Chapter II: A Study of the Life and Poetry of Richard Crashaw (9)

Parce tuo jam, bruma ferox, o parce furori,
Pone animos; o pacatae da spiritus aurae,
Afflatu leniore gravem demulceat annum.
Res certe et tempus meruit. Licet improbus Auster
Saeviat, et rabido multum se murmure volvat;
Imbriferis licet impatiens Notus ardeat alis;
Hic tamen, hic certe, modo tu non, saeva, negares,
Nec Notus impatiens jam, nec foret improbus Auster.
Scilicet hoc decuit? dum nos tam lucida rerum
Attollit series, adeo commune serenum
Laetitiae vernisque animis micat alta voluptas;
Jam torvas acies, jam squallida bella per auras
Volvere, et hibernis annum corrumpere nimbis?
Ah melius, quin luce novae reparata juventae
Ipsa hodie vernaret hiems, pulchroque tumultu
Purpureas properaret opes, effunderet omnes
Laeta sinus, nitidumque diem fragrantibus horis
Aeternum migrare velit, florumque beata
Luxurie, tanta o circum cunabula surgat,
Excipiatque novos et molliter ambiat artus.
Quippe venit, sacris iterum vagitibus ingens
Aula sonat, venit en roseo decus addita fratri
Blanda soror. Tibi se brevibus, tibi porrigit ulnis,
Magne puer, facili tibi torquet hiantia risu
Ora; tibi molles lacrymas et nobile murmur
Temperat, inque tuo ponit se pendula collo.
Tale decus juncto veluti sub stemmate cum quis
Dat sociis lucere rosis sua lilia. Talis
Fulget honos medio cum se duo sidera mundo
Dulcibus intexunt radiis: nec dignior olim
Flagrabat nitidae felix consortio formae,
Tunc cum sidereos inter pulcherrima fratres
Erubuit primum, et Laedaeo cortice rupto
Tyndarida explicuit tenerae nova gaudia frontis.
Sic socium o miscete jubar, tu candide frater,
Tuque serena soror. Sic o date gaudia patri,
Sic matri cumque ille olim subeuntibus annis,
Ire inter proprios magna cervice triumphos.
Egregius volet, atque sua se discere dextra;
Te quoque tum pleno mulcebit sidere, et alto
Flore tui dulcesque oculos maturior ignis
Indole divina, et radiis intinget honoris.
Tunc o te quoties, nisi quod tu pulchrior illa,
Esse suam Phoeben fulsus jurabit Apollo;
Tunc o te quoties, nisi quod tu castior illa,
Esse suam Venerem Mavors jurabit inanis.
Felix, ah, et cui se non Mars, non aureus ipse
Credet Apollo parem; tanta cui conjuge celsus
In pulchros properare sinus, et carpere sacras
Delicias oculosque tuos, tua basia solus
Tum poterit dixisse sua; et se nectare tanto
Dum probat esse Deum, superas contemnere mensas.

TRANSLATION.

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF THE PRINCESS MARY.

Forbear thy fury, Winter fierce, forbear;
Lay down thy wrath, and let the tranquil air
With inspiration mild soothe the stern year:
This time deserves it, and occasion dear.
The wild North-wind may rage and wildly bluster;
The gusty South its rainy clouds may muster;
Yet here at least, if thou but will it so,
Neither wild North nor gusty South will blow.
For were it seemly, when events so bright
Exalt us, and the universal light
Of joy and vernal pleasure thrills the soul,
Grim lines of battling tempest-clouds should roll
Through all the air, and drown the year with rain?
Better old Winter should bright youth regain,
And turn at once to Spring; with tumult sweet
Hasten his purple stores, and joyful greet
With all his outpour'd heart this shining Day,
And bid its fragrant hours for ever stay;
Making a radiant wealth of flowers abound
Where in her cradle that sweet Child is found,
Her tender limbs caress and softly compass round.
She comes! Once more are heard those blessed cries
Within the palace. See a glory rise--
A star-like glory added to the other,
A charming sister to a rosy brother!
To this she stretches out her tiny arms,
Fair Boy--for thee displays the winsome charms
Of her sweet smiles, and checks her gentle tears,
And coos and prattles to delight thine ears,
Or fondly hangs upon thy neck. Such grace
Pleases the eye, when, their stalks joined, you place
Lilies with roses to combine their splendour.
And then appears such lustrous glory tender,
When in the midst of heaven, at dewy eve,
Two stars their gentle radiance interweave.
Nor loftier grace that beauteous union show'd
When from her egg the fairest Helen glow'd
Betwixt her starry brothers, and display'd
Her tender brow with new delights array'd.
So mix your common beam, thou brother fair
And sister mild. Such joys your father share
And mother dear! And when, as seasons roll,
He moves with head erect and princely soul
Amid his proper triumphs, and shall learn
Himself by his own deeds, thou shalt discern
A riper flame within thee, heavenly dower,
And star full-orb'd shalt shine, and full-grown flower;
While a soft beauty bathes thy lustrous eyes,
And rays of majesty the world surprise.
Then O how oft, but that thou art more fair,
Will some imaginary Phoebus swear
That thou art his own Phoebe! or again
But that thou art more chaste, some Mars in vain
Will swear thou art his Venus, love's soft strain!
Ah, happy he, to whom nor Mars will dream
Nor golden Phoebus he can equal seem,
Who with a wife so sweet, so fair is blest,
And all the fond affection of thy breast,
And tender, pure endearments; who alone
Can call thy eyes and kisses all his own;
And while he quaffs such nectar'd wine of love,
Feels like a god, and scorns the feasts above. R. WI.

