E'en as the prudent ants which towards their nestBearing the apportioned heavy burden go,Exercise all their forces at their best,Hostile to hostile winter's frost and snow;There, all their toils and labours stand confessed,There, never looked-for energy they show;So, from the Lusitanians to avertTheir horrid Fate, the nymphs their power exert.Thus, as in some sequestered sylvan mereThe frogs (the Lycian people formerly),If that by chance some person should appearWhile out of water they incautious be,Awake the pool by hopping here and there,To fly the danger which they deem they see,And gathering to some safe retreat they know,Only their heads above the water show--So fly the Moors.E'en as when o'er the parching flame there glowsA flame, which may from some chance cause ignite,(All while the whistling, puffing Boreas blows),Fanned by the wind sets all the growth alight,The shepherd's group, lying in their reposeOf quiet sleep, aroused in wild afrightAt crackling flames that spread both wide and high,Gather their goods and to the village fly;So doth the Moor.E'en as the daisy which once brightly smiled,Plucked by unruly hands before its hour,And harshly treated by the careless child,All in her chaplet tied with artless power.Droops, of its colour and its scent despoiled,So seems this pale and lifeless damsel flower;The roses of her lips are dry and dead,With her sweet life the mingled white and red.
E'en as the prudent ants which towards their nestBearing the apportioned heavy burden go,Exercise all their forces at their best,Hostile to hostile winter's frost and snow;There, all their toils and labours stand confessed,There, never looked-for energy they show;So, from the Lusitanians to avertTheir horrid Fate, the nymphs their power exert.
E'en as the prudent ants which towards their nest
Bearing the apportioned heavy burden go,
Exercise all their forces at their best,
Hostile to hostile winter's frost and snow;
There, all their toils and labours stand confessed,
There, never looked-for energy they show;
So, from the Lusitanians to avert
Their horrid Fate, the nymphs their power exert.
Thus, as in some sequestered sylvan mereThe frogs (the Lycian people formerly),If that by chance some person should appearWhile out of water they incautious be,Awake the pool by hopping here and there,To fly the danger which they deem they see,And gathering to some safe retreat they know,Only their heads above the water show--So fly the Moors.
Thus, as in some sequestered sylvan mere
The frogs (the Lycian people formerly),
If that by chance some person should appear
While out of water they incautious be,
Awake the pool by hopping here and there,
To fly the danger which they deem they see,
And gathering to some safe retreat they know,
Only their heads above the water show--So fly the Moors.
E'en as when o'er the parching flame there glowsA flame, which may from some chance cause ignite,(All while the whistling, puffing Boreas blows),Fanned by the wind sets all the growth alight,The shepherd's group, lying in their reposeOf quiet sleep, aroused in wild afrightAt crackling flames that spread both wide and high,Gather their goods and to the village fly;So doth the Moor.
E'en as when o'er the parching flame there glows
A flame, which may from some chance cause ignite,
(All while the whistling, puffing Boreas blows),
Fanned by the wind sets all the growth alight,
The shepherd's group, lying in their repose
Of quiet sleep, aroused in wild afright
At crackling flames that spread both wide and high,
Gather their goods and to the village fly;
So doth the Moor.
E'en as the daisy which once brightly smiled,Plucked by unruly hands before its hour,And harshly treated by the careless child,All in her chaplet tied with artless power.Droops, of its colour and its scent despoiled,So seems this pale and lifeless damsel flower;The roses of her lips are dry and dead,With her sweet life the mingled white and red.
E'en as the daisy which once brightly smiled,
Plucked by unruly hands before its hour,
And harshly treated by the careless child,
All in her chaplet tied with artless power.
Droops, of its colour and its scent despoiled,
So seems this pale and lifeless damsel flower;
The roses of her lips are dry and dead,
With her sweet life the mingled white and red.
The following simile reminds us of the far-fetched comparison of Apollonios Rhodios[11]:
As the reflected lustre from the brightSteel mirror, or of beauteous crystal fine,Which, being stricken by the solar light,Strikes back and on some other part doth shine;And when, to please the child's vain curious sight,Moved o'er the house, as may his hand incline,Dances on walls and roof and everywhere,Restless and tremulous, now here now there,So did the wandering judgment fluctuate.
As the reflected lustre from the bright
Steel mirror, or of beauteous crystal fine,
Which, being stricken by the solar light,
Strikes back and on some other part doth shine;
And when, to please the child's vain curious sight,
Moved o'er the house, as may his hand incline,
Dances on walls and roof and everywhere,
Restless and tremulous, now here now there,
So did the wandering judgment fluctuate.
He says of Diana:
And, as confronted on her way she pressed,So beautiful her form and bearing were,That everything that saw her love confessed,The stars, the heaven, and the surrounding air.
And, as confronted on her way she pressed,
So beautiful her form and bearing were,
That everything that saw her love confessed,
The stars, the heaven, and the surrounding air.
The Indus and Ganges are personified in stanza xiv. 74, the Cape in v. 50.
His time references are mostly mixed up with ancient mythology:
As soon, however, as the enamelled mornO'er the calm heaven her lovely looks outspread,Opening to bright Hyperion, new-born,Her purple portals as he raised his head,Then the whole fleet their ships with flags adorn.
As soon, however, as the enamelled morn
O'er the calm heaven her lovely looks outspread,
Opening to bright Hyperion, new-born,
Her purple portals as he raised his head,
Then the whole fleet their ships with flags adorn.
and:
So soon, however, as great Sol has spreadHis rays o'er earth, whom instantly to meet,Her purple brow Aurora rising shews,And rudely life around the horizon throws.
So soon, however, as great Sol has spread
His rays o'er earth, whom instantly to meet,
Her purple brow Aurora rising shews,
And rudely life around the horizon throws.
He is at his best in writing of the sea.
He says of the explorers on first setting sail:
Now were they sailing o'er wide ocean bright,The restless waves dividing as they flew;The winds were breathing prosperous and light,The vessels' hollow sails were filled to view;The seas were covered o'er with foaming whiteWhere the advancing prows were cutting throughThe consecrated waters of the deep....Thus went we forth these unknown seas to explore,Which by no people yet explored had been;Seeing new isles and climes which long beforeGreat Henry, first discoverer, had seen.Now did the moon in purest lustre riseOn Neptune's silvery waves her beams to pour,With stars attendant glittered all the skies,E'en like a meadow daisy-spangled o'er;The fury of the winds all peaceful liesIn the dark caverns close along the shore,But still the night-watch constant vigils keep,As long had been their custom on the deep.To tell thee of the dangers of the seaAt length, which human understanding scare,Thunder-storms, sudden, dreadful in degree,Lightnings, which seem to set on fire the air,Dark floods of rain, nights of obscurity,Rollings of thunder which the world would tear,Were not less labour than a great mistake,E'en if I had an iron voice to speak.
