Part 19

O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate, Though Fame through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate, And with proud titles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.

There with nobles beggars sway, And kings with commons share one dust. What news of Brutus at this day, Or Fabricius the just? Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead, Keeps up the names, but they are dead.

So shall you one day--past reprieve-- Lie--perhaps--without a name. But if dead you think to live By this air of human fame, Know, when Time stops that posthume breath, You must endure a second death.

METRUM VIII.

That the world in constant force Varies her concordant course; That seeds jarring hot and cold Do the breed perpetual hold; That in his golden coach the sun Brings the rosy day still on; That the moon sways all those lights Which Hesper ushers to dark nights; That alternate tides be found The sea's ambitious waves to bound, Lest o'er the wide earth without end Their fluid empire should extend; All this frame of things that be, Love which rules heaven, land, and sea, Chains, keeps, orders as we see. This, if the reins he once cast by, All things that now by turns comply Would fall to discord, and this frame Which now by social faith they tame, And comely orders, in that fight And jar of things would perish quite. This in a holy league of peace Keeps king and people with increase; And in the sacred nuptial bands Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands; And this keeps firm without all doubt Friends by his bright instinct found out. O happy nation then were you, If love, which doth all things subdue, That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings Plenty and peace upon his wings, Might rule you too! and without guile Settle once more this floating isle!

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.

Almighty Spirit! Thou that by Set turns and changes from Thy high And glorious throne dost here below Rule all, and all things dost foreknow! Can those blind plots we here discuss Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us? When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow, And pour on earth, we flock and flow, With joyous strife and eager care, Struggling which shall have the best share In Thy rich gifts, just as we see Children about nuts disagree. Some that a crown have got and foil'd Break it; another sees it spoil'd Ere it is gotten. Thus the world Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd By factious hands. It is a ball Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all The sons of men. But, O good God! While these for dust fight, and a clod, Grant that poor I may smile, and be At rest and perfect peace with Thee!

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.

It would less vex distressèd man If Fortune in the same pace ran To ruin him, as he did rise. But highest States fall in a trice; No great success held ever long; A restless fate afflicts the throng Of kings and commons, and less days Serve to destroy them than to raise. Good luck smiles once an age, but bad Makes kingdoms in a minute sad, And ev'ry hour of life we drive, Hath o'er us a prerogative. Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n, And rash resents--to rail at heav'n; Leave an unmanly, weak complaint That death and fate have no restraint. In the same hour that gave thee breath, Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death, But he lives most who here will buy, With a few tears, eternity.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.

Let not thy youth and false delights Cheat thee of life; those heady flights But waste thy time, which posts away Like winds unseen, and swift as they. Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye With Time's breath will dissolve and fly; 'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass, It melts, breaks, and away doth pass. 'Tis like a rose which in the dawn The air with gentle breath doth fawn And whisper to, but in the hours Of night is sullied with smart showers. Life spent is wish'd for but in vain, Nor can past years come back again. Happy the man, who in this vale Redeems his time, shutting out all Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes Are ever pilgrims in the skies, That views his bright home, and desires To shine amongst those glorious fires!

CASIMIRUS, LYRIC LIB. III. ODE XXIII.

'Tis not rich furniture and gems, With cedar roofs and ancient stems, Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood Of gold, that makes man truly good. Leave to inquire in what fair fields A river runs which much gold yields; Virtue alone is the rich prize Can purchase stars, and buy the skies. Let others build with adamant, Or pillars of carv'd marble plant, Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell Far under earth, and near to hell. But richer much--from death releas'd-- Shines in the fresh groves of the East The phnix, or those fish that dwell With silver'd scales in Hiddekel. Let others with rare, various pearls Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls Bind up their locks, look big and high, And shine in robes of scarlet dye. But in my thoughts more glorious far Those native stars and speckles are Which birds wear, or the spots which we In leopards dispersèd see. The harmless sheep with her warm fleece Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees Shall find a wolf or fox within, That kills the castor for his skin. Virtue alone, and nought else can A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man; And on her wings above the spheres To the true light his spirit bears.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.

Nothing on earth, nothing at all Can be exempted from the thrall Of peevish weariness! The sun, Which our forefathers judg'd to run Clear and unspotted, in our days Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays. Whatever in the glorious sky Man sees, his rash audacious eye Dares censure it, and in mere spite At distance will condemn the light. The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear Those hills our fathers walk'd on here, We fancy not; nor the moon's light Which through their windows shin'd at night We change the air each year, and scorn Those seats in which we first were born. Some nice, affected wand'rers love Belgia's mild winters, others remove, For want of health and honesty, To summer it in Italy; But to no end; the disease still Sticks to his lord, and kindly will To Venice in a barge repair, Or coach it to Vienna's air; And then--too late with home content-- They leave this wilful banishment. But he, whose constancy makes sure His mind and mansion, lives secure From such vain tasks, can dine and sup Where his old parents bred him up. Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell In country shades, or to some cell Confines itself; and can alone Make simple straw a royal throne.

CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.

If weeping eyes could wash away Those evils they mourn for night and day, Then gladly I to cure my fears With my best jewels would buy tears. But as dew feeds the growing corn, So crosses that are grown forlorn Increase with grief, tears make tears' way, And cares kept up keep cares in pay. That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear, And melting still into a tear, She strikes more boldly, but a face Silent and dry doth her amaze. Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale Of what thou dost misfortunes call. What thou by weeping think'st to ease, Doth by that passion but increase; Hard things to soft will never yield, 'Tis the dry eye that wins the field; A noble patience quells the spite Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.

THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.] IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.

Flaccus, not so! that worldly he Whom in the country's shade we see Ploughing his own fields, seldom can Be justly styl'd the blessed man. That title only fits a saint, Whose free thoughts, far above restraint And weighty cares, can gladly part With house and lands, and leave the smart, Litigious troubles and loud strife Of this world for a better life. He fears no cold nor heat to blast His corn, for his accounts are cast; He sues no man, nor stands in awe Of the devouring courts of law; But all his time he spends in tears For the sins of his youthful years; Or having tasted those rich joys Of a conscience without noise, Sits in some fair shade, and doth give To his wild thoughts rules how to live. He in the evening, when on high The stars shine in the silent sky, Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth, And globes of light more large than Earth; Then weeps for joy, and through his tears Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres, Where with his Saviour he would be Lifted above mortality. Meanwhile the golden stars do set, And the slow pilgrim leave all wet With his own tears, which flow so fast They make his sleeps light, and soon past. By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd Breaks in fresh blushes from the East, When, mindful of his former falls, With strong cries to his God he calls, And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move That He turns anger into love. In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears, And feeds on April's breath and tears, His eyes, accustom'd to the skies, Find here fresh objects, and like spies Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs, Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs, Where he in veils and shades doth see The back parts of the Deity. Then sadly sighing says, "O! how These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow And strive for heav'n, but rooted here Lament the distance with a tear! The honeysuckles clad in white, The rose in red, point to the light; And the lilies, hollow and bleak, Look as if they would something speak; They sigh at night to each soft gale, And at the day-spring weep it all. Shall I then only--wretched I!-- Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?" Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees, And many sad soliloquies To springs and fountains doth impart, Seeking God with a longing heart. But if to ease his busy breast He thinks of home, and taking rest, A rural cot and common fare Are all his cordials against care. There at the door of his low cell, Under some shade, or near some well Where the cool poplar grows, his plate Of common earth without more state Expect their lord. Salt in a shell, Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell No tales, a hospitable cup, With some fresh berries, do make up His healthful feast; nor doth he wish For the fat carp, or a rare dish Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist Or pigeon sometimes--if he list-- With the slow goose that loves the stream, Fresh, various salads, and the bean By curious palates never sought, And, to close with, some cheap unbought Dish for digestion, are the most And choicest dainties he can boast. Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves Or pleasant rivers he removes, Where near some fair oak, hung with mast, He shuns the South's infectious blast. On shady banks sometimes he lies, Sometimes the open current tries, Where with his line and feather'd fly He sports, and takes the scaly fry. Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill Doth ring with lowings long and shrill, And shady lakes with rivers deep Echo the bleating of the sheep; The blackbird with the pleasant thrush And nightingale in ev'ry bush Choice music give, and shepherds play Unto their flock some loving lay! The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs, Return home from the field with songs, And the carts, laden with ripe corn, Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn. Nor pass we by, as the least good, A peaceful, loving neighbourhood, Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse Make none--by hearing it--the worse, But innocent and merry, may Help--without sin--to spend the day. Could now the tyrant usurer, Who plots to be a purchaser Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste These true delights, O! with what haste And hatred of his ways, would he Renounce his Jewish cruelty, And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow On use to-day, remit to-morrow!

AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.

Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore Lambis lapillos aureos; Qui mæstos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi Mulces susurris humidis; Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas Clumque mortales terit, Accumulas cum sole dies, ævumque per omne Fidelis induras latex; O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos Mutumque solaris nemus! Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas Plectrumque divini senis.

VENERABILI VIRO PRÆCEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO MATHÆO HERBERT.

Quod vixi, Mathæe, dedit pater, hæc tamen olim Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam. Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum Nomina post cineres das resonare meos. Divide discipulum: brevis hæc et lubrica nostri Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.

PRÆSTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMÆ POËLLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICÆ LIBELLUM.

Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus; Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent. Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis Pingis in exiguo, magne Poëlle, libro, Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis, Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides. Æmula Naturæ manus! et mens conscia cli. Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.

FOOTNOTES:

The version in Elementa Opticæ has Eximio viro, et amicorum longè optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticæ libellum.

El. Opt. has docte.