AD REGINAM.[127]

Et vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima mater,
Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem:
Tempus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent;
Sarcina ne collo sit minus apta tuo.
Scilicet ille tuus, timor et spes ille suorum, 5
Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens,
Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur et enses,
Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus.
Indolis o stimulos; vix dum illi transiit infans,
Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum. 10
Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis:
Jam nondum puer est, major et est puero.
Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras
Stat leo, quem docta cuspide lusit acus,
Hostis, io, est; neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem; 15
Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus.
Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit; hasta bacillum est;
Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat.
Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste,
Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet, 20
Tam torvum, tam dulce micant: nescire fatetur
Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset amor.
Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari;
Est et amor certe, sed metuendus amor:
Talis amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere; qualis 25
Seu puer hic esset, sive vir ille Deus.
Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris;
Res, ecce, in lusus non operosa tuos.
Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva;
Jam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor. 30
En, tibi materies tenera et tractabilis hic est;
Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis.
Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum,
Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum;
O salve; nam te nato, puer auree, natus 35
Et Carolo et Mariae tertius est oculus.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE QUEEN.

'Twas now the time for thee, Mother most great,
With these sweet eyes the day to accelerate;
Time thy soft kisses should not idle be,
Or from fit burden thy fair neck be free.
For he, his parents' fear and hope confest,
With whom thou first wast made a mother blest,
He wraths and swords designs, courageous grown;
Now more his father's is, and more his own.
O spurs of nature! yet an infant, see
He catches at the man impatiently,
The rogue declines to keep in his own years;
Not yet a child, he more than child appears.
If on the tapestry, with feign'd anger fraught,
A lion stands, by skilful needle wrought,
A foe behold; such foe to fight he deigns;
A lesser wrath his mighty hand disdains.
Fierce spear he brandishes; a wand his spear:
Soon in false breast behold true wound appear.
The lion stands, maz'd by such enemy,
Fearing or loving something in his eye,
So sternly, sweetly bright; nor can he tell
Whether beneath that eye Mars or Love dwell.
In sooth, a Mars who may be lov'd is here;
And Love indeed, but Love deserving fear.
Such Love, such Mars, 'tis easy here to scan;
This god or that, as he is boy or man.
Thy babe now comes to take the endearing place,
A creature not beyond thy fond embrace.
Now let thy troops of kisses have their way,
Now let thy love with brooding murmur play;
Here is material tractable and tender,
Which waxen surface to soft touch shall render.
Hail, infant! gentle subject for caresses,
Employment sweet a mother's lips which blesses;
O hail; for with thy birth, thou golden boy,
Lo, to thy parents a third eye brings joy! R. WI.

