Chapter II: A Study of the Life and Poetry of Richard Crashaw (6)

Now Thou art open wide; the barrier dear
Of Thy great heart unclos'd by cruel spear;
And nails as keys unlock Thee everywhere.
Ah, he whose wicked hand thus forc'd the gate
Of heaven, perhaps at heaven's shut door will wait
One day, with outer darkness for his fate. G.

XXII.

_In spinas demtas a Christi capite cruentatas._

Accipe, an ignoscis? de te sata germina, miles.
Quam segeti est messis discolor illa suae!
O quae tam duro gleba est tam grata colono?
Inserit hic spinas: reddit et illa rosas.

_Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head bloody._

Knowst thou this, souldier? 'tis a much-chang'd plant, which yet
Thyselfe didst set;
'Tis chang'd indeed: did Autumn e're such beauties bring
To shame his Spring?
O, who so hard an husbandman could ever find
A soyle so kind?
Is not the soile a kind one, thinke ye, that returnes
Roses for thornes? CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Take, soldier--know'st them not?--thy planted germs;
A harvest how unlike to its seed-corn!
What soil yields husbandman such kindly terms?
The rose he gathers, where he planted thorn. G.

XXIII.

Joan. iii. 1-21.

Nox erat, et Christum, Doctor male docte, petebas
In Christo tenebras depositure tuas.
Ille autem multo dum te bonus irrigat ore,
Atque per arcanas ducit in alta vias,
Sol venit, et primo pandit se flore diei,
Ludit et in dubiis aureus horror aquis.
Sol oritur; sed adhuc, et adhuc tamen, o bone, nescis.
Sol oritur, tecum nox tamen est, et adhuc
. . . . .
Non coeli, illa fuit, nox fuit illa tua.

_Nicodemus._

'Twas night; and, Teacher all untaught,
Thy darkness thou to Christ hast brought
But while attent He speaks to thee
Benignant words, that thou mayst see,
Leading higher still and higher,
As thy yearnings do aspire,
Guiding thee, by sure grace given,
Through secret paths that reach to heaven;
Lo, the Sun on thee is risen,
Bursting from his cloudy prison,
Showing Him, the Life, the Way,
Flushing with first bloom of day,
Quivering with a golden light
Such as on wav'ring seas gleams bright.
The Sun is risen; yet darkness lies,
Good Nicodemus, on thine eyes;
But the night's thine own; for, lo,
All heav'n above doth lustrous glow. G.

XXIV.

_Domitiano de S. Johanne ad portam Lat._

Ergo ut inultus eas? sed nec tamen ibis inultus,
Sic violare ausus meque meosque deos.
Ure oleo, lictor. Oleo parat urere lictor:
Sed quem uri lictor credidit, unctus erat.
Te quoque sic olei virtus malefida fefellit?
Sic tua te Pallas, Domitiane, juvat?

_To Domitian, concerning St. John commanded to be cast into a caldron of boiling oil._

Thou go unpunish'd? That shall never be,
Since thou hast dar'd to mock my gods and me.
Burn him in oil!--The lictor oil prepares:
Behold the Saint anointed unawares!
With such elusive virtue was the oil fraught!
Such aid thy olive-loving Pallas brought![89] R. WI.

XXV.

_In Baptistam vocem._ Joan. i. 23.

Tantum habuit Baptista loqui, tot flumina rerum,
Ut bene Vox fuerit, praetereaque nihil.
Ecce autem Verbum est unum tantum ille loquutus:
Uno sed Verbo cuncta loquutus erat.

_The voice of the Baptist._

The Baptist had to speak such floods of things,
That well he might be Voice and nothing more:
But one word only, lo, Christ speaks, which brings
In one word all: My soul that Word adore! G.

XXVI.

_In D. Petrum angelo solutum._ Act. xii. 6, 7.

Mors tibi et Herodes instant: cum nuncius ales
Gaudia fert, quae tu somnia ferre putas.
Quid tantum dedit ille, rogo, tibi? Vincula solvit,
Mors tibi et Herodes nonne dedisset idem?

_On St. Peter loosed by the angel._

Death, Herod, press on thee; when angel's wing
Brings joys which thou supposest dreams to bring.
What gave he thee? Thy chains burst at his touch;
But Death and Herod would have given as much. R. WI.

XXVII.

_Relictis omnibus sequuti sunt eum._ Luc. v. 28.

Ad nutum Domini abjecisti retia, Petre.
Tam bene non unquam jacta fuere prius.
Scilicet hoc recte jacere est tua retia, Petre,
Nimirum, Christus cum jubet, abjicere.

_On St. Peter casting away his nets at our Saviour's call._

Thou hast the art on't, Peter, and canst tell
To cast thy nets on all occasions well.
When Christ calls, and thy nets would have thee stay,
To cast them well's to cast them quite away. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

At the Lord's word thy nets were cast away:
Never before thy nets so well were cast.
Rightly to cast them is to cast away,
When once The Master's order has been pass'd. G.

XXVIII.

_Agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi._ Joan. i. 36.

Ergo tot heu, torvas facies, tot in ora leonum,
In tot castra lupum qui meat, Agnus erit?
Hic tot in horribiles, quot sunt mea crimina, pardos?
Hic tot in audaces ungue vel ore feras?
Ah melius, pugiles quis enim commiserit istos?
Quos sua non faciunt arma vel ira pares.

_The Lamb of God, Who bears away the sins of the world._

Shall He, then, be a Lamb, to go
Forth against such various foe?
Lions ravenous, great of jaw;
Wolves in vast herds, of mighty paw;
Pards vengeful, prowling out and in--
Frightful, num'rous as my sin--
Awful of face, and gaunt and grim,
Merciless to mangle limb by limb.
Ah, goest Thou, gentle One, 'gainst these?
And does terror upon Thee seize?
O how unequal is the strife,
And the prey so grand a life!
With such as these to fight art fated?
Nor in arms nor passion mated. G.

XXIX.

_Pisces multiplicati._ Joan. xxi. 11.

Quae secreta meant taciti tibi retia verbi,
Queis non tam pisces quam capis Oceanum?

_The miraculous draught of fishes._

What nets, hid in Thy silent word,
Passest Thou on;
By which not fish Thou takest, Lord,
But the Ocean? G.

XXX.

_Domine, non solum pedes, sed et caput, &c._ Joan. xiii. 9.

En caput, atque suis quae plus satis ora laborant
Sordibus; huc fluvios, ais [et] adde tuos.
Nil opus est; namque haec, modo tertius occinat ales,
E fluviis fuerint, Petre, lavanda suis.

_Lord, not my feet only, but also my head, &c._

'Behold my head, behold my face,
Which sin's filthiest stains deface:
Here pour Thy streams:' thou say'st to Me.
But, Peter, needs not this for thee;
For ere the cock a third time crow,
Rivers of its own tears must flow. G.

XXXI.

_Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebant._ Joan. xii. 37.

