knows what we are;Gentle and meek, murmurs not nor rebels,But serene as in heaven and tranquil dwells:And so the Believer has 'songs in the night,'And so every cloud has a lining of light.Thus, even thus, the captive bird's storyTells how a soul is ripen'd for glory.G.