Part 18

AUSONII. IDYLL VI.

CUPIDO [CRUCI AFFIXUS].

In those bless'd fields of everlasting air --Where to a myrtle grove the souls repair Of deceas'd lovers--the sad, thoughtful ghosts Of injur'd ladies meet, where each accosts The other with a sigh, whose very breath Would break a heart, and--kind souls--love in death. A thick wood clouds their walks, where day scarce peeps, And on each hand cypress and poppy sleeps; The drowsy rivers slumber, and springs there Blab not, but softly melt into a tear; A sickly dull air fans them, which can have, When most in force, scarce breath to build a wave. On either bank through the still shades appear A scene of pensive flow'rs, whose bosoms wear Drops of a lover's blood, the emblem'd truths Of deep despair, and love-slain kings and youths. The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd boy Narcissus flourish there, with Venus' joy, The spruce Adonis, and that prince whose flow'r Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this hour; All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve As if their passions in each leaf did live; And here--alas!--these soft-soul'd ladies stray, And--O! too late!--treason in love betray. Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats, And with her tears would quench the thund'rer's heats, Then shakes her bosom, as if fir'd again, And fears another lightning's flaming train. The lovely Procris here bleeds, sighs, and swoons, Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds. Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light Her lost Leander through the waves and night, Her boatman desp'rate Sappho still admires, And nothing but the sea can quench her fires. Distracted Phædra with a restless eye Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by. Rare, faithful Thisbe--sequest'red from these-- A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please; For her love's sake and last good-night poor she Walks in the shadow of a mulberry. Near her young Canace with Dido sits, A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits; Both di'd alike, both pierc'd their tender breasts, This with her father's sword, that with her guest's. Within the thickest textures of the grove Diana in her silver beams doth rove; Her crown of stars the pitchy air invades, And with a faint light gilds the silent shades, Whilst her sad thoughts, fix'd on her sleepy lover, To Latmos hill and his retirements move her. A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood Feast on their cares, the maudlin lover's food; For grief and absence do but edge desire, And death is fuel to a lover's fire. To see these trophies of his wanton bow, Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now-- Rash unadvisèd boy!--disperseth round The sleepy mists; his wings and quiver wound With noise the quiet air. This sudden stir Betrays his godship, and as we from far A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they Through the false mists his eclips'd torch betray. A hot pursuit they make, and, though with care And a slow wing, he softly stems the air, Yet they--as subtle now as he--surround His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound Surprise the wag. As in a dream we strive To voice our thoughts, and vainly would revive Our entranc'd tongues, but cannot speech enlarge, 'Till the soul wakes and reassumes her charge; So, joyous of their prize, they flock about And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout. Far in these shades and melancholy coasts A myrtle grows, well known to all the ghosts, Whose stretch'd top--like a great man rais'd by Fate-- Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate; His leafy arms into a green cloud twist, And on each branch doth sit a lazy mist, A fatal tree, and luckless to the gods, Where for disdain in life--Love's worst of odds-- The queen of shades, fair Proserpine, did rack The sad Adonis: hither now they pack This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind His skittish wings, then both his hands behind His back they tie, and thus secur'd at last, The peevish wanton to the tree make fast. Here at adventure, without judge or jury, He is condemn'd, while with united fury They all assail him. As a thief at bar Left to the law, and mercy of his star, Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there By all the men that have been robb'd that year; So now whatever Fate or their own will Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill. Their servant's falsehood, jealousy, disdain, And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign, Are laid on him, and then to heighten spleen, Their own deaths crown the sum. Press'd thus between His fair accusers, 'tis at last decreed He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed. One grasps an airy sword, a second holds Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds Belies a flame; others, less kind, appear To let him blood, and from the purple tear Create a rose. But Sappho all this while Harvests the air, and from a thicken'd pile Of clouds like Leucas top spreads underneath A sea of mists; the peaceful billows breathe Without all noise, yet so exactly move They seem to chide, but distant from above Reach not the ear, and--thus prepar'd--at once She doth o'erwhelm him with the airy sconce. Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they, Venus steps in, and without thought or stay Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast Into the bill, when Mars and she made fast In their embraces were expos'd to all The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall. Nor serves a verbal penance, but with haste From her fair brow--O happy flow'rs so plac'd!-- She tears a rosy garland, and with this Whips the untoward boy; they gently kiss His snowy skin, but she with angry haste Doubles her strength, until bedew'd at last With a thin bloody sweat, their innate red, --As if griev'd with the act--grew pale and dead. This laid their spleen; and now--kind souls--no more They'll punish him; the torture that he bore Seems greater than his crime; with joint consent Fate is made guilty, and he innocent. As in a dream with dangers we contest, And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest, So, frighted only in these shades of night, Cupid--got loose--stole to the upper light, Where ever since--for malice unto these-- The spiteful ape doth either sex displease. But O! that had these ladies been so wise To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!

