Chapter II: A Study of the Life and Poetry of Richard Crashaw (5)

_Attulerunt ei omnes male affectos daemoniacos, lunaticos: et sanavit eos._ Matt. iv. 24.

Collige te tibi, torve Draco, furiasque facesque,
Quasque vocant pestes nox Erebusque suas:
Fac colubros jam tota suos tua vibret Erinnys;
Collige, collige te fortiter, ut pereas.

_They brought unto Him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and He healed them._

Gather thy powers, grim Dragon, furies, flames,
All plagues which Erebus or midnight claims,
Bid each Erinnys high her serpents flourish;
Bring all, bring all, that thou mayst wholly perish.[81] R. WI.

CLIV.

_Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius._ Luc. ii. 35.

Quando habeat gladium tua, Christe, tragoedia nullum,
Quis fuerit gladius, Virgo beata, tuus?
Namque nec ulla alias tibi sunt data vulnera, Virgo,
Quam quae a vulneribus sunt data, Christe, tuis.
Forsan quando senex jam caligantior esset,
Quod Simeon gladium credidit, hasta fuit.
Immo neque hasta fuit, neque clavus, sed neque spina:
Hei mihi, spina tamen, clavus et hasta fuit.
Nam queiscunque malis tua, Christe, tragoedia crevit,
Omnia sunt gladius, Virgo beata, tuus.

_A sword shall pierce through thy own soul._

Since in the tragedy
Wrought upon Calvary,
No sword, O Christ, hast Thou,
Whence, then, shall come the blow
To Mary, virgin-mother?

Not any wounds are given,
Save as her Son is riven:
No sword, O Christ, hast Thou;
Whence, then, shall come the blow
To Mary, virgin-mother?

Perchance the dim-ey'd seer
By sword intended spear:
No sword, O Christ, hast Thou;
Whence, then, shall come the blow
To Mary, virgin-mother?

Not spear or nail or thorn,
Yet by all these I'm torn:
No sword, O Christ, hast Thou;
O whence, then, comes the blow
To Mary, virgin-mother?

In the dread tragedy
Wrought upon Calvary,
Whate'er, O suff'ring Lord,
Smote Thee, pierc'd as a sword
Mary, the virgin-mother. G.

CLV.

_In sanguinem circumcisionis dominicae. Ad convivas, quos haec dies apud nos solennes habet._

Heus, conviva! bibin'? Maria haec, Mariaeque puellus,
Mittunt de prelo musta bibenda suo.
Una quidem est, toti quae par tamen unica mundo,
Unica gutta, suo quae tremit orbiculo.
O bibite hinc; quale aut quantum vos cunque bibistis,
Credite mi, nil tam suave bibistis adhuc.
O bibite et bibite, et restat tamen usque bibendum:
Restat, quod poterit nulla domare sitis.
Scilicet hic, mensura sitis, mensura bibendi est:
Haec quantum cupias vina bibisse, bibis.

_On the blood of the Lord's circumcision._

Ah, friend, wilt drink? Mary and her Babe divine
Send from their press, for drinking, this new wine.
One drop, yet this round world in worth resembling,
A single drop in tiny circlet trembling.
Drink hence; whate'er ye've drunk, how much soever,
Trust me, such pleasant drink ye've met with never.
Drink, drink again; to drink is left for you--
Is left what mortal thirst can ne'er subdue.
Thirst's limit here will drinking's bound define:
You drink all that you would drink of this wine. R. WI.

CLVI.

_Puer Jesus inter doctores._ Luc. ii. 46.

Fallitur, ad mentum qui pendit quemque profundum,
Ceu possint laeves nil sapuisse genae.
Scilicet e barba male mensuratur Apollo;
Et bene cum capitis stat nive, mentis hyems.
Discat, et a tenero disci quoque posse magistro,
Canitiem capitis nec putet esse caput.

_The Child Jesus among the doctors._

To weigh a man by bearded chin is vain,
As if smooth cheeks no wisdom could contain.
Forsooth the beard is a poor gauge of wit;
With mental winter snowy head may fit.
Hear what wise words from a Child-teacher fall,
Nor think a hoary head the head of all. R. WI.

CLVII.

_Ad Christum, de aqua in vinum versa._ Joan. ii. 1-11.

Signa tuis tuus hostis habet contraria signis:
In vinum tristes tu mihi vertis aquas.
Ille autem e vino lacrymas et jurgia ducens,
Vina iterum in tristes, hei mihi! mutat aquas.

_To our Lord, upon the water made wine._

Thou water turn'st to wine, faire friend of life;
Thy foe, to crosse the sweet arts of Thy reigne,
Distills from thence the teares of wrath and strife,
And so turnes wine to water backe againe. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Blessing's in Thy every sign,
But the Tempter each pollutes:
Thou the water makest wine,
He the wine to woe transmutes. G.

CLVIII.

_Christus infans Patri sistitur in templo._ Luc. ii. 22-33.

Agnus eat ludatque, licet, sub patre petulco;
Cumque sua longum conjuge turtur agat.
Conciliatorem nihil hic opus ire per agnum,
Nec tener ut volucris non sua fata ferat.
Hactenus exigua haec, quasi munera, lusimus; haec quae
Multum excusanti sunt capienda manu.
Hoc donum est; de quo, toto tibi dicimus ore,
Sume, Pater: meritis hoc tibi sume suis.
Donum hoc est, hoc est; quod scilicet audeat ipso
Esse Deo dignum: scilicet ipse Deus.

_The Infant Christ is presented to the Father in the temple._

Let the lamb go, by horned sire to play;
The turtle, with its mate, flee far away:
No need is here of lamb to mediate,
Or tender bird to bear another's fate.
At those poor offerings once, as 'twere, we play'd,
Receiv'd by One who much allowance made.
This is a gift the full-voic'd boast to wake,
'Take it, O Father, on its merits take.'
A gift, a gift this is, which need not fear
Being fit for God, since God Himself is here. R. WI.

CLIX.

_Leprosus Dominum implorans._ Matt. viii. 2.

Credo quod ista potes, velles modo: sed quia credo,
Christe, quod ista potes, credo quod ista voles.
Tu modo, tu faciles mihi, sol meus, exere vultus;
Non poterit radios nix mea ferre tuos.[82]

_The leper beseeching._

I believe, Lord, Thou'rt able if Thou'rt willing,
And I believe Thou'rt willing as Thou'rt able.
Shine on me, O my Sun: Thy rays distilling,
Shall melt my snow, and give me healing stable. G.

CLX.

_Christus in tempestate._ Matt. viii. 23-27.

Quod fervet tanto circum te, Christe, tumultu,
Non hoc ira maris, Christe, sed ambitio est.
Haec illa ambitio est, hoc tanto te rogat ore,
Possit ut ad monitus, Christe, tacere tuos.