Quanta amor ille tuus se cunque levaverit ala,
Quo tua cunque opere effloruit alta manus;
Mundus adest, contraque tonat, signisque reponit
Signa, adeo sua sunt numina vel sceleri,
Imo, o nec nimii vis sit temeraria verbi,
Ille uno sensu vel tua cuncta premit.
Tot tantisque tuis mirac'lum hoc objicit unum,
Tot tantisque tuis non adhibere fidem.

_Though they beheld so many miracles, they believed not._

However high in Thy great love Thou wingest,
And whatsoe'er within Thy hand Thou bringest,
Against Thee, with its thunders, stands the world,
Sign answering sign; Sin's banners all unfurl'd.
Nay--and let not the bold rash word appal--
One thought o' the world makes all Thy wonders fall:
Against Thy mightiest signs this one it wields--
To the vast whole of Thine, no faith it yields. G.

XXXII.

_In nubem, quae Dominum abstulit._ Act. i. 9.

O nigra haec! quid enim mihi candida pectora monstrat,
Pectora cygneis candidiora genis?
Sit vero magis alba, suo magis aurea Phoebo,
Quantumcunque sibi candida; nigra mihi est.
Nigra mihi nubes! et qua neque nigrior Austros,
Vel tulit irati nuntia tela Dei.
Nigra! licet nimbos, noctem neque detulit ullam.
Si noctem non fert, at rapit, ecce, diem.

_On the cloud which received the Lord._

O, this black cloud! a white breast does it show--
A breast more white than a swan's neck of snow?
More bright than golden sunshine let it be!
However fair itself, 'tis black to me.
From blacker cloud ne'er issu'd stormy blast,
Nor thunderbolts of angry heaven were cast.
Black! though no showers or shadows round it play;
If Night it bring not, yet it takes our Day. R. WI.

XXXIII.

_Vidit urbem, et flevit super eam._ Luc. xix. 41, 42.

Ergo meas spernis lacrymas, urbs perfida? Sperne.
Sperne meas, quas o sic facis esse tuas.
Tempus erit, lacrymas poterit cum lacryma demum
Nostra, nec immerito, spernere spreta tuas.

_He saw the city, and wept over it._

Why scornest thou My tears, deceitful city?
Scorn, scorn My tears, and thus thou mak'st them thine.
The time will come when thou shalt seek My pity;
But I shall scorn thy tears, as thou scorn'st Mine. G.

XXXIV.

_Nec sicut iste publicanus._ Luc. xviii. 11.

Tu quoque dum istius miseri peccata fateris,
Quae nec is irato mitius ungue notat;
Hic satis est gemino bonus in sua crimina telo.
Interea, quid erit, mi Pharisaee, tuis?

_Nor even as this publican._

While thou too dost this wretch's sins confess,
Which he with hand and tongue deplores no less;
If he 'gainst his own crimes twice just will be,
What thinks he meanwhile of the Pharisee? R. WI.

XXXV.

_Accedentes Discipuli excitaverunt eum._ Matt. viii. 25.

Ah, quis erat furor hos, tam raros, solvere somnos?
O vos, queis Christi vel sopor invigilat!
Illum si somnus tenuit, vos somnia terrent,
Somnia tam vanos ingeminata metus.
Nil Christi nocuit somnus, mihi credite. Somnus
Qui nocuit, vestrae somnus erat fidei.

_His Disciples came and awoke Him._

What madness this, slumbers so rare to break,
O ye, for whom even Christ's sleep doth wake!
If sleep held Him, ye're terrified by dreams--
Dreams which redouble fear that only seems.
Christ's sleep nought injur'd you, indeed 'tis true:
Your faith's sleep, and that only, injur'd you. R. WI.

XXXVI.

_In mulierem Canaanaeam cum Domino decertantem._ Matt. xv. 22-28.

Cedit io jam, jamque cadet modo, fortiter urge,
Jam tua ni desit dextera, jamque cadet.
Nimirum hoc velit ipse, tuo favet ipse triumpho,
Ipse tuas tacitus res tuus hostis agit.
Quas patitur facit ille manus; ictu ille sub omni est;
Atque in te vires sentit, amatque suas.
Usque adeo haud tuus hic ferus est, neque ferreus hostis;
Usque adeo est miles non truculentus Amor.
Illo quam facilis victoria surgit ab hoste,
Qui, tantum ut vinci possit, in arma venit!

_The woman of Canaan._

Now He yieldeth, now He falleth,
As thy passion on Him calleth:
Press thee nigher still and nigher,
Urge thee higher still and higher;
Cleave and cling, nor let thy hand
Cease to plead, nor fearing stand.
He thy triumph sees with gladness,
Loves thee in thy clinging sadness;
Seems thy foe, yet ne'ertheless
Yearns in His heart of love to bless;
Willing bears thy every blow,
That from His own pow'r doth flow;
Loves to hear thy interceding,
His own voice within thee pleading.
Ah, this seeming en'my of thine,
Of fierceness giveth thee no sign;
For Love no grim soldier is,
Rough and severe, denying bliss.
Eas'ly is that victory won,
When the foe seeks to be undone. G.

XXXVII.

_Quare comedit Magister vester cum peccatoribus, &c._ Matt. ix. 11.

Siccine fraternos fastidis, improbe, morbos,
Cum tuus, et gravior, te quoque morbus habet?
Tantum ausus medicum morbus sibi quaerere, magnus;
Tantum ausus medicum spernere, major erat.

_Wherefore eateth your Master with sinners, &c._

Dost loathe thy brother, Pharisee,
Since his disease to Christ he brings?
And knowest not that all men see
Disease to thee more deadly clings?
That he dare seek Healer so great,
Shows great his disease to be;
That thou dar'st scorn on Him to wait,
Shows a greater cleaves to thee. G.

XXXVIII.

_In febricitantem et hydropicum sanatos._ Marc. i. 30, 31; Luc. xiv. 2-4.

Nuper lecta gravem extinxit pia pagina febrem,
Hydropi siccos dat modo lecta sinus.
Haec vice fraterna quam se miracula tangunt,
Atque per alternum fida juvamen amant!
Quippe ignes istos his quam bene mersit in undis,
Ignibus his illas quam bene vicit aquas!

_Miracles of healing the men sick of fever and of dropsy._

We read within the sacred page
Christ quench'd a fever's burning rage;
Read that a dropsy's swollen flood
Ebb'd at His word e'en as He stood.
Well join'd these mir'cles each to other,
As loving brother unto brother:
How well these waters drown'd that flame,
That fire these waters overcame! G.

XXXIX.

_In S. Lucam medicum._ Col. iv. 14.

Hanc, mihi quam miseram faciunt mea crimina vitam,
Hanc, medici, longam vestra medela facit.
Hoc'ne diu est vixisse? diu, mihi credite, non est
Hoc vixisse; diu sed timuisse mori.
Tu foliis, Medice alme, tuis medicamina praebes,
Et medicaminibus, quae mala summa, malis.
Hoc mortem bene vitare est, vitare ferendo.
Et vixisse diu est hoc, cito posse mori.