VOTIVA DOMUS PETRENSIS

PRO DOMO DEI.[128]

Ut magis in mundi votis aviumque querelis
Jam veniens solet esse dies, ubi cuspide prima
Palpitat, et roseo lux praevia ludit ab ortu;
Cum nec abest Phoebus, nec Eois laetus habenis
Totus adest, volucrumque procul vaga murmura mulcet:
Nos ita; quos nuper radiis afflavit honestis 6
Relligiosa dies; nostrique per atria coeli--
Sacra domus nostrum est coelum--jam luce tenella
Libat adhuc trepidae fax nondum firma diei:
Nos ita jam exercet nimii impatientia voti, 10
Speque sui propiore premit.
Quis pectora tanti
Tendit amor coepti, desiderio quam longo
Lentae spes inhiant, domus o dulcissima rerum,
Plena Deo domus! Ah, quis erit, quis, dicimus, ille--
O bonus, o ingens meritis, o proximus ipsi, 16
Quem vocat in sua dona, Deo--quo vindice totas
Excutiant tenebras haec sancta crepuscula?
Quando,
Quando erit, ut tremulae flos heu tener ille diei, 20
Qui velut ex oriente suo jam altaria circum
Lambit, et ambiguo nobis procul anuit astro,
Plenis se pandat foliis, et lampade tota
Laetus, ut e medio cum sol micat aureus axe,
Attonitam penetrare domum bene possit adulto 25
Sidere, nec dubio pia moenia mulceat ore?
Quando erit, ut convexa suo quoque pulchra sereno
Florescant, roseoque tremant laquearia risu?
Quae nimium informis tanquam sibi conscia frontis
Perpetuis jam se lustrant lacrymantia guttis? 30
Quando erit, ut claris meliori luce fenestris
Plurima per vitreos vivat pia pagina vultus?
Quando erit, ut sacrum nobis celebrantibus hymnum
Organicos facili et nunquam fallente susurro
Nobile murmur agat nervos; pulmonis iniqui 35
Fistula nec monitus faciat malefida sinistros?
Denique, quicquid id est quod res hic sacra requirit,
Fausta illa et felix--sitque o tua--dextra, suam cui
Debeat haec Aurora diem. Tibi supplicat ipsa,
Ipsa tibi facit ara preces. Tu jam illius audi, 40
Audiet illa tuas. Dubium est, modo porrige dextram,
Des magis, an capias: audi tantum esse beatus,
Et damnum hoc lucrare tibi.
Scis ipse volucres
Quae rota volvat opes; has ergo, hic fige perennis 45
Fundamenta Domus Petrensi in rupe, suamque
Fortunae sic deme rotam. Scis ipse procaces
Divitias quam prona vagos vehat ala per Euros;
Divitiis illas, age, deme volucribus alas,
Facque suus nostras illis sit nidus ad aras: 50
Remigii ut tandem pennas melioris adeptae,
Se rapiant, dominumque suum super aethera secum.
Felix o qui sic potuit bene providus uti
Fortunae pennis et opum levitate suarum,
Divitiisque suis aquilae sic addidit alas. 55

TRANSLATION.

THE PRAYER OF PETERHOUSE FOR THE HOUSE OF GOD [=ITS CHAPEL].

As bids the Day a keener longing stir
The waking world, and warblings cheerier
To birds inspires, when comes she o'er the hills,
As quivering dart the streaks of Morn, and thrills
Through lattic'd sky from roseate East the light
Presaging his approach; nor absent quite,
Nor glorying in his slacken'd reins, the Sun
Is present all; and birds, to music won
By gentle touch, are murmuring far and near,--
So we, on whom with radiance severe
A solemn day begins to dawn; whose eye
Now sees glide through the heavenly courts which lie,
With portals wide--God's house is heaven, we say--
The flame unsteady of still wavering Day
Slenderly stealing in; the prospect nigher,
Our hearts too labour with extreme desire,
And throb with hopes impatient of their end.
How love of such a work our heart doth rend!
How long desire makes hopes in leash restrain'd
To pant! O sweetest House, on which has rain'd
The torrent of God's fulness. Ah, who is he,
Ah, who--O good, O huge in charity,
O nigh to God Himself,--Whom to descend
On His own gracious gifts he prays--shall lend
This sacred twilight power to drive away
All gloom, and shake her raiment into day?
Ah, when, thou pitifully trem'lous bloom
Of glimmering Day, that as from bridal room
In the Orient cam'st to kiss our altar-stone,
And beckonest to us from a star alone,
In yonder distance shining doubtfully,--
Ah, when wilt thou expand to Day, and, free
In conscious joy of thy full splendour, pour
A flood of light, as when the Sun doth soar
In golden mid-day, and, to full age grown,
Shine through and through the pile, and make it own
With awe thy sway, nor let the sacred walls
Doubt thy embrace?
Blest he to whom befalls
To see the vaulted roofs span their fair sky,
And break in flowers, while fretted ceilings lie
Trembling with rosy laughter; which do now,
As wearing of their shame a conscious brow,
Bedew their formless face with dropping tear.
When shall it be? the window growing clear
With better light, that many a page devout
May live, and life from glassy face breathe out.
Ah, when, as hymn of praise we celebrate,
Shall solemn-breathing murmur make vibrate
The organ's nerves with graceful ceaseless hum;
Nor pipe of lung unjust intruding come,
Each harsh, uncertain note for ever dumb?
Whatever else, in fine, this Sanctuary
May need, that right-hand bless'd and happy be,
And be it thine! to which the Dawn shall owe
Its day. The altar kneels to thee. Do thou
List to her prayer, and she will thine allow;
Stretch out thy laden hand, and doubtful live
Whether thou dost not more receive than give;
That thou art happy do thou only hear,
And turn thy loss to gain in yonder sphere.
Thou know'st what wheel makes riches fly away;
These riches therefore here securely lay,
Fountains of a House perennial,
On the Petrensian rock; from Fortune shall
Her own wheel thus be wrench'd. Thou knowest how prone
A wing bears up unconstant riches, blown
On vagrant, veering winds. Come, take away
These wings from fleeting riches, make them stay
At these our altars, and build here their nest;
Till arm'd with wings to better flight redress'd,
They may transport themselves to the home of rest,
Bearing their master with them.
Blest that man
Who knowing prudently the times to scan,
The airiness of wealth to profit brings,
And him on Fortune's pinions deftly flings,
And to his riches adds an eagle's wings. S.S.