_Why are ye afraid, O ye of little faith?_

As if the storme meant Him,
Or 'cause Heaven's face is dim,
His needs a cloud.
Was ever froward wind
That could be so unkind,
Or wave so proud?
The wind had need be angry, and the water black,
That to the mighty Neptune's Self dare threaten wrack.
There is no storm but this
Of your own cowardise
That braves you out;
You are the storme that mocks
Yourselves; you are the rocks
Of your owne doubt:
Besides this feare of danger there's no danger here,
And he that here feares danger does deserve his feare. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

That the Sea with such violence falls on,
'Tis not his malice, but ambition:
This the ambition, this the loud request,
At Thy command, O Christ, to take his rest. B.

CLXI.

_Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis suscipere, cum simus Romani._ Act. xvi. 21.

Hoc Caesar tibi, Roma, tuus dedit, armaque? solis
Romanis igitur non licet esse piis?
Ah, melius, tragicis nullus tibi Caesar in armis
Altus anhelanti detonuisset equo;
Nec domini volucris facies horrenda per orbem
Sueta tibi in signis torva venire tuis:
Quam miser ut staret de te tibi, Roma, triumphus,
Ut tanta fieres ambitione nihil.
Non tibi, sed sceleri vincis: proh laurea tristis,
Laurea, Cerbereis aptior umbra comis.
Tam turpi vix ipse pater diademate Pluto,
Vix sedet ipse suo tam niger in solio.
De tot Caesareis redit hoc tibi, Roma, triumphis:
Caesaree, aut, quod idem est, egregie misera es.

_They teach customs which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans._

Rome, have thy Caesar's arms wrought this for thee,
That Romans only may not Christians be?
Better for thee no Caesar had waged war,
High-thundering on his fiery steed afar;
Nor eagle's lordly form o'er all the world
Had aye on thy stern ensigns been unfurl'd.
How poor a triumph, Rome, o'er thyself wrought,
By dint of such ambition to be--nought!
Conquering for sin, not Rome; sad laurel-wreath,
More fit to shadow Cerberus' locks beneath.
Old Pluto scarce wears diadem so base,
Sits scarce so swart enthron'd in his own place.
Caesarean triumphs, Rome, win this for thee--
Caesarean, that is, highest misery. R. WI.

CLXII.

_Hic lapis fiat panis._ Matt. iv. 3.

Et fuit ille lapis, quidni sit dicere? panis,
Christe, fuit: panis sed tuus ille fuit.
Quippe Patris cum sic tulerit suprema voluntas,
Est panis, panem non habuisse, tuus.

{Artos een toi det', eipein themis estin, ekeinos,
Christe, toi artos een kai lithos, alla teos.
En hou tos tou patros ee megalou to thelema,
Artos hot' ouk en toi, Christe, toi artos een.}

_Command that this stone become a loaf._

And so it was; bread was that stone;
Such bread, Christ, as was all Thine own.
Since God so will'd that it should be,
To have no bread was bread to Thee. G.

CLXIII.

_Mulier Canaanitis._ Matt. xv. 22.

Quicquid Amazoniis dedit olim fama puellis,
Credite: Amazoniam cernimus, ecce, fidem.
Foemina, tam fortis fidei? jam credo fidem esse
Plus quam grammatice foeminei generis.

_The woman of Canaan._

Whate'er Fame tells of Amazons of old,
Believe: here Amazonian faith behold.
Of such strong faith a woman? Faith I see
More than in grammar feminine to be. R. WI.

CLXIV.

_Deus, post expulsum daemonem mutum, maledicis Judaeis os obturat._ Luc. xi. 14.

Una pene opera duplicem tibi daemona frangis:
Iste quidem daemon mutus; at ille loquax.
Scilicet in laudes, quae non tibi laurea surgit?
Non magis hic loquitur, quam tacet ille tuas.

_Upon the dumbe devill cast out, and the slanderous Jewes put to silence._

Two devills at one blow Thou hast laid flat;
A speaking devill this, a dumbe one that.
Was't Thy full victorie's fairer increase,
That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace? CR.

CLXV.

_Dicebant, Vere hic est Propheta._ Joan. vi. 14.

Post tot quae videant, tot quae miracula tangant,
Haec et quae gustent, Christe, dabas populo:
Jam Vates, Rex, et quicquid pia nomina possunt,
Christus erat: vellem dicere, venter erat.
Namque his, quicquid erat Christus, de ventre repleto
Omne illud vero nomine venter erat.

_They said, This is of a truth that Prophet._

When Christ had given the multitude so much,
So many miracles to see, taste, touch;
Now Prophet, King, the holiest name Heaven wishes,
Was Christ: I'd rather call it 'Loaves and fishes.'
Whate'er Christ was, to their stay'd appetite
'Twas all more truly 'Loaves and fishes' dight. R. WI.

CLXVI.

_Christus ambulabat in porticu Salomonis, et hyems erat._ Joan. x. 22.

Bruma fuit? non, non; ah, non fuit ore sub isto:
Si fuit, haud anni, nec sua bruma fuit.
Bruma tibi vernis velit ire decentior horis,
Per sibi non natas expatiata rosas.
At tibi ne possit se tam bene bruma negare,
Sola haec, quam vibrat gens tua, grando[83] vetat.

_It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch._

Was't winter? No, O no; beneath that Face:
At least no natural winter there found place.
Winter for Thee would breathe Spring's beauteous hours,
With roses crowd its unaccustom'd bowers.
But lest so sweetly Winter should retire,
Lo, this hail hinders, hurl'd by Jewish ire. R. WI.

CLXVII.

_Dederunt nummos militibus._ Matt. xxviii. 12.

Ne miles velit ista loqui, tu munera donas?
Donas, quod possit, cum tacet ipse, loqui.
Quae facis a quoquam, pretio suadente, taceri;
Clarius, et dici turpius ista facis.

_They gave large money to the soldiers._

The soldiers' silence is't with money bought?
Thy gift will tell a tale, though they say nought.
Whatever with a bribe thou fain wouldst hide,
More shamefully thou spreadest far and wide. R. WI.

CLXVIII.

_Beatae Virgini: de salutatione angelica._ Luc. i. 26-28.

{Chaire} suum neque Caesareus jam nuntiet ales;
{Chaire} tuum penna candidiore venit.
Sed taceat, qui {chaire} tuum quoque nuntiat, ales;
{Chaire} meum penna candidiore venit.
Quis dicat mihi {chaire} meum mage candidus autor,
Quam tibi quae dicat candidus ille tuum?
Virgo, rogas, quid candidius quam candidus ille
Esse potest? Virgo, quae rogat, esse potest.
{Chaire} tuum, Virgo, donet tibi candidus ille;
Donas candidior tu mihi {chaire} meum.
{Chaire} meum de {chaire} tuo quid differat, audi:
Ille tuum dicit, tu paris, ecce, meum.

_To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation._

Its 'hail' Caesarean eagle need not bring;
Thy 'hail' comes wafted on a whiter wing.
But let the 'all-hail' angel e'en be still;
My 'hail' comes flitting on a whiter quill.
To say my 'hail' what whiter being can be
Than that white being who utters thine to thee?
Virgin, dost ask what whiter than that white
Might be? The Virgin who is asking, might.
That white one, Virgin, may give 'hail' to thee;
But thou, more white, dost give my 'hail' to me.
My 'hail' o'er thy 'hail,' wouldst thou know its worth;
He utters thine, but mine thou bringest forth. R. WI.