Now were they sailing o'er wide ocean bright,The restless waves dividing as they flew;The winds were breathing prosperous and light,The vessels' hollow sails were filled to view;The seas were covered o'er with foaming whiteWhere the advancing prows were cutting throughThe consecrated waters of the deep....Thus went we forth these unknown seas to explore,Which by no people yet explored had been;Seeing new isles and climes which long beforeGreat Henry, first discoverer, had seen.
Now were they sailing o'er wide ocean bright,
The restless waves dividing as they flew;
The winds were breathing prosperous and light,
The vessels' hollow sails were filled to view;
The seas were covered o'er with foaming white
Where the advancing prows were cutting through
The consecrated waters of the deep....
Thus went we forth these unknown seas to explore,
Which by no people yet explored had been;
Seeing new isles and climes which long before
Great Henry, first discoverer, had seen.
Now did the moon in purest lustre riseOn Neptune's silvery waves her beams to pour,With stars attendant glittered all the skies,E'en like a meadow daisy-spangled o'er;The fury of the winds all peaceful liesIn the dark caverns close along the shore,But still the night-watch constant vigils keep,As long had been their custom on the deep.
Now did the moon in purest lustre rise
On Neptune's silvery waves her beams to pour,
With stars attendant glittered all the skies,
E'en like a meadow daisy-spangled o'er;
The fury of the winds all peaceful lies
In the dark caverns close along the shore,
But still the night-watch constant vigils keep,
As long had been their custom on the deep.
To tell thee of the dangers of the seaAt length, which human understanding scare,Thunder-storms, sudden, dreadful in degree,Lightnings, which seem to set on fire the air,Dark floods of rain, nights of obscurity,Rollings of thunder which the world would tear,Were not less labour than a great mistake,E'en if I had an iron voice to speak.
To tell thee of the dangers of the sea
At length, which human understanding scare,
Thunder-storms, sudden, dreadful in degree,
Lightnings, which seem to set on fire the air,
Dark floods of rain, nights of obscurity,
Rollings of thunder which the world would tear,
Were not less labour than a great mistake,
E'en if I had an iron voice to speak.
He describes the electric fires of St Elmo and the gradual development of the waterspout:
I saw, and clearly saw, the living lightWhich sailors everywhere as sacred holdIn time of storm and crossing winds that fight,Of tempest dark and desperation cold;Nor less it was to all a marvel quite,And matter surely to alarm the bold,To observe the sea-clouds, with a tube immense,Suck water up from Ocean's deep expanse....A fume or vapour thin and subtle rose,And by the wind begin revolving there;Thence to the topmost clouds a tube it throws,But of a substance so exceeding rare....But when it was quite gorged it then withdrewThe foot that on the sea beneath had grown,And o'er the heavens in fine it raining flew,The jacent waters watering with its own.
I saw, and clearly saw, the living light
Which sailors everywhere as sacred hold
In time of storm and crossing winds that fight,
Of tempest dark and desperation cold;
Nor less it was to all a marvel quite,
And matter surely to alarm the bold,
To observe the sea-clouds, with a tube immense,
Suck water up from Ocean's deep expanse....
A fume or vapour thin and subtle rose,
And by the wind begin revolving there;
Thence to the topmost clouds a tube it throws,
But of a substance so exceeding rare....
But when it was quite gorged it then withdrew
The foot that on the sea beneath had grown,
And o'er the heavens in fine it raining flew,
The jacent waters watering with its own.
The storm at sea reminds us of Æschylus in splendour:
The winds were such, that scarcely could they shewWith greater force or greater rage around,Than if it were this purpose then to blowThe mighty tower of Babel to the ground....Now rising to the clouds they seem to goO'er the wild waves of Neptune borne on end;Now to the bowels of the deep below;It seems to all their senses, they descend;Notus and Auster, Boreas, Aquila,The very world's machinery would rend;While flashings fire the black and ugly nightAnd shed from pole to pole a dazzling light....But now the star of love beamed forth its ray,Before the sun, upon the horizon clear,And visited, as messenger of day,The earth and spreading sea, with brow to cheer....
The winds were such, that scarcely could they shew
With greater force or greater rage around,
Than if it were this purpose then to blow
The mighty tower of Babel to the ground....
Now rising to the clouds they seem to go
O'er the wild waves of Neptune borne on end;
Now to the bowels of the deep below;
It seems to all their senses, they descend;
Notus and Auster, Boreas, Aquila,
The very world's machinery would rend;
While flashings fire the black and ugly night
And shed from pole to pole a dazzling light....
But now the star of love beamed forth its ray,
Before the sun, upon the horizon clear,
And visited, as messenger of day,
The earth and spreading sea, with brow to cheer....
And, as it subsides:
The mountains that we saw at first appeared,In the far view, like clouds and nothing more.
The mountains that we saw at first appeared,
In the far view, like clouds and nothing more.
Off the coast of India:
Now o'er the hills broke forth the morning lightWhere Ganges' stream is murmuring heard to flow,Free from the storm and from the first sea's fight,Vain terror from their hearts is banished now.
Now o'er the hills broke forth the morning light
Where Ganges' stream is murmuring heard to flow,
Free from the storm and from the first sea's fight,
Vain terror from their hearts is banished now.