IN CAETERORUM OPERUM

DIFFICILI PARTURITIONE GEMITUS.[129]

O felix nimis illa, et nostrae nobile nomen
Invidiae volucris, facili quae funere surgens
Mater odora sui, nitidae nova fila juventae,
Et festinatos peragit sibi fata per ignes.
Illa, haud natales tot tardis mensibus horas 5
Tam miseris tenuata moris, saltu velut uno
In nova secla rapit sese, et caput omne decoras
Explicat in frondes, roseoque repullulat ortu.
Cinnameos simul illa rogos conscenderit, omnem
Laeta bibit Phoebum, et jam jam victricibus alis 10
Plaudit humum cineresque suos.
Heu, dispare fato
Nos ferimur; seniorque suo sub Apolline phoenix
Petrensis mater, dubias librata per auras
Pendet adhuc, quaeritque sinum in quo ponat inertes 15
Exuvias, spoliisque suae reparata senectae
Ore pari surgat, similique per omnia vultu.
At nunc heu nixu secli melioris in ipso
Deliquium patitur!
At nunc heu lentae longo in molimine vitae 20
Interea moritur! Dubio stant moenia vultu
Parte sui pulchra, et fratres in foedera muros
Invitant frustra, nec respondentia saxis
Saxa suis; moerent opera intermissa, manusque
Implorant. 25
Succurre piae, succurre parenti,
O quisquis pius es. Illi succurre parenti,
Quam sibi tot sanctae matres habuere parentem.
Quisquis es, o tibi, crede, tibi tot hiantia ruptis
Moenibus ora loqui. Matrem tibi, crede verendam 30
Muros tam longo laceros senioque situque
Ceu canos monstrare suos. Succurre roganti.
Per tibi plena olim, per jam sibi sicca precatur
Ubera, ne desis senio. Sic longa juventus
Te foveat, querulae nunquam cessura senectae. 35

TRANSLATION.

A GROAN

ON OCCASION OF THE DIFFICULT PARTURITION OF THE REMAINING WORKS OF PETERHOUSE.