_To St. Luke the physician._

This life my sins with wretchedness make rife,
Physicians by their art prolong this life.
Is this to live long time? I hear one sigh;
This is but fearing a long time to die.
Thy leaves, Physician blest, medicines contain
E'en for our medicines poor, our chiefest bane.
This is to escape death well--in death to lie;
And this is to live long--quickly to die. R. WI.

XL.

_Tollat crucem suam, &c._ Matt. xxvii. 32.

Ergo tuam pone; ut nobis sit sumere nostram:
Si nostram vis nos sumere, pone tuam.
Illa, illa, ingenti quae te trabe duplicat, illa
Vel nostra est, nostras vel tulit illa cruces.

_He bears His own cross, &c._

Wherefore Thy cross, O Lord, lay down,
That we our own may make it:
If ours Thou willest us to own,
Thine, Lord, lay down; we'll take it:
That, that, I say, with its huge beam,
Which Thy prest body doubles;
That cross, e'en that, our own we deem,
For it has borne our troubles.
Our sin Thy burden sendeth;
Thy cross our crosses blendeth. G.

XLI.

_In cygneam D. Jesu cantionem._ Joan. xvii.

Quae mella, o quot, Christe, favos in carmina fundis!
Dulcis et, ah furias! ah, moribundus olor!
Parce tamen, minus hae si sunt mea gaudia voces:
Voce quidem dulci, sed moriente canis.

_Upon our Lord's last comfortable discourse with His disciples._

All Hybla's honey, all that sweetnesse can,
Flowes in Thy song, O faire, O dying Swan!
Yet is the joy I take in't small or none;
It is too sweet to be a long-liv'd one. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION. _On the swan-song of our Lord Jesus._

What songs, like honeycomb, your tongue employ,
Sweet Swan! but ah, Thou waitest for Death's call.
O cease; these sounds are but a doubtful joy;
'Tis a sweet voice, but has a dying fall. G.

XLII.

_Et conspuebant illum._ Marc. xiv. 65.

Quid non tam foede saevi maris audeat ira?
Conspuit ecce oculos, sydera nostra, tuos.
Forsan et hic aliquis sputo te excaecat, Jesu,
Qui debet sputo, quod videt ipse, tuo.

_And they spat upon Him._

What will Wrath's sea, so foully fierce, not dare?
It spits upon our stars, Thy eyes so fair.
Perchance e'en here some one now spits on Thee
Who to Thy spittle owes it, he doth see. G.

XLIII.

_Rogavit eum, ut descenderet et sanaret filium suum._ Joan. iv. 47.

Ille ut eat tecum, in natique tuique salutem?
Qui petis; ah nescis, credo, quod ales Amor.
Ille ut eat tecum? quam se tua vota morantur!
Ille ut eat? tanto serius esset ibi.
Ne tardus veniat, Christus tecum ire recusat:
Christi nempe ipsum hoc ire moratur iter.
Christi nempe viis perit hoc quodcunque meatur:
Christi nempe viis vel properare mora est.
Hic est, cui tu vota facis tua, Christus: at idem,
Crede mihi, dabit haec qui rata, Christus ibi est.

_He besought that He would go with him and heal his son._

That He would go with thee thou pleadest,
As for thy child thou intercedest.
Ah, little knowest thou how Love,
Such as descendeth from Above,
Swifter far is than feet can go,
Or any motion here below.
'Go with thee?' O how strange request!
Thou wouldst later then be blest.
That He may not slowlier come,
Christ will not travel with thee home,
For so to 'go' were to delay;
All paths unneeded by The Way.
Christ to Whom thou speakest pleading,
Christ with Whom thou'rt interceding,
He is here, and yet is yonder,
Swift as is the bolt of thunder:
He thy heart's desire will give;
Have thou faith, thy child shall live. G.

XLIV.

_Pavor enim occupaverat eum super capturam piscium._ Luc. v. 9.

Dum nimium in captis per te, Petre, piscibus haeres,
Piscibus, ut video, captus es ipse tuis.
Rem scio, te praedam Christus sibi cepit: et illi
Una in te ex istis omnibus esca fuit.

_For dread came upon him at the great draught of fishes._

Whilst, Peter, thou art so astonished
At thy draught of fishes,
Methinks thyself by them art captive led:
Christ to catch thee wishes,
So as one bait He setteth all these fishes. G.

XLV.

_Viderunt et oderunt me._ Joan. xv. 24.

Vidit? et odit adhuc? Ah, te non vidit, Jesu.
Non vidit te, qui vidit, et odit adhuc.
Non vidit, te non vidit, dulcissime rerum;
In te qui vidit quid, quod amare neget.

_But now they have seen and hated._

Seene, and yet hated Thee? They did not see;
They saw Thee not, that saw and hated Thee:
No, no, they saw Thee not, O Life, O Love,
Who saw aught in Thee that their hate could move. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

See Thee, Lord, and hated still?
Ah, that were impossible:
See and hate? He saw Thee never
Who could see, nor love for ever.
O Thou, the all-lovely One,
He hath had no vision
Who can see and hate; for why,
Speck nor stain may none descry
In Thy lowly, lofty Face,
Full of sweetness, love, and grace. G.

XLVI.

Luc. xviii. 39.

Tu mala turba tace; mihi tam mea vota propinquant,
Tuque in me linguam 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,
Quae tam laeta tuo ridet in ore diem.
O noctis miserere meae, miserere, per illam,
Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem.
O noctis miserere meae, miserere, per illam,
Haec mea quam, fidei, nox habet ipsa, diem.
Illa dies animi, Jesu, rogat hanc oculorum:
Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.

_The blind suppliant._

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, etc.[90]

ANOTHER VERSION.

Silence, silence, O vile crowd;
Yea, I will now cry aloud:
He comes near, Who is to me
Light and life and liberty.
Silence seek ye? yes, I'll be
Silent when He speaks to me,
He my Hope; ah, meek and still,
I shall 'bide His holy will.
O crowd, ye it may surprise,
But His voice holdeth my eyes:
O have pity on my night,
By the day that gives glad light;
O have pity on my night,
By the day would lose its light,
If it gat not of Thee sight;
O have pity on my night,
By day of faith upspringing bright;
That day within my soul that burns,
And for eyes' day unto Thee turns.
Lord, O Lord, give me this day,
Nor do Thou take that away. G.

XLVII.

_In Pharisaeos Christi verbis insidiantes._ Matt. xxii. 15.

O quam te miseri ludunt vaga taedia voti,
Ex ore hoc speras qui, Pharisaee, malum!
Sic quis ab Aurorae noctem speraverit ulnis,
Unde solet primis Sol tener ire rosis?
Sic Acheronta petas illinc unde amne corusco
Lactea sydereos Cynthia lavit equos.
Sic violas aconita roges: sic toxica nympham,
Garrula quae vitreo gurgite vexat humum.
Denique, ut exemplo res haec propriore patescat,
A te sic speret quis, Pharisaee, bonum?