BOET[HIUS, DE CONSOLATIONE]

LIB. I. METRUM I.

I whose first year flourish'd with youthful verse, In slow, sad numbers now my grief rehearse. A broken style my sickly lines afford, And only tears give weight unto my words. Yet neither fate nor force my Muse could fright, The only faithful consort of my flight. Thus what was once my green years' greatest glory, Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoary; For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on, That grief might find a fitting mansion; O'er my young head runs an untimely grey, And my loose skin shrinks at my blood's decay. Happy the man, whose death in prosp'rous years Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears! But O! how deaf is she to hear the cry Of th' oppress'd soul, or shut the weeping eye! While treach'rous Fortune with slight honours fed My first estate, she almost drown'd my head, And now since--clouded thus--she hides those rays, Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my days. Why then, my friends, judg'd you my state so good? He that may fall once, never firmly stood.

METRUM II.

O in what haste, with clouds and night Eclips'd, and having lost her light, The dull soul whom distraction rends Into outward darkness tends! How often--by these mists made blind-- Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind! This soul, sometimes wont to survey The spangled Zodiac's fiery way, Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd, With the cool moon's unstable crest, And whatsoever wanton star, In various courses near or far, Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well Track all her journey, and would tell Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall, By curious calculation all. Of sudden winds the hidden cause, And why the calm sea's quiet face With impetuous waves is curl'd, What spirit wheels th' harmonious world, Or why a star dropp'd in the west Is seen to rise again by east, Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours, Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs, Or how it comes--for man's recruit-- That Autumn yields both grape and fruit, With many other secrets, he Could show the cause and mystery. But now that light is almost out, And the brave soul lies chain'd about With outward cares, whose pensive weight Sinks down her eyes from their first height. And clean contrary to her birth Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.

METRUM IV.

Whose calm soul in a settled state Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate, And in his fortunes, bad or good, Keeps the same temper in his blood; Not him the flaming clouds above, Nor Ætna's fiery tempests move; No fretting seas from shore to shore, Boiling with indignation o'er, Nor burning thunderbolt that can A mountain shake, can stir this man. Dull cowards then! why should we start To see these tyrants act their part? Nor hope, nor fear what may befall, And you disarm their malice all. But who doth faintly fear or wish, And sets no law to what is his, Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!-- Makes up a chain to bind himself.

METRUM V.

O Thou great builder of this starry frame, Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame The rapid spheres, and lest they jar Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star. Thou art the cause that now the moon With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon Again grows dark, her light being done, The nearer still she's to the sun. Thou in the early hours of night Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright, And at sun-rising--'cause the least-- Look pale and sleepy in the east. Thou, when the leaves in winter stray, Appoint'st the sun a shorter way, And in the pleasant summer light, With nimble hours dost wing the night. Thy hand the various year quite through Discreetly tempers, that what now The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree In spring again restor'd we see. Then what the winter stars between The furrows in mere seed have seen, The dog-star since--grown up and born-- Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn. Thus by creation's law controll'd All things their proper stations hold, Observing--as Thou didst intend-- Why they were made, and for what end. Only human actions Thou Hast no care of, but to the flow And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all. Hence th' innocent endures that thrall Due to the wicked; whilst alone They sit possessors of his throne. The just are kill'd, and virtue lies Buried in obscurities; And--which of all things is most sad-- The good man suffers by the bad. No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence Colour'd with holy, lying sense Can them annoy, but when they mind To try their force, which most men find, They from the highest sway of things Can pull down great and pious kings. O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd, Look on this miserable world, Whoe'er Thou art, that from above Dost in such order all things move! And let not man--of divine art Not the least, nor vilest part-- By casual evils thus bandied, be The sport of Fate's obliquity. But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven Settle this earth, and make them even.

METRUM VI.

