Part 23

Go catch the phnix, and then bring A quill drawn for me from his wing. Give me a maiden beauty's blood, A pure, rich crimson, without mud, In whose sweet blushes that may live, Which a dull verse can never give. Now for an untouch'd, spotless white, For blackest things on paper write, Etesia, at thine own expense Give me the robes of innocence. Could we but see a spring to run Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done, And in the snow-white streams it sheds, Carnations wash their bloody heads, While ev'ry eddy that came down Did--as thou dost--both smile and frown. Such objects, and so fresh would be But dull resemblances of thee. Thou art the dark world's morning-star, Seen only, and seen but from far; Where, like astronomers, we gaze Upon the glories of thy face, But no acquaintance more can have, Though all our lives we watch and crave. Thou art a world thyself alone, Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one; Which shows all those, and in thine eyes The shining East and Paradise. Thy soul--a spark of the first fire-- Is like the sun, the world's desire; And with a nobler influence Works upon all, that claim to sense; But in summers hath no fever, And in frosts is cheerful ever. As flow'rs besides their curious dress Rich odours have, and sweetnesses, Which tacitly infuse desire, And ev'n oblige us to admire: Such, and so full of innocence Are all the charms, thou dost dispense; And like fair Nature without arts At once they seize, and please our hearts. O, thou art such, that I could be A lover to idolatry! I could, and should from heav'n stray, But that thy life shows mine the way, And leave a while the Deity To serve His image here in thee.

TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.

See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames? Her train is azure, set with golden flames: My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes, And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise. Above all others in that one short hour Which most concern'd me, she had greatest pow'r. This made my fortunes humorous as wind, But fix'd affections to my constant mind. She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence I suck'd in sorrows with their influence. To some in smiles, and store of light she broke, To me in sad eclipses still she spoke. She bent me with the motion of her sphere, And made me feel what first I did but fear. But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own, I did reply unto the laws of Fate, And made my reason my great advocate: I labour'd to inherit my just right; But then--O, hear Etesia!--lest I might Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.

FOOTNOTES:

The original has concerned in.

TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.

O, subtle Love! thy peace is war, It wounds and kills without a scar, It works unknown to any sense, Like the decrees of Providence, And with strange silence shoots me through, The fire of Love doth fell like snow. Hath she no quiver, but my heart? Must all her arrows hit that part? Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal Not to destroy us, but to heal. Strange art of Love! that can make sound, And yet exasperates the wound: That look she lent to ease my heart, Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.

IN ETESIAM LACHRYMANTEM.

O Dulcis Iuctus, risuque potentior omni! Quem decorant lachrimis sidera tanta suis. Quam tacitæ spirant auræ! vultusque nitentes Contristant veneres, collachrimantque suæ! Ornat gutta genas, oculisque simillima gemma: Et tepido vivas irrigat imbre rosas. Dicite Chaldæi! quæ me fortuna fatigat, [C?D?]um formosa dies et sine nube perit?

FOOTNOTES:

The original has peruit.

TO ETESIA GOING BEYOND SEA.

Go, if you must! but stay--and know And mind before you go, my vow. To ev'ry thing, but heav'n and you, With all my heart I bid adieu! Now to those happy shades I'll go Where first I saw my beauteous foe! I'll seek each silent path where we Did walk; and where you sat with me I'll sit again, and never rest Till I can find some flow'r you press'd. That near my dying heart I'll keep, And when it wants dew I will weep: Sadly I will repeat past joys And words, which you did sometimes voice I'll listen to the woods, and hear The echo answer for you there. But famish'd with long absence I, Like infants left, at last shall cry, And tears--as they do milk--will sup Until you come, and take me up.

ETESIA ABSENT.

Love, the world's life! what a sad death Thy absence is! to lose our breath At once and die, is but to live Enlarg'd, without the scant reprieve Of pulse and air; whose dull returns And narrow circles the soul mourns. But to be dead alive, and still To wish, but never have our will, To be possess'd, and yet to miss, To wed a true but absent bliss, Are ling'ring tortures, and their smart Dissects and racks and grinds the heart! As soul and body in that state Which unto us, seems separate, Cannot be said to live, until Reunion; which days fulfil And slow-pac'd seasons; so in vain Through hours and minutes--Time's long train-- I look for thee, and from thy sight, As from my soul, for life and light. For till thine eyes shine so on me, Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.

TRANSLATIONS.

SOME ODES OF THE EXCELLENT AND KNOWING [ANICIUS MANLIUS] SEVERINUS [BOETHIUS], ENGLISHED.

Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes The fountain of all goodness spies! Happy is he that can break through Those bonds which tie him here below! The Thracian poet long ago, Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe, Did for his lov'd Eurydice In such sad numbers mourn, that he Made the trees run in to his moan, And streams stand still to hear him groan. The does came fearless in one throng With lions to his mournful song, And charmed by the harmonious sound, The hare stay'd by the quiet hound. But when Love height'n'd by despair And deep reflections on his fair Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise And run in tears out at his eyes, And those sweet airs, which did appease Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease; Then, vex'd that so much grief and love Mov'd not at all the gods above, With desperate thoughts and bold intent, Towards the shades below he went; For thither his fair love was fled, And he must have her from the dead. There in such lines, as did well suit With sad airs and a lover's lute, And in the richest language dress'd That could be thought on or express'd, Did he complain; whatever grief Or art or love--which is the chief, And all ennobles--could lay out, In well-tun'd woes he dealt about. And humbly bowing to the prince Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence Of his Eurydice, and where His beauteous saint resided there. Then to his lute's instructed groans He sigh'd out new melodious moans; And in a melting, charming strain Begg'd his dear love to life again. The music flowing through the shade And darkness did with ease invade The silent and attentive ghosts; And Cerberus, which guards those coasts With his loud barkings, overcome By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb. The Furies, us'd to rave and howl And prosecute each guilty soul, Had lost their rage, and in a deep Transport, did most profusely weep. Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst, Though the streams now did make no haste, But wait'd for him, none would taste. That vulture, which fed still upon Tityus his liver, now was gone To feed on air, and would not stay, Though almost famish'd, with her prey. Won with these wonders, their fierce prince At last cried out, "We yield! and since Thy merits claim no less, take hence Thy consort for thy recompense: But Orpheus, to this law we bind Our grant: you must not look behind, Nor of your fair love have one sight, Till out of our dominions quite." Alas! what laws can lovers awe? Love is itself the greatest law! Or who can such hard bondage brook To be in love, and not to look? Poor Orpheus almost in the light Lost his dear love for one short sight; And by those eyes, which Love did guide, What he most lov'd unkindly died! This tale of Orpheus and his love Was meant for you, who ever move Upwards, and tend into that light, Which is not seen by mortal sight. For if, while you strive to ascend, You droop, and towards Earth once bend Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.

LIB. III. METRUM II.

What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws --Which are the hid, magnetic cause-- Wise Nature governs with, and by What fast, inviolable tie The whole creation to her ends For ever provident she bends: All this I purpose to rehearse In the sweet airs of solemn verse. Although the Libyan lions should Be bound in chains of purest gold, And duly fed were taught to know Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow: Yet, if they chance to taste of blood, Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food In furious roaring will awake, And fiercely for their freedom make. No chains nor bars their fury brooks, But with enrag'd and bloody looks They will break through, and dull'd with fear Their keeper all to pieces tear. The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs Sings sweetly, if you cage or house, And out of kindest care should think To give her honey with her drink, And get her store of pleasant meat, Ev'n such as she delights to eat: Yet, if from her close prison she The shady groves doth chance to see, Straightway she loathes her pleasant food, And with sad looks longs for the wood. The wood, the wood alone she loves! And towards it she looks and moves: And in sweet notes--though distant from-- Sings to her first and happy home! That plant, which of itself doth grow Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow; But give it freedom, and it will Get up, and grow erectly still. The sun, which by his prone descent Seems westward in the evening bent, Doth nightly by an unseen way Haste to the East, and bring up day. Thus all things long for their first state, And gladly to't return, though late. Nor is there here to anything A course allow'd, but in a ring: Which, where it first began, must end, And to that point directly tend.

LIB. IV. METRUM VI.

Who would unclouded see the laws Of the supreme, eternal Cause, Let him with careful thoughts and eyes Observe the high and spacious skies. There in one league of love the stars Keep their old peace, and show our wars. The sun, though flaming still and hot, The cold, pale moon annoyeth not. Arcturus with his sons--though they See other stars go a far way, And out of sight--yet still are found Near the North Pole, their noted bound. Bright Hesper--at set times--delights To usher in the dusky nights: And in the East again attends To warn us, when the day ascends. So alternate Love supplies Eternal courses still, and vies Mutual kindness; that no jars Nor discord can disturb the stars.

The same sweet concord here below Makes the fierce elements to flow And circle without quarrel still, Though temper'd diversely; thus will The hot assist the cold; the dry Is a friend to humidity: And by the law of kindness they The like relief to them repay. The fire, which active is and bright, Tends upward, and from thence gives light. The earth allows it all that space And makes choice of the lower place; For things of weight haste to the centre, A fall to them is no adventure.

From these kind turns and circulation Seasons proceed, and generation. This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs, And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs. The Summer thus matures all seeds And ripens both the corn and weeds. This brings on Autumn, which recruits Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits. And the cold Winter's blust'ring season Hath snow and storms for the same reason. This temper and wise mixture breed And bring forth ev'ry living seed. And when their strength and substance spend --For while they live, they drive and tend Still to a change--it takes them hence And shifts their dress! and to our sense Their course is over, as their birth: And hid from us they turn to earth.

But all this while the Prince of life Sits without loss, or change, or strife: Holding the reins, by which all move --And those His wisdom, power, love And justice are--and still what He The first life bids, that needs must be, And live on for a time; that done He calls it back, merely to shun The mischief, which His creature might Run into by a further flight. For if this dear and tender sense Of His preventing providence, Did not restrain and call things back, Both heav'n and earth would go to rack, And from their great Preserver part; As blood let out forsakes the heart And perisheth, but what returns With fresh and brighter spirits burns.

This is the cause why ev'ry living Creature affects an endless being. A grain of this bright love each thing Had giv'n at first by their great King; And still they creep--drawn on by this-- And look back towards their first bliss. For, otherwise, it is most sure, Nothing that liveth could endure: Unless its love turn'd retrograde Sought that First Life, which all things made.

LIB. IV. METRUM III.

If old tradition hath not fail'd, Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd Was by a tempest forc'd to land Where beauteous Circe did command. Circe, the daughter of the sun, Which had with charms and herbs undone Many poor strangers, and could then Turn into beasts the bravest men. Such magic in her potions lay, That whosoever passed that way And drank, his shape was quickly lost. Some into swine she turn'd, but most To lions arm'd with teeth and claws; Others like wolves with open jaws Did howl; but some--more savage--took The tiger's dreadful shape and look. But wise Ulysses, by the aid Of Hermes, had to him convey'd A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress The force of charms, and their success: While his mates drank so deep, that they Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day On mast, and human food had left, Of shape and voice at once bereft; Only the mind--above all charms-- Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms. O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts, To change their limbs, but not their hearts! Man's life and vigour keep within, Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin. Those piercing charms and poisons, which His inward parts taint and bewitch, More fatal are, than such, which can Outwardly only spoil the man. Those change his shape and make it foul, But these deform and kill his soul.