_The Pharisees insidiously watching the words of Christ._

O self-baffl'd Pharisee,
Vainly dost thou weary thee,
Hoping at His holy mouth
To catch other than the Truth:
Stainless, holy, pure is He,
Guileless as Simplicity.
Who would e'er expect black Night
In the bosom of the Light,
When the young sun in splendour burns,
And the dawn to roses turns?
Who, again, would seek to mark
Acheron plunging i' the dark,
Where white Cynthia's starry steeds
Lave them by the glitt'ring meads?
Who would aconite think to get
From the fragrant violet?
Or, watching by the babbling rill
Gushing in pureness from the hill,
Think thence poison to distil?
In fine, instance nearer thee--
Would any ever hope to see
Aught of good in Pharisee? G.

XLVIII.

Matt. ix. 20.

Falleris, et nudum male ponis, pictor, Amorem;
Non nudum facis hunc, cum sine veste facis.
Nonne hic est, dum sic digito patet ille fideli,
Tunc cum vestitus, tunc quoque nudus Amor?

_Touched the hem of His garment._

Erringly, painter, thou portrayst Love bare:
Not bare you make him, though no clothes he wear.
Here, while laid open to believing hand,
Though clothed indeed, bare truly see Him stand. R. WI.

XLIX.

Tolle oculos, tolle, o tecum tua sydera nostros.
Ah quid enim, quid agant hic sine sole suo?
Id quod agant sine sole suo tua sydera, coelum:
Id terrae haec agerent hic sine sole suo.
Illa suo sine sole suis caeca imbribus essent:
Caeca suis lacrymis haec sine sole suo.

_The departing Saviour._

O take, take with Thee, Lord, Thy stars, our eyes;
What would they do left here without their sun?
E'en what your sunless stars would do, ye skies,
Would here by sunless stars of earth be done.
Without their sun, those dark with showers we see;
These without sun, dark with their tears would be. R. WI.

L.

_Nam ego non solum vinciri, &c._ Act. xxi. 13.

Quid mortem objicitis nostro, quid vinc'la timori?
Non timor est illinc, non timor inde meus.
Vincula, quae timeam, sunt vincula sola timoris:
Sola timenda mihi est mors, timuisse mori.

_Paul unfearing._

Why talk of death or bonds to me,
As if these things a fear could be?
My fear springeth not from thence;
Nor in these is influence
Me to trouble or alarm,
Me to fret, or me to harm.
The only bonds that fearful are
Are the bonds themselves of fear;
The only death looks dreadfully,
Is lest I should fear to die. G.

LI.

_Legatio Baptistae ad Christum._ Matt. xi.

Oro, quis es? legat ista suo Baptista Magistro.
Illi quae referant, talia Christus habet.
Cui caecus cernit, mutus se in verba resolvit,
It claudus, vivit mortuus: oro, quis est?

_The message of the Baptist to Christ._

I ask, Who art Thou? is the Baptist's word.
Straight from his Master this reply is heard:
He by whose mighty power dumb speak, blind see,
Lame walk, dead live: Who is This? I ask thee. R. WI.

LII.

Accipe dona, puer, parvae libamina laudis;
Accipe, non meritis accipienda suis:
Accipe dona, puer dulcis; dumque accipis illa,
Digna quoque efficies, quae, puer, accipies.
Sive oculo, sive illa tua dignabere dextra;
Dextram oculumque dabis posse decere tuum.
Non modo es in dantes, sed et ipsa in dona benignus;
Nec tantum donans das, sed et accipiens.

_Gifts to Jesus._

Take, Lord, these gifts, small offerings of our hand,
Though their own worth acceptance none command.
Take, and while taking them, Thou Saviour sweet.
E'en what Thou takest, Thou wilt render meet.
Whether Thou deem them worthy eye or touch,
Thou wilt be able, Lord, to make them such:
Kind e'en to gifts themselves, as to those giving,
Thou givest both when giving and receiving. R. WI.

LIII.

_In partum B. Virginis non difficilem._

Nec facta est tamen illa parens impune, quod almi
Tam parcens uteri venerit ille puer.
Una haec nascentis quodcunque pepercerit hora.
Toto illum vitae tempore parturiit.
Gaudia parturientis erat semel ille parenti;
Quotidie gemitus parturientis erat.

_On the blessed Virgin's easy parturition._

Not lightly she escap'd a mother's doom,
Although her Child dealt gently with her womb:
Whate'er was spar'd at the one hour of birth,
She travail'd with Him all His time on earth:
The joy of childbirth quickly pass'd away;
She felt the pangs of childbirth every day. R. WI.

LIV.

Circulus hic similem quam par sibi pergit in orbem!
Principiumque suum quam bene finis amat!
Virgineo thalamo quam pulchre convenit ille,
Quo nemo jacuit, virgineus tumulus!
Undique ut haec aequo passu res iret; et ille
Josepho desponsatus, et ille fuit.

_Upon our Saviour's tombe, wherein never man was laid._

How life and death in Thee
Agree!
Thou hadst a virgin wombe
And tombe:
A Joseph did betroth
Them both. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

See how a circle tends,
Beginning as it ends:
Behold a virgin womb;
Behold a virgin tomb;
Behold, and wonder at the truth,
A Joseph was espous'd to both! G.

LV.

_In Sanctum igneis linguis descendentem Spiritum._ Act. ii. 3.

Absint, qui ficto simulant pia pectora vultu,
Ignea quos luteo pectore lingua beat.
Hoc potius mea vota rogant, mea thura petessunt,
Ut mihi sit mea mens ignea, lingua luti.

_On the Holy Spirit descending in fiery tongues._

Begone, who goodness feign with a false face,
Whom fiery tongues in earthy bosom grace.
This rather all my prayers and gifts desire,
A tongue of earth, if but my heart be fire. R. WI.

LVI.

LIFE FOR DEATH.[91]

_Whosoever will loose his life, &c._ Matt. xvi. 25.

Soe I may gaine Thy death, my life I'le giue,--
My life's Thy death, and in Thy death I liue;
Or else, my life, I'le hide thee in His graue,
By three daies losse aeternally to saue. CR.

LVII.

ON THE DIVINE LOVE: AFTER H. HUGO.[92]

_In amorem divinum_ (Hermannus Hugo).

Aeternall Loue! what 'tis to loue Thee well,
None but himselfe who feeles it, none can tell.
But oh, what to be lou'd of Thee as well,
None, not himselfe who feeles it, none can tell. CR.

Latin Poems.

PART FIRST. SACRED.

III.

HITHERTO UNCOLLECTED.

1648.

NOTE.

Whether intentionally, or with his usual carelessness, the two
following important and characteristic Poems are not given in
Turnbull's edition; and they seem entirely to have escaped the
knowledge of even admirers of Crashaw. They appeared originally in
the 'Steps of the Temple' of 1648 (pp. 103-105), and were naturally
excluded from the Paris collection of 1652, and overlooked in the
edition of 1670. See their biographic significance in our Essay in
the present Volume. For the second translation (viz. of Baptismus
&c.) I tender thanks to my good friend Rev. J.H. Clark, M.A., as
before; the other and somewhat difficult one (Fides &c.) I have
myself done. G.