When the Crab's fierce constellation Burns with the beams of the bright sun, Then he that will go out to sow, Shall never reap, where he did plough, But instead of corn may rather The old world's diet, acorns, gather. Who the violet doth love, Must seek her in the flow'ry grove, But never when the North's cold wind The russet fields with frost doth bind. If in the spring-time--to no end-- The tender vine for grapes we bend, We shall find none, for only--still-- Autumn doth the wine-press fill. Thus for all things--in the world's prime-- The wise God seal'd their proper time, Nor will permit those seasons, He Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be; Then whose wild actions out of season Cross to Nature, and her reason, Would by new ways old orders rend, Shall never find a happy end.

METRUM VII.

Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night, The stars cannot send forth their light. And if a sudden southern blast The sea in rolling waves doth cast, That angry element doth boil, And from the deep with stormy coil Spews up the sands, which in short space Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face. Then those calm waters, which but now Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow, And like transparent glass did lie Open to ev'ry searcher's eye, Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd-- Resist the sight, because bemir'd. So often from a high hill's brow Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow, And in a straight line keep her course, 'Till from a rock with headlong force Some broken piece blocks up the way, And forceth all her streams astray. Then thou that with enlighten'd rays Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways Keep without error; neither fear The future, nor too much give ear To present joys; and give no scope To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope. For when these rebels reign, the mind Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.

LIB. II. METRUM I.

Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils The state of things, and in tempestuous foils Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down With headlong force the highest monarch's crown, And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch: So jests at tears and miseries, is proud, And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud. These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive, And plagues man with her blind prerogative; Nor is't a favour of inferior strain, If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.

METRUM II.

If with an open, bounteous hand --Wholly left at man's command-- Fortune should in one rich flow As many heaps on him bestow Of massy gold, as there be sands Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands, Or bright stars in a winter night Decking their silent orbs with light; Yet would his lust know no restraints, Nor cease to weep in sad complaints. Though Heaven should his vows regard, And in a prodigal reward Return him all he could implore, Adding new honours to his store, Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight Lays out for more; what measure then Can tame these wild desires of men? Since all we give both last and first Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst. For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.

METRUM III.

When the sun from his rosy bed The dawning light begins to shed, The drowsy sky uncurtains round, And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd In one great light look dull and tame, And homage his victorious flame. Thus, when the warm Etesian wind The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind, Straight she her various store discloses, And purples every grove with roses; But if the South's tempestuous breath Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death. Oft in a quiet sky the deep With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep, And oft again the blust'ring North In angry heaps provokes them forth. If then this world, which holds all nations, Suffers itself such alterations, That not this mighty massy frame, Nor any part of it can claim One certain course, why should man prate, Or censure the designs of Fate? Why from frail honours, and goods lent Should he expect things permanent? Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree That nothing mortal shall eternal be.

METRUM IV.

Who wisely would for his retreat Build a secure and lasting seat, Where stov'd in silence he may sleep Beneath the wind, above the deep; Let him th' high hills leave on one hand, And on the other the false sand. The first to winds lies plain and even, From all the blust'ring points of heaven; The other, hollow and unsure, No weight of building will endure. Avoiding then the envied state Of buildings bravely situate, Remember thou thyself to lock Within some low neglected rock. There when fierce heaven in thunder chides, And winds and waves rage on all sides, Thou happy in the quiet sense Of thy poor cell, with small expense Shall lead a life serene and fair, And scorn the anger of the air.

METRUM V.

Happy that first white age! when we Lived by the Earth's mere charity. No soft luxurious diet then Had effeminated men, No other meat, nor wine had any Than the coarse mast, or simple honey, And by the parents' care laid up Cheap berries did the children sup. No pompous wear was in those days Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize, Their beds were on some flow'ry brink, And clear spring-water was their drink. The shady pine in the sun's heat Was their cool and known retreat, For then 'twas not cut down, but stood The youth and glory of the wood. The daring sailor with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves, Nor for desire of foreign store Seen any but his native shore. No stirring drum had scarr'd that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm blood soil'd the shining blade; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love, to public harm? When common justice none withstood, Nor sought rewards for spilling blood. O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days! But--worse than Ætna's fires!--debate And avarice inflame our State. Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought our pearls, and div'd to find Such precious perils for mankind!

METRUM VII.

He that thirsts for glory's prize, Thinking that the top of all, Let him view th' expansèd skies, And the earth's contracted ball; 'Twill shame him then: the name he wan Fills not the short walk of one man.