His magic island, the Ilha of Venus, could only have been imagined by a poet who had travelled widely. All the delights of the New World are there, with the vegetation of Southern Europe added. It is a poet's triumphant rendering of impressions which the discoverers so often felt their inability to convey:
From far they saw the island fresh and fair,Which Venus o'er the waters guiding drove(E'en as the wind the canvas white doth bear)....Where the coast forms a bay for resting-place,Curved and all quiet, and whose shining sandIs painted with red shells by Venus' hand....Three beauteous mounts rise nobly to the view,Lifting with graceful pride their sweeling head,O'er which enamelled grass adorning grew.In this delightful lovely island glad,Bright limpid streams their rushing waters threwFrom heights with rich luxuriant verdure clad,'Midst the white rocks above, their source derive,The streams sonorous, sweet, and fugitive....A thousand trees toward heaven their summits raise,With fruits odoriferous and fair;The orange in its produce bright displaysThe tint that Daphne carried in her hair;The citron on the ground its branches lays,Laden with yellow weights it cannot bear;The beauteous melons, which the whole perfumeThe virgin bosom in their form assume.The forest trees, which on the hills combineTo ennoble them with leafy hair o'ergrown,Are poplars of Alcides; laurels shine,The which the shining God loved as his own;Myrtles of Cytherea with the pineOf Cybele, by other love o'erthrown;The spreading cypress tree points out where liesThe seat of the ethereal paradise....Pomegranates rubicund break forth and shine,A tint whereby thou, ruby, losest sheen.'Twixt the elm branches hangs the jocund vine,With branches some of red and some of green....Then the refined and splendid tapestry,Covering the rustic ground beneath the feet,Makes that of Achemeina dull to be,But makes the shady valley far more sweet.Cephisian flowers with head inclined we seeAbout the calm and lucid lake's retreat....'Twas difficult to fancy which was true,Seeing on heaven and earth all tints the same,If fair Aurora gave the flowers their time,Or from the lovely flowers to her it came;Flora and Zephyr there in painting drewThe violets tinted, as of lovers' flame,The iris, and the rose all fair and freshE'en as it doth on cheek of maiden blush....Along the water sings the snow-white swan,While from the branch respondeth Philomel....Here, in its bill, to the dear nest, with care,The rapid little bird the food doth bear.
From far they saw the island fresh and fair,
Which Venus o'er the waters guiding drove
(E'en as the wind the canvas white doth bear)....
Where the coast forms a bay for resting-place,
Curved and all quiet, and whose shining sand
Is painted with red shells by Venus' hand....
Three beauteous mounts rise nobly to the view,
Lifting with graceful pride their sweeling head,
O'er which enamelled grass adorning grew.
In this delightful lovely island glad,
Bright limpid streams their rushing waters threw
From heights with rich luxuriant verdure clad,
'Midst the white rocks above, their source derive,
The streams sonorous, sweet, and fugitive....
A thousand trees toward heaven their summits raise,
With fruits odoriferous and fair;
The orange in its produce bright displays
The tint that Daphne carried in her hair;
The citron on the ground its branches lays,
Laden with yellow weights it cannot bear;
The beauteous melons, which the whole perfume
The virgin bosom in their form assume.
The forest trees, which on the hills combine
To ennoble them with leafy hair o'ergrown,
Are poplars of Alcides; laurels shine,
The which the shining God loved as his own;
Myrtles of Cytherea with the pine
Of Cybele, by other love o'erthrown;
The spreading cypress tree points out where lies
The seat of the ethereal paradise....
Pomegranates rubicund break forth and shine,
A tint whereby thou, ruby, losest sheen.
'Twixt the elm branches hangs the jocund vine,
With branches some of red and some of green....
Then the refined and splendid tapestry,
Covering the rustic ground beneath the feet,
Makes that of Achemeina dull to be,
But makes the shady valley far more sweet.
Cephisian flowers with head inclined we see
About the calm and lucid lake's retreat....
'Twas difficult to fancy which was true,
Seeing on heaven and earth all tints the same,
If fair Aurora gave the flowers their time,
Or from the lovely flowers to her it came;
Flora and Zephyr there in painting drew
The violets tinted, as of lovers' flame,
The iris, and the rose all fair and fresh
E'en as it doth on cheek of maiden blush....
Along the water sings the snow-white swan,
While from the branch respondeth Philomel....
Here, in its bill, to the dear nest, with care,
The rapid little bird the food doth bear.
Subjective feeling for Nature is better displayed in the lyric than the epic.
The Spaniard, Fray Luis de Leon, was a typical example of a sixteenth-century lyrist; full of mild enthusiasm for Nature, the theosophico-mystical attitude of the Catholic.
A most fervid feeling for Nature from the religious side breathed in St Francis of Assisi--the feeling which inspired his hymn to Brother Sun (Cantico del Sole), and led his brother Egidio, intoxicated with love to his Creator, to kiss trees and rocks and weep over them[12]:
Praised by His creatures all,Praised be the Lord my GodBy Messer Sun, my brother above all,Who by his rays lights us and lights the day--Radiant is she, with his great splendour stored,Thy glory, Lord, confessing.By Sister Moon and Stars my Lord is praised,Where clear and fair they in the heavens are raisedBy Brother Wind, etc....
Praised by His creatures all,
Praised be the Lord my God
By Messer Sun, my brother above all,
Who by his rays lights us and lights the day--
Radiant is she, with his great splendour stored,
Thy glory, Lord, confessing.
By Sister Moon and Stars my Lord is praised,
Where clear and fair they in the heavens are raised
By Brother Wind, etc....
His follower, Bonaventura, too, in his verses counted--
The smallest creatures his brothers and sisters, and called upon crops, vineyards, trees, flowers, and stars to praise God.
The smallest creatures his brothers and sisters, and called upon crops, vineyards, trees, flowers, and stars to praise God.
Bernard von Clairvaux made it a principle 'to learn from the earth, trees, corn, flowers, and grass'; and he wrote in his letter to Heinrich Murdach (Letter 106):
Believe me, I have proved it; you will find more in the woods than in books; trees and stones will teach you what no other teacher can.
Believe me, I have proved it; you will find more in the woods than in books; trees and stones will teach you what no other teacher can.
He looked upon all natural objects as 'rays of the Godhead,' copies of a great original.
His contemporary, Hugo von St Victor, wrote:
The whole visible world is like a book written by the finger of God. It is created by divine power, and all human beings are figures placed in it, not to shew the free-will of man, but as a revelation and visible sign, by divine will, of God's invisible wisdom. Butas one who only glances at an open book sees marks on it, but does not read the letters, so the wicked and sensual man, in whom the spirit of God is not, sees only the outer surface of visible beings and not their deeper parts.