FIDES, QUAE SOLA JUSTIFICAT, NON EST SINE SPE ET DILECTIONE.

Nam neque tam sola est. O quis male censor amarus
Jam socias negat in mutua sceptra manus?
Deme Fidem; nec aget, nec erit jam nomen Amoris:
Et vel erit, vel aget quid sine Amore Fides?
Ergo, Amor, i, morere; i, magnas, Puer alme, per umbras 5
Elysiis non tam numen inane locis.
O bene, quod pharetra hoc saltem tua praestat et arcus,
Ne tibi in extremos sit pyra nulla rogos!
O bene, quod tuus has saltem tibi providet ignis,
In tu quas possis funera ferre faces! 10
Durus es, ah, quisquis tam dulcia vincula solvis;
Quae ligat, et quibus est ipse ligatus Amor.
O bene junctarum divortia saeva sororum,
Tam penitus mixtas quae tenuere manus!
Nam quae, tam varia, in tam mutua viscera vivunt? 15
Aut ubi, quae duo sunt, tam prope sunt eadem?
Alternis sese circum amplectuntur in ulnis:
Extraque et supra, subter et intus eunt.
Non tam Nympha tenax, Baccho jam mista marito,
Abdidit in liquidos mascula vina sinus. 20
Compare jam dempto, saltem sua murmura servat
Turtur, et in viduos vivit amara modos.
At Fidei sit demptus Amor; non illa dolebit,
Non erit impatiens aegraque; jam moritur.
Palma, marem cui tristis hyems procul abstulit umbram, 25
Protinus in viridem procubuit faciem?
Undique circumfert caput, omnibus annuit Euris;
Siqua maritalem misceat aura comam:
Ah misera, expectat longum, lentumque expirat,
Et demum totis excutitur foliis. 30
At sine Amore Fides nec tantum vivere perstat,
Quo dici possit vel moritura Fides.
Mortua jam nunc est: nisi demum mortua non est
Corporea haec, anima deficiente, domus.
Corpore ab hoc Fidei hanc animam si demis Amoris, 35
Jam tua sola quidem est, sed male sola Fides.
Hectore ab hoc, currus quem jam nunc sentit Achillis,
Hectora eum speres quem modo sensit herus?
Tristes exuvias, Oetaei frusta furoris,
Vanus, in Alcidae nomen et acta vocas? 40
Vel satis in monstra haec, plus quam Nemeaea, malorum
Hoc Fidei torvum et triste cadaver erit?
Immo, Fidem usque suos velut ipse Amor ardet amores;
Sic in Amore fidem comprobat ipsa Fides.

ERGO:

Illa Fides vacua quae sola superbiat aula, 45
Quam Spes desperet, quam nee amabit Amor;
Sola Fides haec, tam misere, tam desolate
Sola, quod ad nos est, sola sit usque licet.
A sociis quae sola suis, a se quoque sola est.
Quae sibi tam nimia est, sit mihi nulla Fides. 50

NOTE.

In line 10 we have corrected an evident but long-continued misprint
in the original text of 'In tu aquas' by reading 'In tu quas,' and
translate accordingly. G.

TRANSLATION.

FAITH, WHICH ALONE JUSTIFIES,

EXISTS NOT WITHOUT HOPE AND LOVE.

That Faith which only justifies
A sinner as in guilt he lies,
Bow'd aneath the awful blood,
Clinging to the uplifted rood,
Is not alone so as nor Love
Nor heavenly Hope may in it move,
To thrill with touch of ecstasy
The bruised heart, the swimming eye.
What, censor! bitter to ill end,
Dost thou thy dogma still defend?
And wouldest thou to hands allied
Mutual sceptres see denied,
Snapping betwixt Faith and Love
The tie that binds them from Above?
I tell thee nay, stone-hearted one,
The Faith of Christ is not alone:
Take Faith away, and Love will sigh;
Take Hope away, and Faith will die;
Take Faith away, Love will do naught;
Take Love away, and Faith's distraught:
For I tell thee, vain sophister,
They're as sister unto sister.
But mark, this Love that brings Faith joy
Is not blind Cupid. Ah, bright Boy,
Begone; thou shalt not, wouldst thou, stay;
Go, get thee swift from light o' day;
Go, get thee now to the vast shades,
And there indulge thy escapades:
Thou in Elysian realms mayst reign
A fitting deity, not vain:
Go therefore, and with thee thy bow
And quiver. Well it is below
That these for thee shall form a pyre,
To which thy torch will furnish fire.
But, ah, thou hast a heart of stone,
Who wouldest make Faith live alone,
Loos'ning the sweet ties Love has found
To bind Faith to her, herself bound.
O, it is cruel thus to sever
Sisters whom God hath joined ever;
Whose clasped hands so closely cling,
E'en as vine-tendrils ring on ring:
You may not tell there's more than one,
So absolute the union.
Where shall you find beneath the sky
Two differing so variously,
And yet each life in other bound,
Touch one, the other you shall wound:
Or where, 'mid all the pairs on earth,
Twins through marriage or through birth,
Shall you find two so truly one?
Arms twining in affection,
They clasp each other, chin to chin,
Above, below, without, within,
Embracing and embrac'd by turns;
Yet not with such wild-fire as burns
In Lust's hot touch, and clasp and grasp
Eager and stinging as tongue of asp.
Not so closely interwine
The graceful Elm and clinging Vine,
When to bosom of the tree
Bacchus' clusters prest you see,
And the Nymph the fruit receives,
And hides it amid dewy leaves;
Ev'n as the poets tell of old,
In legends of the Age of Gold.
Faith and Love know no such flame,
Their pure twining brings no shame;
Look for taint, you'll find it missing:
'Tis as flower flower kissing;
Or twin-roses dewy dripping,
And twin-bees their honey sipping.
The Turtle-dove, robb'd of her mate,
Pines and mourns disconsolate;
Yet still lives on in widow'd grief,
Knowing at times Hope's sweet relief.
But Faith when once of Love bereft
Loses her all, has nothing left;
Nor mourns nor frets nor pales--she's dead,
Struck to the heart astonied.
The Palm that by the wintry blast
Sees her companion-tree downcast,
Whose mighty shadow o'er her threw
Protection when the fierce storm blew;
Her umbrage sheds, and quivering
Seeks that some fav'ring wind would bring
Her branches with his boughs to mingle,
Since she is left in sadness, single;
Wretched, she wears and wastes away,
Leaf following leaf in wan decay,
Until at last, naked and bare,
She shivers in the piercing air;
And when the Spring comes, Winter sped,
'Tis vain to call her--she is dead!
But when Love from Faith is gone,
Faith lingers not still on and on;
That while her form yet meets your eye,
You can pronounce 'She'll surely die.'
SHE'S DEAD i' the instant: or you will
Maintain a stark corpse liveth still,
Whose soul has pass'd beyond the sky,
Sunder'd until the last great Cry.
Faith is the body, Love the soul;
Take Love from it, you take the whole:
Now, now indeed thy Faith's alone,
But being alone, lo, it is none.
To make it clear, turn Homer's page
That paints Achilles' hate and rage,
When, having mighty Hector slain,
He dragg'd him dead over the plain--
That Hector whom the chariot feels
Dragg'd helpless, lifeless at its wheels,
Was it the same who, with proud crest,
That chariot's lord had lately prest,
Eager the victory to wrest?
Hercules' name and deeds dost see
In Oeta's bloody tragedy,
When dead the mighty hero lay,
Of jealousy the poison'd prey.
His living strength the lion slew,
And hide Nemaean round him threw:
'Gainst more than lion-rage of Death
Dost summon the sad corpse of Faith?
Sure Love with love for Faith will burn,
While Faith herself trusts Love in turn.