O bird too fortunate, whose glorious name
Fills us with envy of her happy fame,
Which by an easy death on soaring wing,
Sweet mother of herself, doth upwards spring,
Assumes afresh her shining youth's attire,
And wins new lease of life through hasten'd fire!
She--not through slow-revolving natal days
To a thin shadow worn by sad delays--
Transports herself into another round
Of centuries, as by a single bound;
With beauteous leaves her head she covers o'er,
And with a rosy birth shoots forth once more.
Soon as she climbs the spicy funeral pyre
Joyful she drinks the sun, and mounting higher,
Now, now the ground her wings victorious strike,
And her own ashes.
But, alas, we follow
No such example. 'Neath her own Apollo,
Our Mother Peterhouse, now ancient grown,
Our aged Phoenix, hither, thither blown,
And balancing herself on doubtful air,
Hovers with wing uncertain, seeking where
Her relics she may lay, worn out with toils,
As in a nest, and from the very spoils
Of her own age renew'd, she may arise
In perfect comeliness of face and eyes,
As in the days of old, to mount the skies.
But now, alas, e'en in the very throes
Of her reviving age our Phoenix knows
And keenly feels a sad deficiency.
Alas, in life's long lingering effort she
Now in the mean while dies. Of doubtful face,
Her buildings seem in part bedeck'd with grace;
But elsewhere, heedless of inviting calls
To union, stand the unfinish'd brother walls.
On unresponsive ears the summons falls;
As stones to fellow-stones appealing turn,
The interrupted works together mourn,
And beg a helping hand. O, succour bring,
Whoe'er is pious, to the parent wing
Which shelter'd thee beneath its holy shade,
And gave so many mother churches[130] aid
Parental; O, be now thy help display'd.
Whoe'er thou art, the ruin'd courts to thee
With gaping mouths are speaking audibly.
Thy reverend mother would thine eyes engage
To view thy walls, dismantled long with age
And base neglect, and ponder her gray hair.
By the full breasts which once she offer'd thee,
By the dry breasts which she is doom'd to see
Now for herself, she cries imploringly:
'My age to help, O fail not to appear;
So may long-lasting youth thy bosom cheer,
Youth which complaining age shall never fear.' R. WI.

TRANSLATION (_more freely_).

A LAMENT

OVER THE SLOW RESTORATION OF PETERHOUSE-COLLEGE BUILDINGS.

O Phoenix, all-too-happy bird,
Who enviless thy fame has heard?
Thou, thine own mother, from the pyre--
Spices mix'd with flickering fire--
Sweetly didst thy breath suspire;
Then rose again, and thy age gone
In a swift resurrection--
Gone! by wondrous mystic skill
Wearing a richer plumage still,
Youth renew'd from feet to bill,--
Thou didst not linger in thine age,
Nor a slow weary struggle wage,
With changing cures and long delay
Searching for life in every way.
No; but a quick fate self-choosing,
All hindering self-ruth refusing,
Thou didst raise thy funeral pyre,
Thou didst hovering i' the fire,
From amidst the perfum'd flame
Spring up, immortal as thy fame.
Thou didst lift thy comely head,
Ev'ry moulting feather shed;
Thou didst raise thy radiant breast
Blazing to the blazing West.
O Phoenix, thou'rt an awful bird;
Who enviless thy fame has heard?
Climbing to thy funeral pyre,
Climbing self-martyr'd to the fire,
Sweetly there to bear thine ire;
Fetching down from the great sun
To piled nest of cinnamon
Rays intense; then upward winging,
Sudden from thine ashes springing;
Victorious by this quaint mewing,
Life strangely out of death renewing;
Now i' the red fire consuming,
Next at the sun thine eyes reluming.
Alas, how different is the fate
In this our later age, ingrate,
Of her, my mother-college, lying
All desolate and slowly dying;
Lifting but a feeble wing,
Though once, as Phoenix of the fire,
Springing immortal from its pyre;
When Apollo and the Graces
Reign'd where Ruin now defaces,
Gave her, when she shone in splendour,
Orator, sage, and poet tender;
Gave her sons, noble and good,
Better than the bluest blood:
O how chang'd, since those days olden
Such as in the ages golden,
I behold her, smitten, lorn,
And by every Fury torn,
Hanging in uncertain strife
As it were 'twixt death and life;
Doubting whether e'en she shall
Have so much as funeral;
Her corpse laid in some quiet bay,
Where the sea-waves softly play;
Willing they should take her bones--
Her time-stain'd, rent, and shatter'd stones;
If only thus but once again
Rebuilded, she might yet attain
To something of her old renown
By such resurrection,
And, phoenix-like, herself out-do
In her best days when she was new.
O ye sons, your mother own
In her desolation;
Own her, though in aging years
She shows few and thin gray hairs,
Where once,--ah--in brave times of old--
Flash'd her proud locks with sheen of gold.
Ah, Peter nam'd, thou art denied,
Thus is thy name verified.
'Tis a spectacle for tears;
'Tis a spectacle for fears;
'Tis a spectacle for wonder;
'Tis a crime deserves the thunder,
That from base to gold-touch'd ceiling
Day by day her halls are reeling;
Mullion'd window torn and rent,
And destruction imminent;
Everywhere such gaping wounds
As a stranger e'en astounds;
And what was in faith begun
Left in desolation;
Stone to stone in mute appealing,
Cold neglect and scorn revealing,
And the font of tears unsealing.
Sons of my Mother-College lying
All in ruins and slow dying,
If ye have aught of piety
Or least touch of charity,
Look on these broken walls, and see
Your mother in her misery;
Holding up, in vain appealing,
Wither'd hands, her woes revealing;
And in the rank growths tangled there
See her dishonoured gray hair.
Woe is me, her genial breast,
Which so many sons has blest,
Each all welcoming that came,
Drawn by her renowned name,
Wither'd, shrunk, can quench no thirst,
Ah, my heart with grief will burst.
To my dim eye there rises clear
The full tide that once roll'd here;
Now shingle, sand, and fest'ring mud
Tell of the far-refluent flood.
O, pity her, ye sons, and vow
Once more to crown your mother's brow;
Once more to rear her crumbling walls;
Once more to gather in her halls
The young, the brave, the true, the good,
The wise, the noble; and the Rood
Over all shall bless and keep;
So in old age ye shall not weep,
Nor ever shall your fair fame sleep. G.

VENERABILI VIRO MAGISTRO TOURNAY,

TUTORI SUO SUMME OBSERVANDO.

Messis inauravit Cereri jam quarta capillos,
Vitis habet Bacchum quarta corona suae,
Nostra ex quo, primis plumae vix alba pruinis,
Ausa tuo Musa est nidificare sinu.
Hic nemus, hic soles, et coelum mitius illi; 5
Hic sua quod Musis umbra vel aura dedit.
Sedit ibi secura malus quid moverit Auster,
Quae gravis hibernum vexerit ala Jovem.
Nescio quo interea multum tibi murmure nota est:
Nempe sed hoc poteras murmur amare tamen. 10
Tandem ecce, heu simili de prole puerpera! tandem
Hoc tenero tenera est pignore facta parens.
Jamque meam hanc sobolem, rogo, quis sinus alter haberet?
Quis mihi tam noti nempe teporis erat?
Sed quoque et ipsa meus, de te, meus, improba, tutor, 15
Quam primum potuit dicere, dixit, erit.
Has ego legitimae, nec laevo sidere natae
Non puto degeneres indolis esse notas;
Nempe quod illa suo patri tam semper apertos,
Tam semper faciles norit adire sinus. 20
Ergo tuam tibi sume: tuas eat illa sub alas:
Hoc quoque de nostro, quod tuearis, habe.
Sic quae Suada tuo fontem sibi fecit in ore,
Sancto et securo melle perennis eat.
Sic tua, sic nullas Siren non mulceat aures, 25
Aula cui plausus et sua serta dedit.
Sic tuus ille, precor, Tagus aut eat obice nullo,
Aut omni, quod adhuc, obice major eat.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE VENERABLE MAN MASTER TOURNAY,

MY TUTOR MOST REVERED.[131]

A fourth time now our glebe for Ceres bears
The golden locks of harvest; Bacchus wears
Now the fourth season his bright vine-leaf crown,
Since, scant'ly hoar as yet with the soft down
Of her first plumage, in thy gentle breast
My young Muse dar'd to build herself a nest.
Here found she sun and shade and gentler heaven,
And what with these is by the Muses given
Were hers. Here sat she careless how the skies
Might darken, or the blasts of winter rise;
And here her voice reach'd thee, but by what move
Of fate I know not, only that thy love
Her voice did win; and now at length behold--
And ah, how much the child her arms enfold
Is like the mother!--she in tender years
The parent of a tender babe appears.
What lap, then, for this infant shall I find
Fitter than thine, or known by me so kind?
Yea, soon as she could speak, the wanton, she
Said, 'He shall be my guardian,' meaning thee;
And no ill forecast I would deem is this
Of Genius true and favouring deities,
That she so early should a sire divine
Always so open, always so benign.
Take, then, thine own--she is beneath thy wing--
And of this gift accept the offering.
So may Persuasion, who her fount has made
Upon thy lips, still pour from thence unstay'd
Her sacred honey; so be at the Court,
Whereto with plausive wreaths she doth resort,
No ears thy Siren move not; so, I pray,
No hindering bar thy Tagus strive to stay,
Or only such as erst thy stream has swept away. CL.

ORNATISSIMO VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO

COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO BROOK.

O mihi qui nunquam nomen non dulce fuisti,
Tunc quoque cum domini fronte timendus eras;
Ille ego pars vestri quondam intactissima regni,
De nullo virgae nota labore tuae,
Do tibi quod de te per secula longa queretur,
Quod de me nimium non metuendus eras:
Quod tibi turpis ego torpentis inertia sceptri
Tam ferulae tulerim mitia jura tuae.
Scilicet in foliis quicquid peccabitur istis,
Quod tua virga statim vapulet, illud erit;
Ergo tibi haec poenas pro me mea pagina pendat.
Hic agitur virgae res tibi multa tuae.
In me igitur quicquid nimis illa pepercerit olim,
Id licet in foetu vindicet omne meo.
Hic tuus inveniet satis in quo saeviat unguis,
Quodque veru docto trans obeliscus eat:
Scilicet haec mea sunt; haec quas mala scilicet: o si,
Quae tua nempe forent, hic meliora forent!
Qualiacunque, suum norunt haec flumina fontem--
Nilus ab ignoto fonte superbus eat--
Nec certe nihil est qua quis sit origine. Fontes
Esse solent fluvii nomen honorque sui.
Hic quoque tam parvus, de me mea secula dicant,
Non parvi soboles hic quoque fontis erat.
Hoc modo et ipse velis de me dixisse: Meorum
Ille fuit minimus--sed fuit ille meus.

TRANSLATION.

TO THAT MOST CULTURED MAN,

HIS MOST ESTIMABLE TUTOR MASTER BROOK.[132]

O thou, whose name to me was still endear'd
E'en when the master's brow was justly fear'd;
I, of thy realm the most inviolate part,
By touch of thy birch-rod ne'er taught to smart,
Give thee what through long years complains of thee
That thou wast not enough a fear to me;
That I, base subject of thy sceptre slow,
Thy ferule's milder sway should only know.
Sooth, in these leaves what faults soe'er thou see,
Thy rod in every case should punish'd be.
Then let this page for me the suffering pay;
Here certainly thy rod may have full play;
Howe'er that rod to me was once too mild,
It may revenge it all on this my child;
Here will thy nail discover where to rage,
And scratch a learned blot across the page.
These which are bad, forsooth, these things are mine;
Would they were better, that they might be thine!
Whate'er they are, these streams their fountain know,
Nile from an unknown fount may proudly go.
Not lightly what one's source may be we deem;
Fountains give name and honour to their stream.
So small--my times perhaps may say of me--
An offspring of no fountain small was he.
Only to say of me may it be thine:
'He was my least indeed--but he was mine!' R. WI.

IN REV. DRE. BROOKE EPITAPHIUM.[133]

Posuit sub ista, non gravi, caput terra
Ille, ipsa quem mors arrogare vix ausa
Didicit vereri, plurimumque suspenso
Dubitavit ictu, lucidos procul vultus,
Et sidus oris acre procul prospectans.
Cui literarum fama cum dedit lumen,
Accepit, atque est ditior suis donis.
Cujus serena gravitas faciles mores
Muliere novit; cujus in senectute
Famaeque riguit, et juventa fortunae.
Ita brevis aevi, ut nec videri festinus;
Ita longus, ut nec fessus. Et hunc mori credis?

TRANSLATION.

EPITAPH ON REV. DR. BROOK.

Beneath this earth, strew'd lightly, lies the head
Of one whom Death himself had learnt to dread,
Scarce venturing to claim; and falter'd much
Ere he allow'd his threatening stroke to touch
That sacred presence. These bright eyes from far
He view'd; from far that face ray'd like a star.
On whom when fame of letters lustre drew,
He took it as his right, and richer grew
By his own gifts to learning; whose serene
Severity of manners seem'd to have been
Temper'd by woman's softness; whose good name,
In later as in early years the same,
Stood firm; his fortune equal to his fame.
His life so short, that not in haste he seem'd;
So long, that weary he might not be deem'd:
That such a one is dead, can it be dream'd? R. WI.

EPITAPHIUM IN GULIELMUM HERRISIUM.[134]

Siste te paulum, viator, ubi longum sisti
Necesse erit, huc nempe properare te scias quocunque properas.
Morae pretium erit
Et lacrymae,
Si jacere hic scias
Gulielmum
Splendidae Herrisiorum familiae
Splendorem maximum:
Quem cum talem vixisse intellexeris,
Et vixisse tantum;
Discas licet
In quantas spes possit
Assurgere mortalitas,
De quantis cadere.
{ Infantem Essexia }
Quem { Juvenem Cantabrigia } vidit
Senem, ah infelix utraque
Quod non vidit.
Qui
Collegii Christi Alumnus
Aulae Pembrokianae socius,
Utrique ingens amoris certamen fuit,
Donec
Dulciss. lites elusit Deus,
Eumque coelestis collegii,
Cujus semper alumnus fuit,
socium fecit;
Qui et ipse collegium fuit,
In quo
Musae omnes et Gratiae,
Nullibi magis sorores,
Sub praeside religione,
In tenacissimum sodalitium coaluere.
{ Oratoria Oratorem }
{ Poetica Poetam }
Quem { Utraque Philosophum } agnovere.
{ Christianum Omnes }

{ Fide Mundum }
{ Spe Coelum }
Qui { Charitate Proximum } superavit.
{ Humilitate Seipsum }
Cujus
Sub verna fronte senilis animus,
Sub morum facilitate, severitas virtutis;
Sub plurima indole, pauci anni;
Sub majore modestia, maxima indoles
adeo se occuluerunt
ut vitam ejus
Pulchram dixeris et pudicam dissimulationem:
Imo vero et mortem,
Ecce enim in ipso funere
Dissimulari se passus est,
Sub tantillo marmore tantum hospitem,
Eo nimirum majore monumento quo minore tumulo.
Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia
Anglicana ad vesperas legit,
Raptus est ne malitia mutaret intellectum ejus;
Scilicet Id. Octobris anno S. 1631.

TRANSLATION.

EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM HARRIS.

Stay thee a short space here, good passer-by,
Upon thy way;
Wherein a little while thou too must lie,
Haste as thou may.
Certes thou knowest that thy life-long quest
Leads hither--to the long, long sleep and rest:
Grudge thee not, then, the tribute of a tear,
Whilst, ling'ring, to this stone thou drawest near.
It will reward thy stay,
It will thy tears repay,
To know
Below
lies
William,
Of the family of Harris,
The most splendid name
Where all have fame.
Knowing that such an one did live,
And how he liv'd--great, noble, wise--
Know how all mortal hopes are fugitive;
Height gauging depth with 'Here he lies.'
{ As infant Essex }
Whom { As youth Cambridge } saw.
Ah, miserable and lamenting both, that they
See not his golden locks in years grow gray!
He was
A student of Christ College,
A fellow of Pembroke Hall:
To have him
The two Colleges did strive
In rivalry of love:
But the great God put in His negative,
Calling him Above,
To gain ampler knowledge
In the Heavenly College,
Of which he was on earth a student consecrate;
So, when Death summon'd him, he went elate.
So wise his wit,
By genius lit,
In himself alone
Many in one,
You had a College, where
Graces and Muses fair
With Religion, you might see
Twin'd hand in hand in amity.

{ Eloquence as an Orator }
{ Poetry as a Poet }
Whom { Each as a Philosopher } owned:
{ All as a Christian }

{ By faith the world }
{ By hope Heaven }
Who { By love his fellow-men } conquered;
{ By himself himself }

Of whom
The ripen'd mind under a youthful face;
Severest virtue under courtliest grace;
Few years his, yet mellow'd as in age;
A modesty that did all hearts engage:
These self-reveal'd and self-revealing,
That all his life seem'd but a fine concealing.

Yea, ev'n in his death 'twas so;
For being thus at length laid low,
He chose no boastful tomb to tell
How good the life that in him fell:
By so much greater is the guest,
Smaller the mound where he doth rest:
Yea, in his death there was diminution:
Great was the guest, but see how small the stone.
On that very day he died in which the
Church of England reads its even-song:
He was snatch'd away, lest the wickedness
of the times should contaminate his understanding,
viz. 15th October A.S. 1631.[135]

IN EUNDEM SCAZON.[136]

Huc, hospes, oculos flecte, sed lacrimis caecos,
Legit optime haec, quem legere non sinit fletus.
Ars nuper et natura, forma, virtusque
Aemulatione fervidae, paciscuntur
Probare uno juvene quid queant omnes,
Fuere tantae terra nuper fuit liti,
Ergo huc ab ipso Judicem manent coelo.

TRANSLATION.

Stranger, bend here thine eyes, but dim with tears;
Whom weeping blinds, best reader here appears.
Art, Nature, Beauty, Virtue, all agree,
Contending late with a warm rivalry,
To show what in one youth all join'd would be.
So great the strife they caus'd on earth of late,
That here from heaven itself the Judge they wait. R. WI.

IN PICTURAM REVERENDISSIMI EPISCOPI