The whole visible world is like a book written by the finger of God. It is created by divine power, and all human beings are figures placed in it, not to shew the free-will of man, but as a revelation and visible sign, by divine will, of God's invisible wisdom. Butas one who only glances at an open book sees marks on it, but does not read the letters, so the wicked and sensual man, in whom the spirit of God is not, sees only the outer surface of visible beings and not their deeper parts.
German mystics wrote in the same strain; for instance, the popular Franciscan preacher, Berthold von Regensburg (1272),
Whose sermons on fields and meadows drew many thousands of hearers, and moved them partly by the unusual freshness and vitality of his pious feeling for Nature,
Whose sermons on fields and meadows drew many thousands of hearers, and moved them partly by the unusual freshness and vitality of his pious feeling for Nature,
in spite of many florid symbolical accessories, such as we find again in Ekkehart and other fifteenth-century mystics, and especially in Tauler, Suso, and Ruysbroek.
The northern prophetess and foundress of an Order Birgitta (1373) held that the breath of the Creator was in all visible things: 'We feel it pervading us in her visions,' says Hammerich,[13]
Whether by gurgling brook or snow-covered firs. It is with us when the prophetess leads us along the ridges of the Swedish coast with their surging waves or down the shaft of a mine, or to wander in the quiet of evening through vineyards between roses and lilies, while the dew is falling and the bells ring out the Ave Maria.
Whether by gurgling brook or snow-covered firs. It is with us when the prophetess leads us along the ridges of the Swedish coast with their surging waves or down the shaft of a mine, or to wander in the quiet of evening through vineyards between roses and lilies, while the dew is falling and the bells ring out the Ave Maria.
Vincentius von Beauvais (1264) in hisSpeculum Naturædemonstrates the value of studying Nature from a religious and moral point of view; and the Carthusian general, Dionysius von Rickel (1471), in his paperOn the beauty of the world and the glory of God (De venustate mundi et de pulchritudine Dei)says in Chapter xxii.: 'All the beauty of the animal world is nothing but the reflection and out-flow of the original beauty of God,' and gives as special examples:
Roses, lilies, and other beautiful and fragrant flowers, shady woods, pine trees, pleasant meadows,high, mountains, springs, streams and rivers, and the broad arm of the immeasurable sea ... and above all shine the stars, completing their course in the clear sky in wonderful splendour and majestic order.
Roses, lilies, and other beautiful and fragrant flowers, shady woods, pine trees, pleasant meadows,high, mountains, springs, streams and rivers, and the broad arm of the immeasurable sea ... and above all shine the stars, completing their course in the clear sky in wonderful splendour and majestic order.
Raymundus von Sabieude, a Spaniard, who studied medicine and philosophy at Toulouse, and wrote hisTheologia Naturalisin 1436, considered Nature, like Thomas Aquinas, from a mystical and scholastic point of view, as made up of living beings in a graduated scale from the lowest to the highest; and he lauded her in terms which even Pope Clement VII. thought exaggerated. Piety in him went hand in hand with a natural philosophy like Bacon's, and his interest in Nature was rather a matter of intellect than feeling.
God has given us two books--the book of all living beings, or Nature, and the Holy Scriptures. The first was given to man from the beginning when all things were created, for each living being is but a letter of the alphabet written by the finger of God, and the book is composed of them all together as a book is of letters ... man is the capital letter of this book. This book is not like the other, falsified and spoilt, but familiar and intelligible; it makes man joyous and humble and obedient, a hater of evil and a lover of virtue.
God has given us two books--the book of all living beings, or Nature, and the Holy Scriptures. The first was given to man from the beginning when all things were created, for each living being is but a letter of the alphabet written by the finger of God, and the book is composed of them all together as a book is of letters ... man is the capital letter of this book. This book is not like the other, falsified and spoilt, but familiar and intelligible; it makes man joyous and humble and obedient, a hater of evil and a lover of virtue.
Among the savants of the Renaissance who applied the inductive method to Nature before Bacon,[14]we must include the thoughtful and pious Spaniard Luis Vives (1540), who wrote concerning the useless speculations of alchemists and astrologers about occult things: 'It is not arguing that is needed here, but silent observation of Nature.' Knowledge of Nature, he said, would serve both body and soul.
The tender religious lyrics of the mystic, Luis de Leon, followed next.[16]His life (1521-1591) brings us up to the days of the Inquisition. He himself, an excellent teacher and man of science, was imprisoned for years for opinions too openly expressed in his writings; but with all his varied fortunes he neverlost his innate manliness and tenderness. His biographer tells us, that as soon as the holidays began, he would hurry away from the gloomy lecture rooms and the noisy students at Salamanca, to the country, where he had taken an estate belonging to a monastery at the foot of a hill by a river, with a little island close by.
It had a large uncultivated garden, made beautiful by fine old trees, with paths among the vines and a stream running through it to the river, and a long avenue of poplars whose rustle blended with the noise of the mill-wheel. Beyond was a view of fields. Leon would sit for hours here undisturbed, dipping his feet in the brook under a poplar--the tree which was reputed to flourish on sand alone and give shelter to all the birds under heaven--while the rustle of the leaves sang his melancholy to sleep. His biographer goes on to say that he had the Spaniard's special delight in Nature, and understood her language and her secrets; and the veiled splendour of her tones, colours, and forms could move him to tears. As he sat there gazing at the clouds, he felt lifted up in heart by the insignificance of all things in comparison with the spirit of man.
In the pitching and tossing of his 'ships of thought' he never lost the consciousness of Nature's beauty, and would pray the clouds to carry his sighs with them in their tranquil course through heaven. He loved the sunrise, birds, flowers, bees, fishes; nothing was meaningless to him; all things were letters in a divine alphabet, which might bring him a message from above. Nature was symbolic; the glow of dawn meant the glow of divine love; a wide view, true freedom; rays of sunshine, rays of divine glory; the setting sun, eternal light; stars, flowers of light in an everlasting spring.
His love for the country, especially for its peacefulness, was free from the folly and excess of the pastoral poetry of his day. He did not paint Natureentirely for her own sake; man was always her master[15]in his poems, and he sometimes, very finely, introduced himself and his affairs at the close, and represented Nature as addressing himself.
His descriptions are short, and he often tries to represent sounds onomato-poetically.