THEREFORE:

That Faith alone, lording it high,
Which Hope despairs of, and with cry
Of anguish Love can never love,
Is not the Faith sent from Above:
The Faith that thus would be alone,
What is't to us--desolate, lone?
Faith then, that loved will not love
Nor hope--may no such Faith me move!
But ever in my bosom lie
Faith, Hope, and Love in trinity:
Yea, Love himself shall Faith's best lover prove,
And Faith confirm his strongest faith in Love. G.

BAPTISMUS NON TOLLIT FUTURA PECCATA.

Quisquis es ille tener modo quem tua mater[93] Achilles
In Stygis aethereae provida tinxit aquis,
Sanus, sed non securus dimitteris illinc:
In nova non tutus vulnera vivis adhuc.
Mille patent aditus; et plus quam calce petendus 5
Ad nigri metues spicula mille dei.
Quod si est vera salus, veterem meminisse salutem;
Si nempe hoc vere est esse, fuisse pium;
Illa tibi veteres navis quae vicerat Austros,
Si manet in mediis usque superstes aquis; 10
Ac dum tu miseros in littore visis amicos,
Et peccatorum triste sodalitium,
Illa tibi interea tutis trahet otia velis,
Expectans donec tu rediisse queas:
Quin igitur da vina, puer; da vivere vitae; 15
Mitte suum senibus, mitte supercilium;
Donemus timide, o socii, sua frigora brumae:
Aeternae teneant hic nova regna rosae.
Ah, non tam tetricos sic eluctabimur Euros;
Effractam non est sic revocare ratem. 20
Has undas aliis decet ergo extinguere in undis;
Naufragium hoc alio immergere naufragio:
Possit ut ille malis oculus modo naufragus undis,
Jam lacrymis melius naufragus esse suis.

TRANSLATION.

BAPTISM CANCELS NOT AFTER-SINS.

O young Achilles, whom a mother's care
Hath dipp'd as in a sacred Stygian wave;
Whole, but yet not secure, thou hence dost fare,
For there are wounds from which it will not save.
A thousand ways of entrance open lie
For evil; not alone against thy heel
The prince of darkness in his rage lets-fly
The thousand arrows thou mayst dread to feel.
But if remember'd health may still have given
True health, and to have been is still to be,
Thou seem'st as one whose bark, by storms unriven,
Still rides, as yet unconquer'd, on the sea;
And, while on shore thy friends thou visitest,
And the sad company of them that sin,
With furled sails upon the waves at rest,
Thy bark floats idly till thou art within.
But if for this thou criest overbold,
'Bring wine! enjoy the moment as it goes;
Leave to old age its cares; dismiss the cold,
While in new realms for ever reigns the rose!'
Ah, know that not in revels such as these
Learn we to struggle with the spiteful gale;
Nor thus can hope to rescue from rough seas
The broken cable and the driven sail.
These waves must in another wave be wash'd,
This shipwreck in another shipwreck drown'd;
The eye in such ill storms so vilely dashed,
A happier wreck in its own tears be found. CL.

Latin Poems.

PART FIRST. SACRED.

IV.

NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.

NOTE.

The Sancroft MS., as before, furnishes the following hitherto
unprinted longer Poems, which I place under SACRED, as being
throughout in subject and treatment such. The Rev. RICHARD WILTON,
M.A., as before, has at once the praise and responsibility of the
translations in the whole of this section. G.

PSALMUS I.

O te te nimis et nimis beatum,
Quem non lubricus implicavit error;
Nec risu misero procax tumultus.
Tu cum grex sacer undique execrandis
Strident consiliis, nec aure felix;
Felix non animo, vel ore mixtus,
Haud intelligis impios susurros.
Sed tu deliciis ferox repostis
Cultu simplice, sobriaque cura
Legem numinis usque et usque volvis.
Laeta sic fidas colit arbor undas,
Quem immiti violentus aura
Seirius frangit, neque contumacis.

NOTE.

This fragment of a Latin rendering of the first Psalm may be
compared with BUCHANAN'S, but, I fear, not to its advantage. It were
superfluous to give a translation of it; but see the parallel which
follows. G.

IRA PROCELLAE.

At tu, profane pulvis, et lusus sacer
Cujusvis aurae; fronte qua tandem feres
Vindex tribunal? quanta tum, et qualis tuae
Moles procellae stabit? O quam ferreo
Frangere nutu, praeda frontis asperae,
Sacrique fulminandus ah procul, procul
A luce vultus, aureis procul a locis,
Ubi longa gremio mulcet aeterno pios.
Sincera semper pax, et umbrosa super
Insurgit ala, vividique nectaris
Imbres beatos rore perpetuo pluit.
Sic ille, sic, o vindice, stat vigil,
Et stabit ira torvus in impios,
Seseque sub mentes bonorum
Insinuat facili favore.

TRANSLATION.

THE WRATH OF THE JUDGMENT-WHIRLWIND.

But thou, O dust profane, and of each air
The plaything doom'd, with what face wilt thou bear
The Judgment-throne? how huge a stormy cloud
Will lower upon thee! how wilt thou be bow'd
With iron nod, the prey of frowning Face,
By thunder to be driven far off, apace,
From light of sacred Countenance! afar
From golden regions, where the righteous are,
Sooth'd in pure Peace's lap eterne, whose wing
Towers high above them, overshadowing;
While happy showers of nectar sweet imbue
Their lips, as with an everlasting dew.
The wicked so His watchful ire will learn,
And cower 'neath God's avenging countenance stern;
The righteous so His love divine will feel
With gentle lapse into their bosom steal. R. WI.

CHRISTE, VENI.

Ergo veni; quicunque ferant tua signa timores,
Quae nos cunque vocant tristia, Christe, veni.
Christe, veni; suus avulsum rapiat labor axem,
Nec sinat implicitas ire redire vias;
Mutuus attonito titubet sub foedere mundus,
Nec natura vagum dissona volvat opus.
Christe, veni; roseos ultra remeare per ortus
Nolit, et ambiguos Sol trahat aeger equos.
Christe, veni; ipsa suas patiatur Cynthia noctes,
Plus quam Thessalico tincta tremore genas;
Astrorum mala caesaries per inane dolendum
Gaudeat, horribili flore repexa caput;
Sole sub invito subitae vis improba noctis
Corripiat solitam, non sua jura, diem;
Importuna dies, nec Eoi conscia pacti,
Per desolatae murmura noctis eat.
Christe, veni; tonet Oceanus pater, et sua nolit
Claustra vagi montes sub nova sceptra meent.
Christe, veni; quodcunque audet metus, audeat ultra
Fata id agant, quod agant; tu modo, Christe, veni.
Christe, veni; quacunque venis mercede malorum.
Quanti hoc constiterit cunque venire, veni.
Teque tuosque oculos tanti est potuisse videre!
O tanti est te vel sic potuisse frui!
Quicquid id est, veniat. TU MODO, CHRISTE, VENI.