CLXIX.

_Pontio lavanti._ Matt. xxvii. 24.

Non satis est caedes, nisi stuprum hoc insuper addas,
Et tam virgineae sis violator aquae?
Nympha quidem pura haec et honesti filia fontis
Luget, adulterio jam temerata tuo.
Casta verecundo properat cum murmure gutta,
Nec satis in lacrymam se putat esse suam.
Desine tam nitidos stuprare, ah desine, rores:
Aut dic, quae miseras unda lavabit aquas.

_To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands._

Is murther no sin? or a sin so cheape
That thou need'st heape
A rape upon't? Till thy adult'rous touch
Taught her these sullied cheeks, this blubber'd face,
She was a nimph, the meadowes knew none such;
Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race;
The daughter of a faire and well-fam'd fountaine
As ever silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine.

See how she weeps, and weeps, that she appeares
Nothing but teares:
Each drop's a teare that weeps for her own wast.
Harke how at every touch she does complaine her;
Harke how she bids her frighted drops make hast,
And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her.
Leave, leave, for shame; or else, good judge, decree
What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee. CR.

CLXX.

_In die passionis dominicae._

Tamne ego sim tetricus? valeant jejunia: vinum
Est mihi dulce meo, nec pudet esse, cado.
Est mihi quod castis, neque prelum passa, racemis
Palmite virgineo protulit uva parens.
Hoc mihi, ter denis sat enim maturuit annis,
Tandem, ecce, e dolio praebibit hasta suo.
Jamque it; et o quanto calet actus aromate torrens,
Acer ut hinc aura divite currit odor!
Quae rosa per cyathos volitat tam vina Falernos?
Massica quae tanto sidere vina tremunt?
O ego nescibam; atque ecce est vinum illud amoris,
Unde ego sim tantis, unde ego par cyathis.
Vincor: et o istis totus prope misceor auris:
Non ego sum tantis, non ego par cyathis.
Sed quid ego invicti metuo bona robora vini?
Ecce est, quae validum diluit[84] unda merum.

_On the day of the Lord's Passion._

Should I be dull? Fastings farewell! Sweet wine
I have--nor am asham'd--in cask of mine,
Which the full grape, unprest, from virgin shoot
Produced for me in purest cluster'd fruit.
This wine, now mellow'd by the thirtieth year,
Lo, from the 'wood' will pour at touch of spear.
It pours, and O how sweet the torrent glows,
How sharp an odour on the rich air flows!
What bouquet thus breathes from Falernian jars?
What Massic wines tremble beneath such stars?
O, I knew not; and, lo, this is Love's wine,
Whence I such draughts, e'en I, need not decline.
Vanquish'd, I wholly faint these airs along;
I am no match, not I, for draughts so strong.
But wherefore fear I their blest strength divine?
Behold the water mingled with the wine! R. WI.

CLXXI.

_In die resurrectionis dominicae venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena ferens aromata._

Quin et tu quoque busta tui Phoenicis adora;
Tu quoque fer tristes, mens mea, delicias.
Si nec aromata sunt, nec quod tibi fragrat amomum;
Qualis Magdalina est messis odora manu.
Est quod aromatibus praestat, quod praestat amomo:
Haec tibi mollicula, haec gemmea lacrymula.
Et lacryma est aliquid: neque frustra Magdala flevit:
Sentiit haec, lacrymas non nihil esse suas.
His illa, et tunc cum Domini caput iret amomo,
Invidiam capitis fecerat esse pedes.
Nunc quoque cum sinus huic tanto sub aromate sudet,
Plus capit ex oculis, quo litet, illa suis.
Christe, decent lacrymae: decet isto rore rigari
Vitae hoc aeternum mane tuumque diem.

_On the day of our Lord's resurrection, the Magdalene bearing spices cometh to the sepulchre._ Marc. xvi. 1; Luc. xxiv. 1.

Come thou too, thou; kneel by thy Phoenix' tomb;
Bring thy poor offerings too, my soul, and come.
With thee no herbs and fragrant spice are seen--
Such odorous tribute gave the Magdalene;
But these--no herbs nor spices equal them--
These little liquid drops, each tear a gem.
One tear is much: thine did not fall in vain,
Sweet Magdalene; thou knewest the tears were gain.
With these--her Lord's head in amomum laid--
The humble feet the head's despair she made.
Now, while her breast moist with such fragrance lies,
She in a strife draws sweeter from her eyes.
Lord Christ, these tears are well: well fits it too
Life's everlasting morn drip with such dew. A.

CLXXII.

_In cicatrices Domini adhuc superstites._ Luc. xxiv. 31.

Arma vides; arcus, pharetramque levesque sagittas,
Et quocunque fuit nomine miles Amor.
His fuit usus Amor: sed et haec fuit ipse; suumque
Et jaculum, et jaculis ipse pharetra suis.
Nunc splendent tantum, et deterso pulvere belli
E memori pendent nomina magna tholo.
Tempus erit tamen, haec irae quando arma pharetramque,
Et sobolem pharetrae spicula tradet Amor.
Heu, qua tunc anima, quo stabit conscia vultu,
Quum scelus agnoscet dextera quaeque suum?
Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles,
Qua tibi cunque tuus luserit arte furor.
Seu digito suadente tuo mala laurus inibat
Temporibus; sacrum seu bibit hasta latus:
Sive tuo clavi saevum rubuere sub ictu;
Seu puduit jussis ire flagella tuis.
Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles:
Quod dederis vulnus, cernere, vulnus erit.
Plaga sui vindex clavosque rependet et hastam:
Quoque rependet, erit clavus et hasta sibi.
Quis tam terribiles, tam justas moverit iras?
Vulnera pugnabunt, Christe, vel ipsa tibi.

_On the scars of the Lord still remaining._

Arms see--bows, quiver, arrows flying far,
And every style in which Love went to war.
These arms Love used--nay, Himself was: His own
Dart and darts' quiver was Himself alone.
Now they but shine, and, dusty battle ended,
In treasur'd glory are on high suspended.
Time comes when unto Wrath these arms, both quiver
And quiver's offspring, darts, Love will deliver.
Ah, with what thoughts, what countenance wilt thou stand
When its own guilt comes home to each right hand?
Wretch, thou wilt see the wounds which thou hast made,
And with what fatal skill thy fury play'd:
Whether with bloody wreath thy fingers plied
His temples, or thy spear drank His dear side;
Or 'neath thy blow nails turned a cruel red,
Or the scourge blush'd as at thy call it sped.
Wretch, there the wounds thou gavest thou shalt see:
To see the wound thou gav'st a wound shall be.
Stroke self-avenging follows nails and spear:
Its nail and spear of recompense are here.
Such awful righteous wrath who would excite?
Thy very wounds, O Christ, for Thee will fight. R. WI.

CLXXIII.

_Pacem meam do vobis._ Joan. xiv. 27.

Bella vocant: arma, o socii, nostra arma paremus
Atque enses: nostros scilicet, ah, jugulos.
Cur ego bella paro, cum Christus det mihi pacem?
Quod Christus pacem dat mihi, bella paro.
Ille dedit, nam quis potuit dare certior autor?
Ille dedit pacem: sed dedit ille suam.

_My peace I give unto you._

War calls: O friends, our arms let us prepare,
And swords; forsooth, our throats let us lay bare.
Why war prepare, if Christ His peace afford?
Because Christ gives me peace, I take the sword.
He gave--what surer giver can be shown?
He gave the peace, but then He gave His own. R. WI.

CLXXIV.

_In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excaecatum._ Act. ix. 8, 9.

Quae, Christe, ambigua haec bifidi tibi gloria teli est,
Quod simul huic oculos abstulit atque dedit?
Sancta dies animi, hac oculorum in nocte, latebat;
Te ut possit Paulus cernere, caecus erat.

_Paul's conversion and blindness._

Why, Lord, this twofold glory of Thy ray,
Giving him sight whose sight it takes away?
Paul in that night God's inner light shall find:
That he may see The Christ his eyes are blind. CL.

CLXXV.

_Ego sum Via. Ad Judaeos spretores Christi._ Joan. xiv. 6.

O sed nec calcanda tamen: pes improbe, pergis?
Improbe pes, ergo hoc coeli erat ire viam?
Ah pereat, Judaec ferox, pes improbus ille,
Qui coeli tritam sic facit esse viam.

_I am the Way. To the Jewish despisers of Christ._

Not to be trampled on, though: vile foot, stay;
Vile foot, is this to tread the heavenly Way?
Let that fierce Jewish foot to death be given,
Which thus wears out the blessed Way to heaven. R. WI.

CLXXVI.

_In nocturnum et hyemale iter infantis Domini._ Matt. ii. 19-21.

Ergo viatores teneros, cum Prole parentem,
Nox habet hos, queis est digna nec ulla dies.
Nam quid ad haec Pueri vel labra genasve parentis?
Heu, quid ad haec facient oscula, nox et hyems!
Lilia ad haec facerent, faceret rosa; quicquid et halat
Aeterna Zephyrus qui tepet in viola.
Hi meruere, quibus vel nox sit nulla; vel ulla
Si sit, eat nostra purius illa die.
Ecce sed hos quoque nox et hyems clausere tenellos:
Et quis scit, quid nox, quid meditetur hyems?
Ah, ne quid meditetur hyems saevire per Austros,
Quaeque solet nigros nox mala ferre metus!
Ah, ne noctis eat currus non mollibus Euris,
Aspera ne tetricos nuntiet aura Notos!
Heu, quot habent tenebrae, quot vera pericula secum,
Quot noctem dominam quantaque monstra colunt!
Quot vaga quae falsis veniunt ludibria formis!
Trux oculus, Stygio concolor ala Deo!
Seu veris ea, sive vagis stant monstra figuris;
Virginei satis est hinc, satis inde metus.
Ergo veni; totoque veni resonantior arcu,
Cynthia, praegnantem clange procul pharetram.
Monstra vel ista vel illa, tuis sint meta sagittis:
Nec fratris jaculum certior aura vehat.
Ergo veni, totoque veni, flagrantior ore,
Dignaque Apollineas sustinuisse vices.
Scis bene quid deceat Phoebi lucere sororem:
Ex his, si nescis, Cynthia, disce genis.
O tua, in his, quanto lampas formosior iret!
Nox suam, ab his, quanto malit habere diem!
Quantum ageret tacitos haec luna modestior ignes,
Atque verecundis sobria staret equis!
Luna, tuae non est rosa tam pudibunda diei,
Nec tam Virgineo fax tua flore tremit.
Ergo veni; sed et astra, tuas age, Cynthia, turmas:
Illa oculos pueri, quos imitentur, habent.
Hinc oculo, hinc astro: at parili face nictat utrumque;
Aetheris os, atque os aethereum Pueri.
Aspice, quam bene res utriusque deceret utrumque!
Quam bene in alternas mutua regna manus!
Ille oculus coeli hoc si staret in aethere frontis;
Sive astrum hoc Pueri fronte sub aetherea.
Si Pueri hoc astrum aetherea sub fronte micaret,
Credat et hunc oculum non minus esse suum.
Ille oculus coeli, hoc si staret in aethere frontis,
Non minus in coelis se putet esse suis.
Tam pulchras variare vices cum fronte Puelli,
Cumque Puelli oculis aether et astra queant.
Astra quidem vellent; vellent aeterna pacisci
Foedera mutatae sedis inire vicem.
Aether et ipse, licet numero tam dispare, vellet
Mutatis oculis tam bona pacta dari.
Quippe iret coelum quanto melioribus astris,
Astra sua hos oculos si modo habere queat!
Quippe astra in coelo quantum meliore micarent,
Si frontem hanc possint coelum habuisse suum.
Aether et astra velint: frustra velit aether et astra:
Ecce negat Pueri frons, oculique negant.
Ah, neget illa, negent illi: nam quem aethera mallent
Isti oculi? aut frons haec quae magis astra velit?
Quid si aliquod blanda face lene renideat astrum?
Lactea si coeli terque quaterque via est?
Blandior hic oculus, roseo hoc qui ridet in ore;
Lactea frons haec est terque quaterque magis.
Ergo negent, coelumque suum sua sidera servent:
Sidera de coelis non bene danda suis.
Ergo negant: seque ecce sua sub nube recondunt,
Sub tenera occidui nube supercilii:
Nec claudi contenta sui munimine coeli,
Quaerunt in gremio matris ubi lateant.
Non nisi sic tactis ubi nix tepet illa pruinis,
Castaque non gelido frigore vernat hyems.
Scilicet iste dies tam pulchro vespere tingi
Dignus; et hos soles sic decet occidere.
Claudat purpureus qui claudit vesper Olympum;
Puniceo placeas tu tibi, Phoebe, toro;
Dum tibi lascivam Thetis auget adultera noctem,
Pone per Hesperias strata pudenda rosas.
Illas nempe rosas, quas conscia purpura pinxit;
Culpa pudorque suus queis dedit esse rosas.
Hos soles, niveae noctes, castumque cubile,
Quod purum sternet per mare virgo Thetis;
Hos, sancti flores; hos, tam sincera decebant
Lilia; quaeque sibi non rubuere rosae.
Hos, decuit sinus hic; ubi toto sidere proni
Ecce lavant sese lacteo in oceano.
Atque lavent: tandemque suo se mane resolvant,
Ipsa dies ex hoc ut bibat ore diem.

_On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord._

These tender travellers, feel they Night's dark sway,
Mother and Child, too good for whitest day?
For how will mother's cheeks, or lips of Child,
How kisses fare, from Night and Winter wild?
With lilies these, with roses, should be blest,
Or sweetest breath of violet-perfum'd West.
Such travellers merited to have no night,
Or, if at all, one whiter than our light.
Winter and Night these tender ones enclose,
And what Night plots, or Winter, ah, who knows?
Ah, lest fell Winter with its north-winds rage,
Ill-omen'd Night its wonted fears engage.
Ah, lest rough east-winds should Night's chariot draw,
Or harsh south-winds should shake the heart with awe.
What real perils troop in Darkness' train,
Over what monsters Night extends her reign:
What vagrant phantoms, which in false shapes go,
Stern-ey'd, black-pinion'd, like the gods below!
But standing forth in false forms or in true,
For these, for those, a Virgin's dread is due.
Come then, come, Cynthia, with resounding bow,
And clang thy full-charg'd quiver at the foe.
These monsters, those, thy darts unerring share,
Nor truer aim thy brother's arrows bear:
Come, then, O come, with all thy face a-flame,
Worthy thyself to take Apollo's name.
Thou know'st how Phoebus' sister ought to shine;
If not, learn, Cynthia, from these cheeks divine.
Placed here thy torch more beauty would display,
And Night from hence prefer to draw its day;
Such moon more modest shed its silent beam,
And shamefac'd stay her softly-going team.
O Moon, thy day no rose so chaste resembles,
Thy torch with no such virgin beauty trembles.
Come then, but bring thy troops of stars likewise;
For they can try to shine like the Child's eyes.
An eye, a star, twinkling with equal grace,
The face of heaven and the Child's heavenly face.
How well the charm of each transferr'd would show,
From hand to hand the mutual sceptres go!
Whether heaven's eye should deck His skiey brow,
Or the Child's star adorn heaven's forehead now.
If the Child's star on heaven's forehead shone,
That eye would seem to Him not less His own.
Place on His skiey forehead heaven's eye,
Not less 'twould deem itself in its own sky.
Such interchanges might the stars and skies
Make charmingly with the Child's brow and eyes.
For change of place the stars indeed might like
An everlasting treaty now to strike;
And differing though in numbers, e'en the skies
Might wish to bargain for a change of eyes.
With how much better stars the sky would shine,
If as its stars it had these eyes divine!
The stars would shine in how much better heaven,
If as their sky this brow divine were given!
So sky and stars may choose--in vain they choose;
For the Child's brow and His fair eyes refuse.
Ah, wisely; for these eyes what better heaven
Could wish? what better stars to brow be given?
What though some gentle star more softly gleams?
What if heaven's way thrice, four times, milky seems?
Softer this eye which smiles in ruddy face;
This milk-white brow, thrice, four times is its grace.
To quit their heaven, let then these stars deny;
Stars ought not to be ta'en from their own sky.
They do deny; and soon in cloud are hid,
In tender shadow of the drooping lid.
Nor with their own defence content they rest,
But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast.
Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd,
And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste.
Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink;
Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink.
Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine,
Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine;
While wanton Thetis day too early closes,
Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses;
Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted,
By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted.
Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be,
Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea;
All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate,
Roses with innocent blush upon them wait.
Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night
They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white.
And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise;
And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. WI.

CLXXVII.

_Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis._ Joan. xvi. 26.

Ah tamen ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti
Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater.
Ille suos omni facie te figit amores;
Inque tuos toto effunditur ore sinus.
Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis;
Inque tuo, Jesu, se fovet ipse sinu.
Ex te metitur sese, et sua numina discit:
Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi.
Ille tibi se, te ille sibi par nectit utrinque:
Tam tuus est, ut nec sit magis ille suus.
Ergo roga: ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti
Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater.
Illum ut ego rogitem? Hoc, eheu, non ore rogandum;
Ore satis puras non faciente preces.
Illum ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis
Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput?
Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore:
Saepe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit.
Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi,
Uno me nutu figet, et interii:
Non ego, non rogitem: mihi scilicet ille roganti
Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater.
Immo rogabo: nec ore meo tamen: immo rogabo
Ore meo, Jesu, scilicet ore tuo.

_I do not say that I will pray the Father for you._

Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be,
He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee.
With favouring eyes He makes Thee all His love;
Toward Thine heart, Lord, His whole affections move.
Beholding Thy fair eyes Himself He sees;
In Thy pure breast Himself He cherishes.
By Thee He metes Himself, His godhead learns,
And, sweet reversion! to Himself returns.
He Thee, Thou He, in one Ye intertwine;
He is His own no more, He is so Thine.
Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be,
He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee.
Shall these lips, Lord, ask Him? But how should they?
With rightful words and pure they fail to pray.
If I should ask Him, then, what tempests dread,
What anger thundering o'er this wretched head!
His look perchance would gleam as lightning down--
Yea, oft, I know, as lightning falls His frown.
Perchance the javelin of one angry word,
One nod, would slay, and I should die unheard.
I? I'll not ask: Lord, He is wont to be,
He easy proves unkind, if ask'd of me.
Yet, stay: I'll ask:--not with these lips of mine;
Yea, with my lips,--my lips, Lord, namely Thine. A.

CLXXVIII.

_In die ascensionis dominicae._ Act. i. 9, 10.

Usque etiam nostros te, Christe, tenemus amores?
Heu, coeli quantam hinc invidiam patimur!
Invidiam patiamur: habent sua sidera coeli,
Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces;
Phoebenque et Phoebum, et tot pictae vellera nubis,
Vellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu.
Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri?
Una sit hic: sunt et sint ibi mille faces.
Nil agimus: nam tu quia non ascendis ad illum,
Aether[85] descendit, Christe, vel ipse tibi.

{Nyn eti hemeteron se, Christe, echomen ton erota?
Ouranou oun hosson ton phthonon hos echomen;
Alla echomen. echei hea men ta d' agalmata aither,
Astra te kai Phoibon kai kala ton nephelon.
Hosson een, hemin ophr' eie hen tode astron?
Astron hen hemin e; eisi toi astr' hekaton.
Panta maten. hoti, Christe, sy ouk anebaines es auton,
Autos men katebe ouranos eis se teos.}

_On the day of the Lord's ascension._

Still do we keep Thee here, O Christ, our Love?
Ah, envy much we gain from Heaven above!
But be it so: Heaven is with stars a-blaze,
And countless orbs that trick their tremulous rays:
Moon, sun, and colour'd clouds, a fleecy store,
By Evening's rosy touch embroider'd o'er.
'Twere little they should leave one light below:
Let one be here, a thousand there may glow.
'Tis vain: since Thou ascendest not on high,
To Thee, O Christ, descends the very sky. R. WI.

CLXXIX.

_Caecus implorat Christum._ Marc. x. 46-52.

Improba turba, tace. Mihi tam mea vota propinquant,
Et linguam de me vis tacuisse meam?
Tunc ego tunc taceam, mihi cum meus ille loquetur:
Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos.
O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam
In te quae primo riserit ore, diem.
O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam
Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem.
O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam
In te quam fidei nox habet ipsa, diem.
Haec animi tam clara dies rogat illam oculorum:
Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.

{Nykt' eleeson emen, eleeson. nai toi ekeino,
Christe, emou emar, nyx hod' emeio echei.
Ophthalmon men ekeino, Theos, deetai tode gnomes;
Me moi tout' aires, dos moi ekeino phaos.}[86]

_The blind man implores Christ._

Be silent, crowd: my prayers so near me come,
And do you bid my pleading tongue be dumb,
Before my Lord to me His speech addresses?
Know, then, that voice of His my eyes possesses.
Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day
Which smiled on me in Thee with earliest ray:
Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day
Which if it sees Thee not, for night would pray:
Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day
Which in faith's dimness fades not quite away.
My mind's clear day bids my eyes' day awake:
This grant, O Lord, nor the other from me take. R. WI.

CLXXX.

_Quis ex vobis si habeat centum oves, et perdiderit unam ex illis, &c._ Luc. xv. 4.

O ut ego angelicis fiam bona gaudia turmis!
Me quoque solicito quaere per arva gradu.
Mille tibi tutis ludunt in montibus agni,
Quos potes haud dubia dicere voce tuos.
Unus ego erravi, quo me meus error agebat;
Unus ego fuerim gaudia plura tibi.
Gaudia non faciunt, quae nec fecere timorem;
Et plus quae donant ipsa peric'la placent.
Horum quos retines fuerit tibi latior usus:
De me quem recipis dulcior usus erit.

{Eis men ego, he mou plane periegen, alemi;
Eis de toi sos esomai gethosynai pleones.
Amnos ho me poion phobon ou poiei de te charma.
Meizon ton men, emou chreia de glykytere.}

_What man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, &c._

O might I fire the angel-bands with joy,
Thy seeking steps o'er anxious plains employ!
A thousand lambs on the safe mountains play;
All Thine they are, Thou certainly canst say.
The one that err'd and stray'd behold in me;
Be I the one to bring more joy to Thee!
They give no joy who never caus'd a fear;
Dangers themselves, o'ercome, the more endear.
Of those retain'd, more wide be the employment;
Of me recover'd, sweeter the enjoyment. R. WI.

CLXXXI.

_Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncanti._ Act. xii. 2.

Nescis Jacobus quantum hunc tibi debeat ictum,
Quaeque tua in sacrum saeviat ira caput.
Scilicet ipso illi donasti hoc ense coronam,
Quo sacrum abscideras scilicet ense caput.
Abscissum pensare caput quae possit abunde,
Sola haec tam saeva et sacra corona fuit.

{En men, Iakobe, kephalen toi xiphos aperen,
Hen tode kai stephanon xiphos edoke teon.
Mounon ameibesthai kephalen, Iakobe, dynaito,
Keinos hod' hos kalos martyriou stephanos.}

_To Herod beheading St. James._

Know'st not how much James owes thee for this stroke,
Or how on his blest head thine anger broke.
Lo, to himself a crown thou dost accord
Forsooth with that selfsame beheading sword.
Only this sacred sanguinary crown
That sunder'd head was able to weigh down. R. WI.

CLXXXII.

_Caeci receptis oculis Christum sequuntur._ Matt. xx. 34.

Ecce manu imposita Christus nova sidera ponit:
Sectantur patriam sidera fida manum.
Haec manus his, credo, coelum est: haec scilicet astra
Suspicor esse olim quae geret ille manu.[87]

{Cheir epiballomene Christou epeballen opopon
Astra; opedeuei keina ge cheiri Theou.
Cheir haue toutois pelen ouranos. astra gar oimai
En cheri taut' oisei Christos epeita hee.}

_The blind men having received their sight follow Christ._

See Christ with outstretcht hand new stars create,
Which on that hand with due observance wait.
That hand, sure, is their heaven: these stars are they
Which He will hold in His right hand one day. R. WI.

CLXXXIII.

_Zachaeus in sycomoro._ Luc. xix. 4.

Quid te, quid jactas alienis fructibus, arbor?
Quid tibi cum foliis non, sycomore, tuis?
Quippe istic ramo qui jam tibi nutat ab alto,
Mox e divina Vite racemus erit.

{Tipt' epikompazeis keneon xeino de te karpo,
Kai phyllois semne me, sykomore, teois?
Kai gar hod' ekkremnes sou nyn meteoros ap' ernous,
Ampelou ho kladon essetai ouraniou.}

_Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree._

Why of strange fruits dost boast, O sycamore?
Of leaves not thine who gave thee such a store?
He who waves to and fro on bough of thine,
A cluster soon will be of the True Vine. R. WI.

CLXXXIV.

_On our crucified Lord naked and bloody._

Th' have left Thee naked, Lord: O that they had!
This garment too I would they had deny'd.
Thee with Thyselfe they have too richly clad,
Opening the purple wardrobe of Thy side.
O never could bee found garments too good
For Thee to weare, but these of Thine own blood.

CLXXXV.

_Sampson to his Dalilah._

Could not once blinding me, cruell, suffice?
When first I look't on thee, I lost mine eyes.

SECULAR EPIGRAMS.

I.

_Upon Ford's two Tragedyes, 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'The Broken Heart.'_

Thou cheat'st us, Ford; mak'st one seeme two by art:
What is Love's Sacrifice but The Broken Heart?

II.

_Vpon the Faire Ethiopian, sent to a gentlewoman._

Lo here the faire Chariclea, in whom strove
So false a fortune and so true a love!
Now after all her toyles by sea and land,
O may she but arrive at your white hand!
Her hopes are crown'd; onely she feares that than
Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.

III.

_On marriage._

I would be married, but I'de have no wife:
I would be married to a single life.

IV.

_On Nanus mounted upon an ant._

High-mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall
Was throwne, alas, and got a deadly fall;
Vnder th' unruly beast's proud feet he lies
All torne: with much adoe yet ere he dyes
Hee straines these words: Base Envy, doe laugh on:
Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaethon.

V.

_Vpon Venus putting-on Mars his armes._

What, Mars his sword? faire Cytherea, say,
Why art thou arm'd so desperately to-day?
Mars thou hast beaten naked; and, O then,
What needst thou put on armes against poore men?

VI.

_Vpon the same._

Pallas saw Venus arm'd, and straight she cry'd:
Come if thou dar'st; thus, thus let us be try'd.
Why, foole! saies Venus, thus provok'st thou mee,
That being nak't, thou know'st could conquer thee?

VII.

_Out of Martiall._

Foure teeth thou hadst, that, ranck'd in goodly state,
Kept thy mouth's gate.
The first blast of thy cough left two alone;
The second, none.
This last cough, Delia, cought-out all thy feare;
Th' hast left the third cough now no business here.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

These Secular, or, as the word was, 'Humane' Epigrams, all originally appeared in the volume of 1646, as before, and were continued in the after-editions. It is pleasant to have this recognition of John Ford (I.) by Crashaw. The two Tragedies celebrated, appeared in the same year, 1633. The 'Faire Ethiopian' of II. was doubtless William Lisle's poem so named [Lond. 1632],--not given by Hazlitt, _s.n._ The others are too well known to need annotation. These are all preserved, with a collection of others, in the Tanner MS., as before. G.

Latin Poems.

PART FIRST. SACRED.

II.

EPIGRAMMATA SACRA.

NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.

NOTE.

It is my great privilege to be the first to print the following extensive additions to the _Epigrammata Sacra_ of Crashaw. They are wholly derived from Archbishop Sancroft's MS. in the Bodleian, as described in our Preface (Vol. I. p. xx.-xxiii.) and in the Preface to the present Volume. For their relation to those published by the Author himself and in the editions of 1634 and 1670, see our Essay, as before. As with Crashaw's own collection (of 1634), the Epigrams seem to have been composed and written down on the spur of the moment as a subject struck him, and hence there is the same absence of arrangement: nor is it much to be lamented, seeing that each is independent. As a rule, I follow the order of the manuscript. For translations of fifteen of these fifty-five Epigrams, viz. Nos. 8, 9, 19, 24, 26, 32, 34, 35, 39, 46, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, and 55, I am indebted, as for so much more throughout, to my excellent poet-friend the Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., as before: for the others, in Fuller's phrase, 'my meanness is responsible,' except in a few instances wherein Crashaw has himself furnished renderings, or at least little poems less or more corresponding with the Latin; as pointed out in the places. G.

I.

Act. xxviii. 3.

Paule, nihil metuas, non fert haec vipera virus:
Virtutem vestrae vult didicisse manus.
Oscula, non morsus; supplex, non applicat hostis.
Nec metuenda venit, sed miseranda magis.

_St. Paul and the viper._

Paul, fear thou nought; no poison bears this asp:
It seeks to learn the virtue of thy hand.
Not as a foe, but suppliant, it would clasp;
Not fear, but pity, it would fain command. G.

II.

Joan. vi. 14, 26.

Jam credunt, Deus es: Deus est, qui teste palato,
Quique ipso demum est judice dente Deus.
Scilicet haec sapiunt miracula: de quibus alvus
Proficere, et possit pingue latus fluere.
Haec sua fecisti populo miracula credunt.
Gens pia, et in ventrem relligiosa suum!

_The miracle of the loaves._

Now truly they believe that Thou art God!--
God witnessed by palate and by tooth!--
They know the smack of miracles that load
And swell their paunches; yea, believe, forsooth.
To a most pious race, Lord, Thou appealest,
And stomachs most believing Thou revealest. G.

III.

_In lacrymas Christi patientis._

Saeve dolor! potes hoc? oculos quoque perpluis istos?
O quam non meritas haec arat unda genas!
O lacrymas ego flere tuas, ego dignior istud,
Quod tibi cunque cadit roris, habere meum.
Siccine? me tibi flere tuas! ah, mi bone Jesu,
Si possem lacrymas vel mihi flere meas!
Flere meas? immo immo tuas, hoc si modo possem:
Non possem lacrymas, non ego flere meas.
Flere tuas est flere meas, tua lacryma, Christe,
Est mea vel lacryma est si tua, causa mea est.

_Of the tears of the suffering Christ._

O cruel Pain! I ask thee how
Thou canst do what thou'rt doing now?
Dost thou also--or is't my fears?--
Drench His sweet eyes with scalding tears?
O how that show'r furrows amain
His undeserving cheek, as rain!
More meet it were that I should know
The tears that from His anguish flow:
More meet it were that I should feel
All dews that down His wan cheek steal:
O is it thus? Would that it were!
That I might weep Thy laden tear:
Yea, blessed Jesus, would that I
For mine own self could weeping lie:
Mine own tears weep? nay, they are Thine,
For all Thy tears, alas, are mine.
Ah, not a tear that Thou didst shed,
When sorrow bow'd Thy sacred head,
But came of human woe or guilt,
For which at last Thy Blood was spilt;
And even if the tears were Thine,
Being for my sake, they're rather mine. G.

IV.

_In sepulcrum Domini._ Joan. xix. 38-42.

Jam cedant, veteris cedant miracula saxi,
Unde novus subito fluxerat amne latex.
Tu felix rupes, ubi se lux tertia tollet,
Flammarum sacro fonte superba flues.

_The sepulchre of the Lord._

Yield place, ye wonders of the ancient stone
Whence sudden-gushing streams were seen to flow:
When the third day, blest rock, on thee has shone,
Proudly with fount of sacred fire thou'lt glow. G.

V.

_Ubi amorem praecipit._ Joan. xiii. 14.

Sic magis in numeros morituraque carmina vivit
Dulcior extrema voce caducus olor;
Ut tu inter strepitus odii, et tua funera, Jesu,
Totus amor liquido totus amore sonas.

_The parting words of Love._

E'en as the dying swan, sweeter for failing breath,
Dies not, but rather lives, in her last wistful song,
Dost Thou, Lord, mid hate's din and close-approaching death,
As Love, with melting voice, Thy dying love prolong. G.

VI.

Act. xii. 23.

Euge, Deus--pleno populus fremit undique plausu--
Certe non hominem vox sonat, euge, Deus!
Sed tamen iste Deus qui sit, vos dicite, vermes,
Intima turba illi; vos fovet ille sinu.

_Herod devoured of worms._

Behold a god! full-voic'd the people cry;
Not man, but god, with shouts they him attest.
What kind of god he is, ye worms, reply--
A crowd that know the secrets of his breast. G.

VII.

_Bonum est nobis esse hic._

Cur cupis hic adeo, dormitor Petre, manere?
Somnia non alibi tam bona, Petre, vides.

_It is good to be here._

Why seek'st thou, drowsy Peter, here to stay?
Elsewhere such pleasant dreams thou see'st not, eh?[88] G.

VIII.

_Videte lilia agrorum ... nec Salomon, &c._ Matt. vi. 29.

Candide rex campi, cui floris eburnea pompa est,
Deque nivis fragili vellere longa toga;
Purpureus Salomon impar tibi dicitur esto.
Nempe, quod est melius, par fuit ille rosis.

_Look on the lilies of the field ... not Solomon, &c._

O fairest monarch of the enamell'd field,
Whose is the blossom'd pomp of ivory splendour,
And whose the fleeces, snowy-white, which yield
Long-flowing robes immaculate and tender.
Ah, not like lilies--'tis divinely spoken--
Was Solomon, with sin encrimsoned;
But not unlike--and 'tis a better token--
Roses tear-wash'd, which hang the blushing head. R. WI.

IX.

Marc. vii. 33, 36.

Voce manuque simul linguae tu, Christe, ciendae:
Sistendae nudis vocibus usus eras.
Sane at lingua equus est pronis effusus habenis:
Vox ciet, at sistit non nisi tota manus.

_The deaf healed._

To wake the tongue--voice, hand too, Christ would use;
To check it, but a bare word of command.
Really, the tongue is as a horse rein'd-loose--
Starts at a word, stay'd only with strong hand. R. WI.

X.

_In beatae Virginis verecundiam._

Non est hoc matris, sed, crede, modestia nati,
Quod virgo in gremium dejicit ora suum.
Illic jam Deus est, oculus jam Virginis ergo,
Ut coelum videat, dejiciendus erit.

_The modesty of the blessed Virgin._

Not humbleness of mother, but of Child,
Shines in the downward gaze of Virgin mild.
The Virgin gazes where her God doth lie:
She must look down that Heaven may meet her eye. G.

XI.

_Mitto vos sicut agnos in medio luporum._

Hos quoque, an hos igitur saevi lacerabitis agnos?
Hic saltem, hic vobis non licet esse lupis.
At sceleris nulla est clementia, at ergo scietis,
Agnus qui nunc est, est aliquando Leo.

_I send you as lambs in the midst of wolves._

These lambs also, e'en these, will ye, then, fiercely tear?
Here to be wolves, at least here, ye will never dare.
Alas, the wicked still are cruel; but ye'll learn
He Who is now a Lamb will one day Lion turn. G.

XII.

_Christus a daemone vectus._ Matt. iv.

Ergo ille, angelicis o sarcina dignior alis,
Praepete sic Stygio, sic volet ille vehi.
Pessime! nec laetare tamen tu scilicet inde,
Non minus es daemon, non minus ille Deus.

_Christ carried by the devil._

Will He--O burden worthier angels' wings!--
Deign to be carried by swift fiend of hell?
Vilest! to thee this no advancement brings;
He no less God, thou no less demon fell. G.

XIII.

Joan. i. 23.

Vox ego sum, dicis: tu vox es, sancte Joannes?
Si vox es, sterilis cur tibi mater erat?
Quam fuit ista tuae mira infoecundia matris!
In vocem sterilis rarior esse solet.

_St. John the Baptist a voice._

'I am a voice, a voice,' says holy John.
If so, how should thy mother barren be?
This is unfruitfulness to muse upon;
Tongue-barren women we so seldom see! G.

XIV.

_Vox Joannes, Christus Verbum._

Monstrat Joannes Christum, haud res mira videtur:
Vox unus, verbum scilicet alter erat.
Christus Joanne est prior, haec res mira videtur:
Voce sua verbum non solet esse prius.

_John the Voice, Christ the Word._

John points out Christ; no wonder this we deem:
One is a Voice, the other is the Word.
Christ is before John; wondrous this may seem;
For when was word before a voice e'er heard? G.

XV.

_In natales Domini pastoribus nuntiatos._ Luc. ii. 8-19.

Ad te sydereis, ad te, bone Tityre, pennis
Purpureus juvenis gaudia tanta vehit.
O bene te vigilem, cui gaudia tanta feruntur,
Ut neque dum vigilas, te vigilare putes.
Quem sic monstrari voluit pastoribus aether,
Pastor an agnus erat? Pastor et agnus erat.
Ipse Deus cum Pastor erit, quis non erit agnus?
Quis non pastor erit, cum Deus agnus erit?

_On the birth of the Lord announced to the shepherds._

To thee, good Tityrus, on starry wings _shepherd_
The royal angel such 'glad tidings' brings.
Surely the happy watcher never thought
That he was watching when such joys were brought.
And He, Whom thus the heavenly host reveal'd
To shepherds 'mid their flocks in open field,
Tell me, was He a Shepherd or a Lamb?
Shepherd and Lamb at once; He took each name.
Since, then, our God a Shepherd's name doth wear,
The name of lamb who will not wish to bear?
And who will not be shepherd, since God deigns
To be a Lamb, for suffering of sin's pains? G.

XVI.

_In Atheniensem merum._ Act. xvii. 28.

Ipsos naturae thalamos sapis, imaque rerum
Concilia, et primae quicquid agunt tenebrae,
Quid dubitet refluum mare, quid vaga sydera volvant;
Christus et est studiis res aliena tuis.
Sic scire, est tantum nescire loquacius illa:
Qui nempe illa sapit sola, nec illa sapit.

_Of the 'blue-blood' pride of the Athenians._

Thou knowest Nature's secret things
And all her deepest counsellings--
All wonders of the primal Night
Conceal'd from prying human sight;
Knowest how the sea-tide pauses,
The wandering stars too in their causes.
But while to thee, in all else wise,
Christ from thy thoughts an alien lies,
In earthly studies to advance
Is but loquacious ignorance;
And he whose wisdom is but such,
Of those things even knows not much.
O, study thou beneath the Cross,
Or all thy labour is but loss! G.

XVII.

_Ego vitis vera._ Joan. xv. 1.

Credo quidem, sed et hoc hostis te credidit ipse
Caiaphas, et Judas credidit ipse, reor.
Unde illis, Jesu, vitis nisi vera fuisses,
Tanta tui potuit sanguinis esse sitis?

_I am the True Vine._

'Believe!' e'en Caiaphas, thy foe, believed
Thee the True Vine; and Judas too, I think.
Had they not, Lord, Thee as True Vine received,
Could they have thirsted so Thy Blood to drink? G.

XVIII.

_Abscessum Christi queruntur Discipuli._

Ille abiit, jamque o quae nos mala cunque manetis,
Sistite jam in nostras tela parata neces.
Sistite; nam quibus haec vos olim tela paratis,
Abscessu Domini jam periere sui.

_The departure of Christ lamented by the Disciples._

The Lord is gone; and now, all evils dire,
Hold back the darts which for our death you flourish:
Yea, hold them back, nor waste on us your ire,
For with our Lord's departure, lo, we perish. G.

XIX.

_In descensum Spiritus Sancti._ Act. ii. 1-4.

Quae vehit auratos nubes dulcissima nimbos?
Quis mitem pluviam lucidus imber agit?
Agnosco, nostros haec nubes abstulit ignes:
Haec nubes in nos jam redit igne pari.
O nubem gratam et memorem, quae noluit ultra
Tam saeve de se nos potuisse queri!
O bene; namque alio non posset rore rependi,
Coelo exhalatum quod modo terra dedit.

_On the descent of the Holy Spirit._

What sweetest cloud comes wafting golden shower?
What gentle raindrops bring their shining dower?
The cloud which stole our flame, our heart's desire,
This very cloud returns with equal fire.
O kindly-mindful cloud, which could not brook
That we should mourn thee with so sad a look!
'Tis well; no other dew had countervail'd
That which from earth to heaven was late exhal'd. R. WI.

XX.

Act. x. 39.

Quis malus appendit de mortis stipite vitam?
O malus agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit?
Immo, quis appendit vitae hac ex arbore mortem?
O bonus Agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit.
What wicked one affix'd Life to Death's tree?
O wretched gard'ner, call'st thou this engrafting?
Nay, tell me who affix'd Death to Life's tree?
O noble Gard'ner, this I call engrafting. G.

XXI.

_Ego sum Ostium._ Joan. x. 9.

Jamque pates, cordisque seram gravis hasta reclusit,
Et clavi claves undique te reserant.
Ah, vereor, sibi ne manus impia clauserit illas,
Quae coeli has ausa est sic aperire fores.

_I am the Doore._

And now th' art set wide ope; the speare's sad art,
Lo, hath unlockt Thee at the very heart.
He to himselfe--I feare the worst--
And his owne hope,
Hath shut these doores of heaven, that durst
Thus set them ope. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.