This is from his ode,Quiet Life[17]:
O happy he who fliesFar from the noisy world away--Who with the worthy and the wiseHath chosen the narrow way.The silence of the secret roadThat leads the soul to virtue and to God!...O streams, and shades, and hills on high,Unto the stillness of your breastMy wounded spirit longs to fly--To fly and be at rest.Thus from the world's tempestuous sea,O gentle Nature, do I turn to thee....A garden by the mountain sideIs mine, whose flowery blossomingShews, even in spring's luxuriant pride,What Autumn's suns shall bring:And from mountain's lofty crownA clear and sparkling rill comes tumbling down;Then, pausing in its downward forceThe venerable trees among,It gurgles on its winding course;And, as it glides along,Gives freshness to the day and pranksWith ever changing flowers its mossy banks.The whisper of the balmy breezeScatters a thousand sweets around,And sweeps in music through the treesWith an enchanting soundThat laps the soul in calm delightWhere crowns and kingdoms are forgotten quite.
O happy he who flies
Far from the noisy world away--
Who with the worthy and the wise
Hath chosen the narrow way.
The silence of the secret road
That leads the soul to virtue and to God!...
O streams, and shades, and hills on high,
Unto the stillness of your breast
My wounded spirit longs to fly--
To fly and be at rest.
Thus from the world's tempestuous sea,
O gentle Nature, do I turn to thee....
A garden by the mountain side
Is mine, whose flowery blossoming
Shews, even in spring's luxuriant pride,
What Autumn's suns shall bring:
And from mountain's lofty crown
A clear and sparkling rill comes tumbling down;
Then, pausing in its downward force
The venerable trees among,
It gurgles on its winding course;
And, as it glides along,
Gives freshness to the day and pranks
With ever changing flowers its mossy banks.
The whisper of the balmy breeze
Scatters a thousand sweets around,
And sweeps in music through the trees
With an enchanting sound
That laps the soul in calm delight
Where crowns and kingdoms are forgotten quite.
The poem,The Starry Sky,[18]is full of lofty enthusiasm for Nature and piety:
When yonder glorious skyLighted with million lamps I contemplate,And turn my dazzled eyeTo this vain mortal stateAll mean and visionary, mean and desolate,A mingled joy and griefFills all my soul with dark solicitude....List to the concert pureOf yon harmonious countless worlds of light.See, in his orbit sureEach takes his journey bright,Led by an unseen hand through the vast maze of night.See how the pale moon rollsHer silver wheel....See Saturn, father of the golden hours,While round him, bright and blest,The whole empyrean showersIts glorious streams of light on this low world of ours.But who to these can turnAnd weigh them 'gainst a weeping world like this,Nor feel his spirit burnTo grasp so sweet a blissAnd mourn that exile hard which here his portion is?For there, and there alone,Are peace and joy and never dying love:Day that shall never cease,No night there threatening,No winter there to chill joy's ever-during spring.Ye fields of changeless greenCovered with living streams and fadeless flowers;Thou paradise serene,Eternal joyful hoursThy disembodied soul shall welcome in thy towers!
When yonder glorious sky
Lighted with million lamps I contemplate,
And turn my dazzled eye
To this vain mortal state
All mean and visionary, mean and desolate,
A mingled joy and grief
Fills all my soul with dark solicitude....
List to the concert pure
Of yon harmonious countless worlds of light.
See, in his orbit sure
Each takes his journey bright,
Led by an unseen hand through the vast maze of night.
See how the pale moon rolls
Her silver wheel....
See Saturn, father of the golden hours,
While round him, bright and blest,
The whole empyrean showers
Its glorious streams of light on this low world of ours.
But who to these can turn
And weigh them 'gainst a weeping world like this,
Nor feel his spirit burn
To grasp so sweet a bliss
And mourn that exile hard which here his portion is?
For there, and there alone,
Are peace and joy and never dying love:
Day that shall never cease,
No night there threatening,
No winter there to chill joy's ever-during spring.
Ye fields of changeless green
Covered with living streams and fadeless flowers;
Thou paradise serene,
Eternal joyful hours
Thy disembodied soul shall welcome in thy towers!
It was chiefly in Spanish literature at this time that Nature was used allegorically. Tieck[19]says: 'In Calderon's poetry, and that of his contemporaries, we often find, in romances and song-like metres, most charming descriptions of the sea, mountains, gardens, and woody valleys, but almost always used allegorically, and with an artistic polish which ends by giving us, not so much a real impression of Nature, as one of clever description in musical verse, repeated again and again with slight variations.' This is true of Leon, but far more of Calderon, since it belongs to the very essence of drama. But, despite his passion for description and his Catholic and conventional tone, there is inexhaustible fancy,splendid colour, and a modern element of individuality in his poems. His heroes are conscious of their own ego, feel themselves to be 'a miniature world,' and search out their own feelings 'in the wild waves of emotion' (as Aurelian, for example, inZenobia).
Fernando says inThe Constant Prince:
These flowers awoke in beauty and delightAt early dawn, when stars began to set;At eve they leave us but a fond regret,Locked in the cold embraces of the night.These shades that shame the rainbow's arch of light.Where gold and snow in purple pomp are met,All give a warning man should not forget,When one brief day can darken things so bright.'Tis but to wither that the roses bloom--'Tis to grow old they bear their beauteous flowers,One crimson bud their cradle and their tomb.Such are man's fortunes in this world of ours;They live, they die; one day doth end their doom,For ages past but seem to us like hours.
These flowers awoke in beauty and delight
At early dawn, when stars began to set;
At eve they leave us but a fond regret,
Locked in the cold embraces of the night.
These shades that shame the rainbow's arch of light.
Where gold and snow in purple pomp are met,
All give a warning man should not forget,
When one brief day can darken things so bright.
'Tis but to wither that the roses bloom--
'Tis to grow old they bear their beauteous flowers,
One crimson bud their cradle and their tomb.
Such are man's fortunes in this world of ours;
They live, they die; one day doth end their doom,
For ages past but seem to us like hours.
The warning which Zenobia gives her captor in his hour of triumph to beware of sudden reverses of fortune is finely conceived:
Morn comes forth with rays to crown her,While the sun afar is spreadingGolden cloths most finely wovenAll to dry her tear-drops purely.Up to noon he climbs, then straightwaySinks, and then dark night makes readyFor the burial of the seaCanopies of black outstretching--Tall ships fly on linen pinions,On with speed the breezes send it,Small the wide seas seem and straitened,To its quick flight onward tending.Yet one moment, yet one instant,And the tempest roars, uprearingWaves that might the stars extinguish,Lifted for that ship's o'erwhelming.Day, with fear, looks ever nightwards,Calms must storm await with trembling;Close behind the back of pleasureEvermore stalks sadness dreary.