TRANSLATION.

EVEN SO: COME, LORD JESUS.

O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry,
Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry.
Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place,
And its perplexed paths no more can trace;
Though sympathising earth astonied reel,
And nature jarred cease its round to wheel.
Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam
To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team.
Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night
Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white;
Though ominous comets through the dolorous air
Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear;
Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway
Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day;
Mistimed Day, mindless of eastern glow,
Through moanings of forsaken Night should go.
Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers,
That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers.
Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare;
Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there.
Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill,
Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still.
Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see!
Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be!
Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. WI.

CIRCUMCISIO.

Ah ferus, ah culter, qui tam bona lilia primus
In tam crudeles jussit abire rosas;
Virgineum hoc qui primus ebur violavit ab ostro,
Inque sui instituit muricis ingenium.
Scilicet hinc olim quicunque cucurrerit amnis,
Ex hoc purpurei germine fontis erit.
Scilicet hunc mortis primum puer accipit unguem,
Injiciunt hodie fata, furorque manus.
Ecce illi sanguis fundi jam coepit; et ecce
Qui fundi possit, vix bene sanguis erat;
Excitat e dolio vix dum bene musta recenti,
Atque rudes furias in nova membra vocat.
Improbus, ut nimias jam nunc accingitur iras,
Armaque non molli sollicitanda manu;
Improbus, ut teneras audet jam ludere mortes,
Et vitae ad modulum, quid puerile mori;
Improbus, ut tragici impatiens praeludia fati
Ornat, et in socco jam negat ire suo:
Scilicet his pedibus manus haec meditata cothurnos?
Haec cum blanditiis mens meditata minas?
Haec tam dura brevem decuere crepundia dextram?
Dextra giganteis haec satis apta genis?
Sic cunis miscere cruces? cumque ubere matris
Commisisse neces et scelus et furias?
Quo ridet patri, hoc tacite quoque respicit hastam,
Quoque oculo matrem mulcet, in arma redit.
Dii superi, furit his oculis! hoc asper in ore est!
Dat Marti vultus, quos sibi mallet Amor.
Deliciae irarum! torvi, tenera agmina, risus!
Blande furor! terror dulcis! amande metus!
Praecocis in paenas pueri lascivia tristis!
Cruda rudimenta! et torva tyrocinia!
Jam parcum breviusque brevi pro corpore vulnus,
Proque brevi brevior vulnere sanguis eat:
Olim, cum nervi vitaeque ferocior haustus
Materiam morti luxuriemque dabunt;
Olim maturos ultro conabitur imbres;
Robustum audebit tunc solidumque mori.
Ergo illi, nisi qui in saevos concreverit usus,
Nec nisi quem possit fundere, sanguis erit?
Euge, puer trux! euge tamen mitissime rerum!
Quique tibi tantum trux potes esse, puer?
Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum!
Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen!
Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore!
Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio!
Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum,
In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum.
Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis,
Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.

TRANSLATION.

THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST.

Ah, fierce, fierce knife, which such sweet lilies first
Into such cruel roses made to burst;
Which first this ivory pure with purple stain'd,
And in the white a deeper dye engrain'd.
Whatever stream hereafter hence shall flow,
Out of this purple fountain-head shall grow.
Now first this tender Child Death's talons knows,
The Fates and Fury now hurl their first blows.
See now His blood begins to pour; and see
Scarce blood enough to pour there seems to be.
Scarce wise to broach the new wine from the wood,
And 'gainst those young limbs call the Furies rude.
Wanton, e'en now He girds on woes too much,
And arms not to be tried by such soft touch:
Wanton, He dares at gentle deaths to play,
And for His age to die, as a child may:
Wanton, beforehand acts His tragic woe,
Restless, refusing in child-step to go.
Buskins is this hand shaping for those feet,
And does this mind plan threats with coaxings sweet?
Such playthings stern does this small hand bespeak,
And is it match'd with giant's iron cheek?
To mingle cross with cradle, mother's breast
With slaughter, wickedness, and rage unblest?
His smiling eye now glances at the spear,
And turns to arms from soothing mother dear.
God, with such face to frown, such eyes to rage!
War wins the looks which Love would fain engage.
O winsome angers! savage smiles--mild brood--
Soft rage, sweet terror, awe which might be woo'd!
Sad wanton forwardness of Child for woes;
Harsh rudiments, stern training which He chose!
Now scantier wound for scanty body show,
And scantier blood for scanty wound let now.
Soon, when His strength and deeper draught of breath
Shall furnish food luxuriously for Death,
'Twill be His pleasure then full showers to try,
Then will He strongly, wholly dare to die.
No blood but what to cruel use will grow
To Him belongs, or what He can bid flow.
Ah, cruel Child, though of all things most mild,
Yet to Thyself Thou canst be cruel, Child;
To Thyself cruel, but most mild to me;
A Lion mild, a pitiless Lamb here see.
Long, long may this stern praise Thine honour lift,
A faculty for woes[94] and innate gift.
Fierce knife, from which experience sharp He borrows,
While the Child hastes to grow the Man of Sorrows;
Fierce knife, 'neath which Thou draw'st Thy golden breath,
Advancing as 'twere 'neath the rod of Death. R. WI.

VIRGO.

Ne, pia, ne nimium, Virgo, permitte querelis:
Haud volet, haud poterit natus abesse diu.
Nam quid eum teneat? vel quae magis oscula vellet?
Vestri illum indigenam quid vetet esse sinus?
Quippe illis quae labra genis magis apta putentur?
Quaeve per id collum dignior ire manus?
His sibi quid speret puer ambitiosius ulmo,
Quove sub amplexu dulcius esse queat?
O quae tam teneram sibi vitis amicior ulmum
Implicet, alternis nexibus immoriens?
Cui circum subitis eat impatientior ulnis?
Aut quae tam nimiis vultibus ora notet?
Quae tam prompta puer toties super oscula surgat?
Qua signet gemma nobiliore genam?
Illa ubi tam vernis adolescat mitius auris,
Tamve sub apricis pendeat uva jugis?
Illi qua veniat languor tam gratus in umbra?
Commodius sub quo murmure somnus agat?
O ubi tam charo, tam casto in carcere regnet,
Maternoque simul virgineoque sinu,
Ille ut ab his fugiat, nec tam bona gaudia vellet?
Ille ut in hos possit non properare sinus?
Ille sui tam blanda sinus patrimonia spernet?
Haeres tot factus tam bene deliciis?
Ne tantum, ne Diva, tuis permitte querelis:
Quid dubites? Non est hic fugitivus Amor.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE VIRGIN MARY,

ON LOSING THE CHILD JESUS.

Not, not too much, Virgin, to plaints give way;
Nor will, nor can, thy Son long from thee stay.
Why should He? Where so love to be carest?
What could prevent His nestling in thy breast?
What lips more suited to those cheeks divine?
What hand to clasp that neck more fit than thine?
What could He hope more clinging than these arms?
Or what embraces e'er possess such charms?
What kindlier vine its tender elm around
Could twine, in mutual folds e'en dying found?
To whom with sudden arms more eager go?
Who on this face such yearning glances throw?
Where 'mid such quick-rain'd kisses could He wake?'
Whence His prest cheek a nobler ruby take?
Where could that grape ripen in airs more mild,
Or hang 'neath hills where suns so sweetly smil'd?
Where could such grateful languor o'er Him creep,
Or what more soothing murmur lull to sleep?
Where could He reign in nook so chaste, so dear,
As in this Mother's, Virgin's bosom here?
Could He fly hence, and such blest joys decline,
And could He help hastening to breast of thine?
This balmy bosom's heritage not share,
Of such delights so easily made heir?
Nay, Lady, nay; thy loud complainings stay;
Be cheer'd: this is no Love that flies away. R. WI.

APOCALYPSE XII. 7.

Arma, viri! aetheriam quocunque sub ordine pubem
Siderei proceres ducitis; arma, viri!
Quaeque suis, nec queis solita est, stet dextra sagittis;
Stet gladii saeva luce corusca sui.
Totus adest, totisque movet se major in iris,
Fertque Draco, quicquid vel Draco ferre potest.
Quas secum facies, imae mala pignora noctis;
Quot secum nigros ducit in arma deos.
Jam pugnas parat, heu saevus! jam pugnat, et ecce,
Vix potui 'Pugnat' dicere, jam cecidit.
His tamen ah nimium est quod frontibus addidit iras;
Quod potuit rugas his posuisse genis.
Hoc torvum decus est, tumidique ferocia fati,
Quod magni sceleris mors quoque magna fuit.
Quod neque, si victus, jaceat victoria vilis;
Quod meruit multi fulminis esse labor;
Quod queat ille suas hoc inter dicere flammas:
'Arma tuli frustra: sed tamen arma tuli.'

TRANSLATION.

WAR IN HEAVEN.

Rev. xii. 7.

To arms, ye starry chieftains all, who lead
The youth of heaven to war--to arms, with speed!
Let each right-hand its untried arrows grasp,
Or its own fiercely-gleaming falchion clasp.
_He_ is _all_ here, and mightier in his wrath,
The Dragon brings all powers the Dragon hath:
Strange forms, curst children of the deepest Night--
What dusky gods he marshals to the fight!
Now he makes ready, fights now, fierce as hell!
Scarce could I say 'He fights,' when, lo, he fell.
Ah, 'twas too much to scar with wrath these faces,
And leave on angel-cheeks such furrow'd traces.
'Tis his grim boast and proudly-swelling fate,
That of a great crime e'en the end was great:
If vanquish'd, that 'twas no mean victory;
Much bolted thunder there requir'd to be;
That with these words his fiery pains he charms:
'Arms I bore vainly; but I did bear arms.' R. WI.

NOTE.

See our Essay, as before, for relation of this poem to the Sospetto
d' Herode, and others. G.

NON ACCIPIMUS BREVEM VITAM,

SED FACIMUS.

Ergo tu luges nimium citatam
Circulo vitam properante volvi?
Tu Deos parcos gemis, ipse cum sis
Prodigus aevi?
Ipse quod perdis, quereris perire?
Ipse tu pellis, sed et ire ploras?
Vita num servit tibi? servus ipse
Cedet abactus.
Est fugax vitae, fateor, fluentum:
Prona sed clivum modo det voluptas,
Amne proclivi magis, et fugace
Labitur unda.
Fur Sopor magnam hinc, oculos recludens,
Surripit partem, ruit inde partem
Temporis magnam spolium reportans
Latro voluptas.
Tu creas mortes tibi mille, et aeva
Plura quo perdas, tibi plura poscis......

TRANSLATION.

WE DO NOT RECEIVE, BUT MAKE, A SHORT LIFE.

Dost thou lament that life, urg'd-on too quickly,
Rolls round its course in hasting revolution?
Dost blame the thrifty gods, when thou thyself art
Lavish of lifetime?
What thyself wastest, mourn'st thou if it perish?
Dost drive it from thee, but deplore it going?
Is life thy servant? Sooth, a very servant
Turn'd off departeth.
Life's stream is fleeting--I confess it--always;
But once let Pleasure yield an easy incline,
With headlong wave and with more fleeting current
Onward it glideth.
Sleep, the thief, closing drowsy eyelids, snatcheth
One mighty portion; while as large a portion
Pleasure, the robber, carries off unchalleng'd--
Time's precious gold-dust.
Thou for thyself a thousand deaths createst;
And the more lifetimes thou dost spend in folly,
So many more in lieu of them demandest;
Wasting and wanting. R. WI.

DE SANGUINE MARTYRUM.

Felices, properatis io, properatis, et altam
Vicistis gyro sub breviore viam.
Vos per non magnum vestri mare sanguinis illuc
Cymba tulit nimiis non operosa notis,
Quo nos tam lento sub remigio luctantes
Ducit inexhausti vis male fida freti.
Nos mora, nos longi consumit inertia lethi;
In ludum mortis luxuriemque sumus.
Nos aevo et senio et latis permittimur undis;
Spargimur in casus, porrigimur furiis.
Nos miseri sumus ex amplo spatioque perimus;
In nos inquirunt fata, probantque manus;
Ingenium fati sumus, ambitioque malorum.
Conatus mortis consiliumque sumus.
In vitae multo multae patet area mortis[95]
. . . . .
Non vitam nobis numerant, quot viximus anni:
Vita brevis nostra est; sit licet acta diu.
Vivere non longum est, quod longam ducere vitam:
Res longa in vita saepe peracta brevi est.
Nec vos tam vitae Deus in compendia misit,
Quam vetuit vestrae plus licuisse neci.
Accedit vitae quicquid decerpitur aevo,
Atque illo brevius, quo citius morimur.

TRANSLATION.

MARTYRS.

Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest,
And by a shorter course won heavenly rest;
Over a narrow sea of your own blood
Death's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood:
While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain,
Through boisterous fury of the boundless main.
_We_ waste with lingering, indolent decay;
We are Death's pastime and his wanton play;
O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown,
Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown.
Wretched in full are we, perish at length;
Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength.
We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine,
Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design.
In a long life wide field for Death there lies;
In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96]
By years we live we reckon not our life;
Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife.
To spend long years, let not long life be thought;
A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought.
God not so much contracted your life's space,
As order'd Death the sooner to give place.
What earth's life loses, gains the life on high:
By how much sooner, so much less we die. R. WI.

SPES.