Morn comes forth with rays to crown her,
While the sun afar is spreading
Golden cloths most finely woven
All to dry her tear-drops purely.
Up to noon he climbs, then straightway
Sinks, and then dark night makes ready
For the burial of the sea
Canopies of black outstretching--
Tall ships fly on linen pinions,
On with speed the breezes send it,
Small the wide seas seem and straitened,
To its quick flight onward tending.
Yet one moment, yet one instant,
And the tempest roars, uprearing
Waves that might the stars extinguish,
Lifted for that ship's o'erwhelming.
Day, with fear, looks ever nightwards,
Calms must storm await with trembling;
Close behind the back of pleasure
Evermore stalks sadness dreary.
InLife's a DreamPrince Sigismund, chained in a dark prison, says:
What sinned I more hereinThan others, who were also born?Born the bird was, yet with gayGala vesture, beauty's dower,Scarcely 'tis a winged flowerOr a richly plumaged spray,Ere the aerial halls of dayIt divideth rapidly,And no more will debtor beTo the nest it hates to quit;But, with more of soul than it,I am grudged its liberty.And the beast was born, whose skinScarce those beauteous spots and bars,Like to constellated stars,Doth from its greater painter winEre the instinct doth begin:Of its fierceness and its pride,And its lair on every side,It has measured far and nigh;While, with better instinct, IAm its liberty denied.Born the mute fish was also,Child of ooze and ocean weed;Scarce a finny bark of speedTo the surface brought, and lo!In vast circuits to and froMeasures it on every sideIts illimitable home;While, with greater will to roam,I that freedom am denied.Born the streamlet was, a snakeWhich unwinds the flowers among,Silver serpent, that not longMay to them sweet music make,Ere it quits the flowery brake,Onward hastening to the seaWith majestic course and free,Which the open plains supply;While, with more life gifted, IAm denied its liberty.
What sinned I more herein
Than others, who were also born?
Born the bird was, yet with gay
Gala vesture, beauty's dower,
Scarcely 'tis a winged flower
Or a richly plumaged spray,
Ere the aerial halls of day
It divideth rapidly,
And no more will debtor be
To the nest it hates to quit;
But, with more of soul than it,
I am grudged its liberty.
And the beast was born, whose skin
Scarce those beauteous spots and bars,
Like to constellated stars,
Doth from its greater painter win
Ere the instinct doth begin:
Of its fierceness and its pride,
And its lair on every side,
It has measured far and nigh;
While, with better instinct, I
Am its liberty denied.
Born the mute fish was also,
Child of ooze and ocean weed;
Scarce a finny bark of speed
To the surface brought, and lo!
In vast circuits to and fro
Measures it on every side
Its illimitable home;
While, with greater will to roam,
I that freedom am denied.
Born the streamlet was, a snake
Which unwinds the flowers among,
Silver serpent, that not long
May to them sweet music make,
Ere it quits the flowery brake,
Onward hastening to the sea
With majestic course and free,
Which the open plains supply;
While, with more life gifted, I
Am denied its liberty.
In Act II. Clotardo tells how he has talked to the young prince, brought up in solitude and confinement:
There I spoke with him awhileOf the human arts and letters,Which the still and silent aspectOf the mountains and the heavensHim have taught--that school divineWhere he has been long a learner,And the voices of the birdsAnd the beasts has apprehended.
There I spoke with him awhile
Of the human arts and letters,
Which the still and silent aspect
Of the mountains and the heavens
Him have taught--that school divine
Where he has been long a learner,
And the voices of the birds
And the beasts has apprehended.
Descriptions of time and place are very rich in colour.
One morning on the ocean,When the half-awakened sun,Trampling down the lingering shadowsOf the western vapours dun,Spread its ruby-tinted tressesOver jessamine and rose,Dried with cloths of gold Aurora'sTears of mingled fire and snowsWhich to pearl his glance converted.Since these gardens cannot stealAway your oft returning woes,Though to beauteous spring they buildSnow-white jasmine temples filledWith radiant statues of the rose;Come into the sea and makeThy bark the chariot of the sun,And when the golden splendours runAthwart the waves, along thy wakeThe garden to the sea will say(By melancholy fears deprest)--'The sun already gilds the west,How very short has been this day.'
One morning on the ocean,When the half-awakened sun,Trampling down the lingering shadowsOf the western vapours dun,Spread its ruby-tinted tressesOver jessamine and rose,Dried with cloths of gold Aurora'sTears of mingled fire and snowsWhich to pearl his glance converted.
One morning on the ocean,
When the half-awakened sun,
Trampling down the lingering shadows
Of the western vapours dun,
Spread its ruby-tinted tresses
Over jessamine and rose,
Dried with cloths of gold Aurora's
Tears of mingled fire and snows
Which to pearl his glance converted.
Since these gardens cannot stealAway your oft returning woes,Though to beauteous spring they buildSnow-white jasmine temples filledWith radiant statues of the rose;Come into the sea and makeThy bark the chariot of the sun,And when the golden splendours runAthwart the waves, along thy wakeThe garden to the sea will say(By melancholy fears deprest)--'The sun already gilds the west,How very short has been this day.'
Since these gardens cannot steal
Away your oft returning woes,
Though to beauteous spring they build
Snow-white jasmine temples filled
With radiant statues of the rose;
Come into the sea and make
Thy bark the chariot of the sun,
And when the golden splendours run
Athwart the waves, along thy wake
The garden to the sea will say
(By melancholy fears deprest)--
'The sun already gilds the west,
How very short has been this day.'
There is a striking remark about a garden; Menon says:
A beautiful garden surrounded by wild forestIs the more beautiful the nearer it approaches its opposite.
A beautiful garden surrounded by wild forest
Is the more beautiful the nearer it approaches its opposite.
Splendour of colour was everything with Calderon, but it was splendour of so stiff and formal a kind, that, like the whole of his intensely severe, even inquisitorial outlook, it leaves us cold.
We must turn to Shakespeare to learn how stronglythe pulse of sympathy for Nature could beat in contemporary drama. Goethe said: 'In Calderon you have the wine as the last artificial result of the grape, but expressed into the goblet, highly spiced and sweetened, and so given you to drink; but in Shakespeare you have the whole natural process of its ripening besides, and the grapes themselves one by one, for your enjoyment, if you will.'
InWorship at the Crossthere is pious feeling for Nature and mystical feeling side by side with an obnoxious fanaticism, superstition, and other objectionable traits[20]; and mystical confessions of the same sort may be gathered in numbers from the works of contemporary monks and nuns. Even of such a fanatic and self-tormentor as the Spanish Franciscan Petrus von Alcantara (1562), his biographer says that despite his strict renunciation of the world, he retained a most warm and deep feeling for Nature.
'Whatever he saw of the outer world increased his devotion and gave it wings. The starry sky seen through his little monastery window, often kept him rapt in deep meditation for hours; often he was as if beside himself, so strong was his pious feeling when he saw the power and glory of God reflected in charming flowers and plants.'
When Gregorio Lopez (1596), a man who had studied many sides of Nature, was asked if so much knowledge confused him, he answered: 'I find God in all things, great and small.' Similar remarks are attributed to many others.
Next to Leon, as a poet in enthusiasm and mysticism, came St Teresa von Avila. She was especially notable for the ravishingly pretty pictures and comparisons she drew from Nature to explain the soul life of the Christian.[21]
In all these outpourings of mystic feeling for Nature, there was no interest in her entirely for her own sake; they were all more or less dictated byreligious feeling. It was in the later German and Italian mystics--for example, Bruno, Campanella, and Jacob Boehme--that a more subjective and individual point of view was attained through Pantheism and Protestantism.
The Protestant free-speaking Shakespeare shewed a far more intense feeling for Nature than the Catholic Calderon.
The poetry of India may serve as a measure of the part which Nature can play in drama; it is full of comparisons and personifications, and eloquent expressions of intimate sympathy with plants and animals. In Greek tragedy, Nature stepped into the background; metaphors, comparisons, and personifications are rarer; it was only by degrees, especially in Sophocles and Euripides, in the choruses and monologues, that man's interest in her appeared, and he began to greet the light or the sky, land or sea, to attribute love, pity, or hate to her, or find comfort in her lonely places. During the Middle Ages, drama lay fallow, and the blossoming period of French tragedy, educated to the pathos of Seneca, only produced cold declamation, frosty rhetoric; of any real sympathy between man and Nature there was no question.
Over this mediæval void Calderon was the bridge to Shakespeare.
Shakespeare reached the Greek standpoint and advanced far beyond it. He was not only the greatest dramatist of modern times as to human action, suffering, and character, but also a genius in the interpretation of Nature.[1]
In place of the narrow limits of the old dramatists, he had the wider and maturer modern vision, and, despite his mastery of language, he was free bothfrom the exaggeration and redundance of Oriental drama, and from the mere passion for describing, which so often carried Calderon away.
In him too, the subjectivity, which the Renaissance brought into modern art, was still more fully developed. His metaphors and comparisons shew this, and, most of all, the very perfect art with which he assigns Nature a part in the play, and makes her not only form the appropriate background, dark or bright as required, but exert a distinct influence upon human fate.
As Carrière points out:
At a period which had painting for its leading art, and was turning its attention to music, his mental accord produced effects in his works to which antiquity was a stranger.
At a period which had painting for its leading art, and was turning its attention to music, his mental accord produced effects in his works to which antiquity was a stranger.
Herder had already noted that Shakespeare gives colour and atmosphere where the Greek only gave outline. And although Shakespeare's outlines are drawn with more regard to fidelity than to actual beauty, yet, like a great painter, he brings all Nature into sympathy with man. We feel the ghostly shudder of the November night inHamlet, breathe the bracing Highland air inMacbeth, the air of the woods inAs You Like It; the storm on the heath roars through Lear's mad outburst, the nightingale sings in the pomegranate outside Julia's window.
'How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank,' when Love solves all differences in theMerchant of Venice! On the other hand, when Macbeth is meditating the murder of Duncan, the wolf howls, the owl hoots, and the cricket cries. And since Shakespeare's characters often act out of part, so that intelligible motive fails, while it is important to the poet that each scene be raised to dramatic level and viewed in a special light, Goethe's words apply:
Here everything which in a great world event passes secretly through the air, everything which at the verymoment of a terrible occurrence men hide away in their hearts, is expressed; that which they carefully shut up and lock away in their minds is here freely and eloquently brought to light; we recognize the truth to life, but know not how it is achieved.
Here everything which in a great world event passes secretly through the air, everything which at the verymoment of a terrible occurrence men hide away in their hearts, is expressed; that which they carefully shut up and lock away in their minds is here freely and eloquently brought to light; we recognize the truth to life, but know not how it is achieved.
Amorous passion in his hands is an interpreter of Nature; in one of his sonnets he compares it to an ocean which cannot quench thirst.
In Sonnet 130 he says:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips' red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dim;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks....And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rareAs any she belied by false compare.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dim;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks....
And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied by false compare.
His lady-love is a mirror in which the whole world is reflected:
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind....For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,The mountain or the sea, the day or night,The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature.(Sonnet 113.)When she leaves him it seems winter even in spring:'For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,And thou away, the very birds are mute.'(Sonnet 97.)
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind....For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,The mountain or the sea, the day or night,The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature.(Sonnet 113.)
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind....
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature.
(Sonnet 113.)
When she leaves him it seems winter even in spring:'For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,And thou away, the very birds are mute.'(Sonnet 97.)
When she leaves him it seems winter even in spring:
'For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute.'
(Sonnet 97.)
Here, as in the dramas,[2]contrasts in Nature are often used to point contrasts in life:
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shameWhich like a canker in the fragrant roseDoth spot the beauty of thy budding name!O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!(Sonnet 95.)
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which like a canker in the fragrant rose
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
(Sonnet 95.)
and
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done;Roses have thorns and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.(Sonnet 35.)
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done;
Roses have thorns and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
(Sonnet 35.)
In an opposite sense is Sonnet 70:
The ornament of beauty is suspectA crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air,For canker vice the sweetest buds did love,And thou presentest a pure unstained prime.
The ornament of beauty is suspect
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air,
For canker vice the sweetest buds did love,
And thou presentest a pure unstained prime.
Sonnet 7 has:
Lo! in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burning head, each under eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,Serving with looks his sacred majesty.
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty.
Sonnet 18:
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate,Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date--But thy eternal summer shall not fade,Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou growest:So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate,
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date--
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet 60:
Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end;Each changing place with that which goes before,In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Sonnet 73:
That time of life thou mayst in me behold,When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sangIn me thou see'st the twilight of such dayAs after sunset fadeth in the west,Which by-and-by black night doth take away,Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.In me thou see'st the glowing of such fireThat on the ashes of his youth doth lieAs the death-bed whereon it must expire,Consumed with that which it was nourished by.This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strongTo love that well which thou must leave ere long.
That time of life thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
There are no better similes for the oncoming of age and death, than the sere leaf trembling in the wind, the twilight of the setting sun, the expiring flame.
Almost all the comparisons from Nature in his plays are original, and rather keen and lightning-like than elaborate, often with the terseness of proverbs;
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle.(Henry V.)Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.(Henry VI.)The waters swell before a boisterous storm.(Richard III.)
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle.(Henry V.)
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle.
(Henry V.)
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.(Henry VI.)
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
(Henry VI.)
The waters swell before a boisterous storm.(Richard III.)
The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
(Richard III.)
Sometimes they are heaped up, like Calderon's, 'making it' (true love)
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,Brief as the lightning in the collied nightThat in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth,And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'The jaws of darkness do devour it up.(Midsummer Night's Dream.)
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night
That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up.
(Midsummer Night's Dream.)
Compared with Homer's they are very bold, and shew an astonishing play of imagination; in place of the naive simplicity and naturalness of antiquity, this modern genius gives us a dazzling display of wit and thought. To quote only short examples[3]:
'Open as day,' 'deaf as the sea,' 'poor as winter,''chaste as unsunn'd snow.'
'Open as day,' 'deaf as the sea,' 'poor as winter,'
'chaste as unsunn'd snow.'
He ranges all Nature. These are characteristic examples:
King Richard doth himself appearAs doth the blushing discontented sunFrom out the fiery portal of the east,When he perceives the envious clouds are bentTo dim his glory and to stain the trackOf his bright passage to the occident.(Richard II.)Since the more fair crystal is the sky,The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.As when the golden sun salutes the morn,And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coachAnd overlooks the highest peering hills,So Tamora.(Titus Andronicus.)As all the world is cheered by the sun,So I by that; it is my day, my life.(Richard III.)So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives notTo those fresh morning drops upon the rose,As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smoteThe night of dew that on my cheek down flows;Nor shines the silver moon one half so brightThrough the transparent bosom of the deep.As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;Thou shinest on every tear that I do weep.(Love's Labour's Lost.)
King Richard doth himself appearAs doth the blushing discontented sunFrom out the fiery portal of the east,When he perceives the envious clouds are bentTo dim his glory and to stain the trackOf his bright passage to the occident.(Richard II.)
King Richard doth himself appear
As doth the blushing discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east,
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the occident.
(Richard II.)
Since the more fair crystal is the sky,The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.As when the golden sun salutes the morn,And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coachAnd overlooks the highest peering hills,So Tamora.(Titus Andronicus.)
Since the more fair crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach
And overlooks the highest peering hills,
So Tamora.
(Titus Andronicus.)
As all the world is cheered by the sun,So I by that; it is my day, my life.(Richard III.)
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.
(Richard III.)
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives notTo those fresh morning drops upon the rose,As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smoteThe night of dew that on my cheek down flows;Nor shines the silver moon one half so brightThrough the transparent bosom of the deep.As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;Thou shinest on every tear that I do weep.(Love's Labour's Lost.)
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheek down flows;
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep.
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shinest on every tear that I do weep.
(Love's Labour's Lost.)
This is modern down to its finest detail, and much richer in individuality than the most famous comparisons of the same kind in antiquity.
Sea and stream are used:
Like an unseasonable stormy dayWhich makes the silver rivers drown their shoresAs if the world were all dissolved to tears,So high above his limits swells the rageOf Bolingbroke. (Richard II.)The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh on his pilgrimage;And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course. (Two Gentlemen of Verona.)Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?(Henry VI.)If there were reason for these miseries,Then into limits could I bind my woes;When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er-flow?If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?I am the sea: hark, how her sighs do blow!She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;Then must my earth with her continual tearsBecome a deluge, overflow'd and drowned.(Titus Andronicus.)This battle fares like to the morning's warWhen dying clouds contend with growing light,What time the shepherd blowing of his nailsCan neither call it perfect day nor night.Now sways it this way, like a mighty seaForced by the tide to combat with the wind;Now sways it that way, like the self-same seaForced to retire by fury of the wind.Sometime the flood prevails and then the wind:Now one the better, then another best;Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.So is the equal poise of this fell war.(Henry VI.)
Like an unseasonable stormy dayWhich makes the silver rivers drown their shoresAs if the world were all dissolved to tears,So high above his limits swells the rageOf Bolingbroke. (Richard II.)
Like an unseasonable stormy day
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores
As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke. (Richard II.)
The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh on his pilgrimage;And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course. (Two Gentlemen of Verona.)
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh on his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course. (Two Gentlemen of Verona.)
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?(Henry VI.)
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?
(Henry VI.)
If there were reason for these miseries,Then into limits could I bind my woes;When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er-flow?If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?I am the sea: hark, how her sighs do blow!She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;Then must my earth with her continual tearsBecome a deluge, overflow'd and drowned.(Titus Andronicus.)
If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes;
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er-flow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the sea: hark, how her sighs do blow!
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drowned.
(Titus Andronicus.)
This battle fares like to the morning's warWhen dying clouds contend with growing light,What time the shepherd blowing of his nailsCan neither call it perfect day nor night.Now sways it this way, like a mighty seaForced by the tide to combat with the wind;Now sways it that way, like the self-same seaForced to retire by fury of the wind.Sometime the flood prevails and then the wind:Now one the better, then another best;Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.So is the equal poise of this fell war.(Henry VI.)
This battle fares like to the morning's war
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd blowing of his nails
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind.
Sometime the flood prevails and then the wind:
Now one the better, then another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
(Henry VI.)
In the last five examples the epic treatment and the personifications are noteworthy.
Comparisons from animal life are forcible and striking: