Chapter XXVII: Part 27

The force, O Muse, and functions now unfold Of Cyprian Venus, grac’d with mines of gold; Who even in Deities lights love’s sweet desire, And all Death’s kinds of men makes kiss her fire, All air’s wing’d nation, all the belluine, That or the earth feeds, or the seas confine. To all which appertain the love and care Of well-crown’d Venus’ works. Yet three there are Whose minds She neither can deceive nor move; Pallas, the Seed of Ægis-bearing Jove, Who still lives indevirginate, her eyes Being blue, and sparkling like the freezing skies, Whom all the gold of Venus never can Tempt to affect her facts with God or man. She, loving strife, and Mars’s working banes, Pitch’d fields and fights, and famous artizans, Taught earthy men first all the arts that are, Chariots, and all the frames vehicular, Chiefly with brass arm’d, and adorn’d for war. Where Venus only soft-skinn’d wenches fills With wanton house-works, and suggests those skills Still to their studies. Whom Diana neither, That bears the golden distaff, and together Calls horns, and hollows, and the cries of hounds, And owns the epithet of loving sounds For their sakes, springing from such spritely sports, Can catch with her kind lures; but hill resorts To wild-beasts, slaughters, accents far-off heard Of harps and dances, and of woods unshear’d The sacred shades she loves, yet likes as well Cities where good men and their offspring dwell. The third, whom her kind passions nothing please, Is virgin Vesta; whom Saturnides Made reverend with his counsels, when his Sire, That adverse counsels agitates, life’s fire Had kindled in her, being his last-begot. Whom Neptune woo’d to knit with him the knot Of honour’d nuptials, and Apollo too; Which with much vehemence she refused to do, And stern repulses put upon them both, Adding to all her vows the Gods’ great oath, And touching Jove’s chin, which must consummate All vows so bound, that she would hold her state, And be th’ invincible Maid of Deities Through all her days’ dates. For Saturnides Gave her a fair gift in her nuptials’ stead, To sit in midst of his house, and be fed With all the free and richest feast of heaven, In all the temples of the Gods being given The prize of honour. Not a mortal man, (That either, of the Pow’rs Olympian His half-birth having, may be said to be A mortal of the Gods, or else that he, Deities’ wills doing, is of Deity) But gives her honour of the amplest kind. Of all these three can Venus not a mind Deceive, or set on forces to reflect. Of all Pow’rs else yet, not a sex, nor sect, Flies Venus; either of the blessed Gods, Or men confin’d in mortal periods. But even the mind of Jove she doth seduce, That chides with thunder so her lawless use In human creatures, and by lot is given Of all most honour, both in earth and heaven. And yet even his all-wise and mighty mind She, when she lists, can forge affects to blind, And mix with mortal dames his Deity, Conceal’d at all parts from the jealous eye Of Juno, who was both his sister born, And made his wife; whom beauty did adorn Past all the bevy of Immortal Dames, And whose so chiefly-glorified flames Cross-counsell’d Saturn got, and Rhæa bore, And Jove’s pure counsels (being conqueror) His wife made of his sister. Ay, and more, Cast such an amorous fire into her mind As made her (like him) with the mortal kind Meet in unmeet bed; using utmost haste, Lest she should know that he lived so unchaste, Before herself felt that fault in her heart, And gave her tongue too just edge of desert To tax his lightness. With this end, beside, Lest laughter-studying Venus should deride The Gods more than the Goddesses, and say That she the Gods commix’d in amorous play With mortal dames, begetting mortal seed T’ immortal sires, and not make Goddesses breed The like with mortal fathers. But, t’ acquite Both Gods and Goddesses of her despite, Jove took (even in herself) on him her pow’r, And made her with a mortal paramour Use as deform’d a mixture as the rest; Kindling a kind affection in her breast To God-like-limb’d Anchises, as he kept, On Ida’s top-on-top-to-heaven’s-pole-heapt,[1] Amongst the many fountains there, his herd. For, after his brave person had appear’d To her bright eye, her heart flew all on fire, And to amaze she burn’d in his desire, Flew straight to Cyprus, to her odorous fane And altars, that the people Paphian Advanced to her. Where, soon as enter’d, she The shining gates shut; and the Graces three Wash’d, and with oils of everlasting scent Bathed, as became, her deathless lineament. Then her ambrosian mantle she assum’d, With rich and odoriferous airs perfum’d. Which being put on, and all her trims beside Fair, and with all allurements amplified, The all-of-gold-made laughter-loving Dame Left odorous Cyprus, and for Troy became A swift contendress, her pass cutting all Along the clouds, and made her instant fall On fountful Ida, that her mother-breasts Gives to the preyful brood of savage beasts. And through the hill she went the ready way T’ Anchises’ oxstall, where did fawn and play About her blessed feet wolves grisly-gray, Terrible lions, many a mankind bear, And lybberds swift, insatiate of red deer. Whose sight so pleas’d, that, ever as she past, Through every beast a kindly love she cast, That, in their dens obscured with shadows deep, Made all, distinguish’d in kind couples, sleep. And now she reach’d the rich pavilion Of the heroë, in whom heavens had shown A fair and goodly composition, And whom she in his oxstall found, alone, His oxen feeding in fat pastures by, He walking up and down, sounds clear and high From his harp striking. Then before him she Stood like a virgin, that invincibly Had borne her beauties; yet alluringly Bearing her person, lest his ravish’d eye Should chance t’ affect him with a stupid fear. Anchises seeing her, all his senses were With wonder stricken, and high-taken heeds Both of her form, brave stature, and rich weeds. For, for a veil, she shin’d in an attire That cast a radiance past the ray of fire. Beneath which wore she, girt to her, a gown Wrought all with growing-rose-buds, reaching down T’ her slender smalls, which buskins did divine, Such as taught Thetis’ silver feet to shine. Her soft white neck rich carquenets embraced, Bright, and with gold in all variety graced, That to her breasts let down lay there and shone, As, at her joyful full, the rising Moon. Her sight show’d miracles. Anchises’ heart Love took into his hand, and made him part With these high salutations; “Joy, O Queen! Whoever of the Blest thy beauties been That light these entries; or the Deity That darts affecteth; or that gave the Eye Of heaven his heat and lustre; or that moves The hearts of all with all-commanding loves; Or generous Themis; or the blue-eyed Maid; Or of the Graces any that are laid With all the Gods in comparable scales, And whom fame up to immortality calls; Or any of the Nymphs, that unshorn groves, Or that this fair hill-habitation, loves, Or valleys flowing with earth’s fattest goods, Or fountains pouring forth eternal floods! Say, which of all thou art, that in some place Of circular prospect, for thine eyes’ dear grace, I may an altar build, and to thy pow’rs Make sacred all the year’s devoted hours, With consecrations sweet and opulent. Assur’d whereof, be thy benign mind bent To these wish’d blessings of me: Give me parts Of chief attraction in Trojan hearts; And, after, give me the refulgency Of most renown’d and rich posterity; Long, and free life, and heaven’s sweet light as long; The people’s blessings, and a health so strong That no disease it let my life engage, Till th’ utmost limit of a human age.” To this Jove’s Seed this answer gave again; “Anchises! Happiest of the human strain! I am no Goddess! Why, a thrall to death Think’st thou like those that immortality breathe? A woman brought me forth; my father’s name Was Otreüs, if ever his high fame Thine ears have witness’d, for he govern’d all The Phrygian state, whose every town a wall Impregnable embrac’d. Your tongue, you hear, I speak so well, that in my natural sphere (As I pretend) it must have taken prime. A woman, likewise, of the Trojan clime Took of me, in her house, the nurse’s care From my dear mother’s bosom; and thus are My words of equal accent with your own. How here I come, to make the reason known, Argicides, that bears the golden rod, Transferr’d me forcibly from my abode Made with the maiden train of Her that joys In golden shafts, and loves so well the noise Of hounds and hunters (heaven’s pure-living Pow’r) Where many a nymph and maid of mighty dow’r Chaste sports employ’d, all circled with a crown Of infinite multitude, to see so shown Our maiden pastimes. Yet, from all the fair Of this so forceful concourse, up in air The golden-rod-sustaining Argus’-Guide Rapt me in sight of all, and made me ride Along the clouds with him, enforcing me Through many a labour of mortality, Through many an unbuilt region, and a rude, Where savage beasts devour’d preys warm and crude, And would not let my fears take one foot’s tread On Her by whom are all lives comforted, But said my maiden state must grace the bed Of king Anchises, and bring forth to thee Issue as fair as of divine degree. Which said, and showing me thy moving grace, Away flew he up to th’ Immortal Race, And thus came I to thee; Necessity, With her steel stings, compelling me t’ apply To her high pow’r my will. But you must I Implore by Jove, and all the reverence due To your dear parents, who, in bearing you, Can bear no mean sail, lead me home to them An untouch’d maid, being brought up in th’ extreme Of much too cold simplicity to know The fiery cunnings that in Venus glow. Show me to them then, and thy brothers born, I shall appear none that parts disadorn, But such as well may serve a brother’s wife, And show them now, even to my future life, If such or no my present will extend. To horse-breed-vary’ng Phrygia likewise send, T’ inform my sire and mother of my state, That live for me extreme disconsolate; Who gold enough, and well-woven weeds, will give. All whose rich gifts in my amends receive. All this perform’d, and celebration then Of honour’d nuptials, that by God and men Are held in reverence.” All this while she said, Into his bosom jointly she convey’d The fires of love; when, all-enamour’d, he In these terms answer’d: “If mortality Confine thy fortunes, and a woman were Mother to those attractions that appear In thy admir’d form, thy great father given High name of Otreüs; and the Spy of heaven (Immortal Mercury) th’ enforceful cause That made thee lose the prize of that applause That modesty immaculate virgins gives, My wife thou shalt be call’d through both our lives. Nor shall the pow’rs of men nor Gods withhold My fiery resolution to enfold Thy bosom in mine arms; which here I vow To firm performance, past delay, and now. Nor, should Apollo with his silver bow Shoot me to instant death, would I forbear To do a deed so full of cause so dear. For with a heaven-sweet woman I will lie, Though straight I stoop the house of Dis, and die.” This said, he took her hand, and she took way With him, her bright eyes casting round; whose stay She stuck upon a bed, that was before Made for the king, and wealthy coverings wore. On which bears’ hides and big-voic’d lions’ lay, Whose preyful lives the king had made his prey, Hunting th’ Idalian hills. This bed when they Had both ascended, first he took from her The fiery weed, that was her utmost wear; Unbutton’d her next rosy robe; and loos’d The girdle that her slender waist enclos’d; Unlac’d her buskins; all her jewelry Took from her neck and breasts, and all laid by Upon a golden-studded chair of state. Th’ amaze of all which being remov’d, even Fate And council of the equal Gods gave way To this, that with a deathless Goddess lay A deathful man; since, what his love assum’d, Not with his conscious knowledge was presum’d. Now when the shepherds and the herdsmen, all, Turn’d from their flow’ry pasture to their stall, With all their oxen, fat and frolic sheep, Venus into Anchises cast a sleep, Sweet and profound; while with her own hands now With her rich weeds she did herself endow; But so distinguish’d, that he clear might know His happy glories; then (to her desire Her heavenly person put in trims entire) She by the bed stood of the well-built stall, Advanc’d her head to state celestial, And in her cheeks arose the radiant hue Of rich-crown’d Venus to apparent view. And then she rous’d him from his rest, and said: “Up, my Dardanides, forsake thy bed. What pleasure, late employ’d, lets humour steep Thy lids in this inexcitable sleep? Wake, and now say, if I appear to thee Like her that first thine eyes conceited me.” This started him from sleep, though deep and dear, And passing promptly he enjoy’d his ear. But when his eye saw Venus’ neck and eyes, Whose beauties could not bear the counterprise Of any other, down his own eyes fell, Which pallid fear did from her view repell, And made him, with a main respect beside, Turn his whole person from her state, and hide (With his rich weed appos’d) his royal face, These wing’d words using: “When, at first, thy grace Mine eyes gave entertainment, well I knew Thy state was deified; but thou told’st not true; And therefore let me pray thee (by thy love Borne to thy father, Ægis-bearing Jove) That thou wilt never let me live to be An abject, after so divine degree Taken in fortune, but take ruth on me, For any man that with a Goddess lies, Of interest in immortalities, Is never long-liv’d.” She replied: “Forbear, O happiest of mortal men, this fear, And rest assured, that (not for me, at least) Thy least ills fear fits; no, nor for the rest Of all the Blessed, for thou art their friend; And so far from sustaining instant end, That to thy long-enlarg’d life there shall spring Amongst the Trojans a dear son, and king, To whom shall many a son, and son’s son, rise In everlasting great posterities; His name Æneas; therein keeping life, For ever, in my much-conceited grief, That I, immortal, fell into the bed Of one whose blood mortality must shed. But rest thou comforted, and all the race That Troy shall propagate, in this high grace: That, past all races else, the Gods stand near Your glorious nation, for the forms ye bear, And natures so ingenuous and sincere. For which, the great-in-counsels (Jupiter) Your gold-lock’d Ganymedes did transfer (In rapture far from men’s depressed fates) To make him consort with our Deified States, And scale the tops of the Saturnian skies, He was so mere a marvel in their eyes. And therefore from a bowl of gold he fills Red nectar, that the rude distension kills Of winds that in your human stomachs breed. But then did languor on the liver feed Of Tros, his father, that was king of Troy, And ever did his memory employ[2] With loss of his dear beauty so bereaven, Though with a sacred whirlwind rapt to heaven. But Jove, in pity of him, saw him given Good compensation, sending by Heaven’s Spy White-swift-hov’d horse, that Immortality Had made firm-spirited; and had, beside, Hermes to see his ambassy supplied With this vow’d bounty (using all at large That his unalter’d counsels gave in charge) That he himself should immortality breathe, Expert of age and woe as well as death. “This ambassy express’d, he mourn’d no more, But up with all his inmost mind he bore, Joying that he, upon his swift-hov’d horse, Should be sustain’d in an eternal course.” “So did the golden-throned Aurora raise, Into her lap, another that the praise Of an immortal fashion had in fame, And of your nation bore the noble name, (His title Tithon) who, not pleased with her, As she his lovely person did transfer, To satisfy him, she bade ask of Jove The gift of an Immortal for her love. Jove gave, and bound it with his bowed brow, Performing to the utmost point his vow. Fool that she was, that would her love engage, And not as long ask from the bane of age The sweet exemption, and youth’s endless flow’r! Of which as long as both the grace and pow’r His person entertain’d, she loved the man, And (at the fluents of the ocean Near Earth’s extreme bounds) dwelt with him; but when According to the course of aged men) On his fair head, and honourable beard, His first grey hairs to her light eyes appear’d, She left his bed, yet gave him still for food The Gods’ ambrosia, and attire as good. Till even the hate of age came on so fast That not a lineament of his was grac’d With pow’r of motion, nor did still sustain, Much less, the vigour had t’ advance a vein, The virtue lost in each exhausted limb, That at his wish before would answer him; All pow’rs so quite decay’d, that when he spake His voice no perceptible accent brake. Her counsel then thought best to strive no more, But lay him in his bed and lock his door. Such an Immortal would not I wish thee, T’ extend all days so to eternity. But if, as now, thou couldst perform thy course In grace of form, and all corporeal force, To an eternal date, thou then shouldst bear My husband’s worthy name, and not a tear Should I need rain, for thy deserts declin’d, From my all-clouded bitterness of mind. But now the stern storm of relentless age Will quickly circle thee, that waits t’ engage All men alike, even loathsomeness, and bane Attending with it, every human wane, Which even the Gods hate. Such a penance lies Impos’d on flesh and blood’s infirmities! Which I myself must taste in great degree, And date as endless, for consorting thee. All the Immortals with my opprobry Are full by this time; on their hearts so lie, (Even to the sting of fear) my cunnings us’d, And wiving conversations infus’d Into the bosoms of the best of them With women, that the frail and mortal stream Doth daily ravish. All this long since done. Which now no more, but with effusion Of tears, I must in heaven so much as name, I have so forfeited in this my fame, And am impos’d pain of so great a kind For so much erring from a Goddess’ mind. For I have put beneath my girdle here A son, whose sire the human mortal sphere Gives circumscription. But, when first the light His eyes shall comfort, Nymphs that haunt the height Of hills, and breasts have of most deep receipt; Shall be his nurses; who inhabit now A hill of so vast and divine a brow, As man nor God can come at their retreats; Who live long lives, and eat immortal meats, And with Immortals in the exercise Of comely dances dare contend, and rise Into high question which deserves the prize. The light Sileni mix in love with these, And, of all Spies the Prince, Argicides; In well-trimm’d caves their secret meetings made. And with the lives of these doth life invade Or odorous fir-trees, or high-foreheaded oaks, Together taking their begetting strokes, And have their lives and deaths of equal dates, Trees bearing lovely and delightsome states, Whom Earth first feeds, that men initiates. On her high hills she doth their states sustain, And they their own heights raise as high again. Their growths together made, Nymphs call their groves Vow’d to th’ Immortals services and loves; Which men’s steels therefore touch not, but let grow. But when wise Fates times for their fadings know, The fair trees still before the fair Nymphs die, The bark about them grown corrupt and dry, And all their boughs fall’n yield to Earth her right; And then the Nymphs’ lives leave the lovely night, “And these Nymphs in their caves shall nurse my son, Whom (when in him youth’s first grace is begun) The Nymphs, his nurses, shall present to thee; And show thee what a birth thou hast by me. And, sure as now I tell thee all these things, When Earth hath cloth’d her plants in five fair springs, Myself will make return to this retreat, And bring that flow’r of thy enamour’d heat; Whom when thou then seest, joy shall fire thine eyes; He shall so well present the Deities. And then into thine own care take thy son From his calm seat to windy Ilion, Where, if strict question be upon the past, Asking what mother bore beneath her waist So dear a son, answer, as I afford Fit admonition, nor forget a word: They say a Nymph, call’d Calucopides, That is with others an inhabitress On this thy wood-crown’d hill, acknowledges That she his life gave. But, if thou declare The secret’s truth, and art so mad to dare (In glory of thy fortunes) to approve That rich-crown’d Venus mix’d with thee in love, Jove, fired with my aspersion so dispread, Will with a wreakful lightning dart thee dead. “All now is told thee, comprehend it all. Be master of thyself, and do not call My name in question; but with reverence vow To Deities’ angers all the awe ye owe.” This said, She reach’d heaven, where airs ever flow. And so, O Goddess, ever honour’d be, In thy so odorous Cyprian empery! My Muse, affecting first thy fame to raise, Shall make transcension now to others’ praise.

THE END OF THE FIRST HYMN TO VENUS

[1] _᾿Ακροπόλος. Altissimum habens verticem, cujus summitas ipsum polum attingit._

[2] _ἄληστος. Cujus memoria erit perpetua._

A Hymn to Venus (Second Hymn)

The reverend, rich-crown’d, and fair Queen I sing, Venus, that owes ill fate the fortressing Of all maritimal Cyprus; where the force Of gentle-breathing Zephyr steer’d her course Along the waves of the resounding sea, While, yet unborn, in that soft foam she lay That brought her forth; whom those fair Hours that bear The golden bridles joyfully stood near, Took up into their arms, and put on her Weeds of a never-corruptible wear. On her immortal head a crown they plac’d, Elaborate, and with all the beauties grac’d That gold could give it; of a weight so great, That, to impose and take off, it had set Three handles on it, made, for endless hold, Of shining brass, and all adorn’d with gold. Her soft neck all with carquenets was grac’d, That stoop’d, and both her silver breasts embrac’d, Which even the Hours themselves wear in resort To Deities’ dances, and her Father’s court. Grac’d at all parts, they brought to heaven her graces; Whose first sight seen, all fell into embraces, Hugg’d her white hands, saluted, wishing all To wear her maiden flow’r in festival Of sacred Hymen, and to lead her home; All, to all admiration, overcome With Cytherea with the violet crown. So to the Black-brow’d Sweet-spoke all renown! Prepare my song, and give me, in the end, The victory to whose palm all contend! So shall my Muse for ever honour thee, And, for thy sake, thy fair posterity.

A Hymn to Bacchus, or the Pirates

Of Dionysus, noble Semele’s Son, I now intend to render mention, As on a prominent shore his person shone, Like to a youth whose flow’r was newly blown, Bright azure tresses play’d about his head, And on his bright broad shoulders was dispread A purple mantle. Strait he was descried By certain manly pirates, that applied Their utmost speed to prise him, being aboard A well-built bark, about whose broad sides roar’d The wine-black Tyrrhene billows; death as black Brought them upon him in their future wrack. For, soon as they had purchas’d but his view, Mutual signs past them, and ashore they flew, Took him, and brought him instantly aboard, Soothing their hopes to have obtain’d a hoard Of riches with him; and a Jove-kept king To such a flow’r must needs be natural spring. And therefore straight strong fetters they must fetch, To make him sure. But no such strength would stretch To his constrain’d pow’rs. Far flew all their bands From any least force done his feet or hands. But he sat casting smiles from his black eyes At all their worst. At which discoveries Made by the master, he did thus dehort All his associates: “Wretches! Of what sort Hold ye the person ye assay to bind? Nay, which of all the Pow’r fully-divin’d Esteem ye him, whose worth yields so much weight That not our well-built bark will bear his freight? Or Jove himself he is, or He that bears The silver bow, or Neptune. Nor appears In him the least resemblance of a man, But of a strain at least Olympian. Come! Make we quick dismission of his state, And on the black-soil’d earth exonerate Our sinking vessel of his deified load, Nor dare the touch of an intangible God, Lest winds outrageous, and of wrackful scathe, And smoking tempests, blow his fiery wrath.” This well-spoke master the tall captain gave Hateful and horrible language; call’d him slave, And bade him mark the prosp’rous gale that blew, And how their vessel with her mainsail flew; Bade all take arms, and said, their works requir’d The cares of men, and not of an inspir’d Pure zealous master; his firm hopes being fir’d With this opinion, that they should arrive In Ægypt straight, or Cyprus, or where live Men whose brave breaths above the north wind blow; Yea, and perhaps beyond their region too. And that he made no doubt but in the end To make his prisoner tell him every friend Of all his offspring, brothers, wealth, and all; Since that prise, certain, must some God let fall. This said, the mast and mainsail up he drew, And in the mainsail’s midst a frank gale blew; When all his ship took arms to brave their prise. But straight strange works appear’d to all their eyes: First, sweet wine through their swift-black bark did flow, Of which the odours did a little blow Their fiery spirits, making th’ air so fine That they in flood were there as well as wine. A mere immortal-making savour rose, Which on the air the Deity did impose. The seamen see’ng all, admiration seiz’d; Yet instantly their wonders were increas’d, For on the topsail there ran, here and there, A vine that grapes did in abundance bear, And in an instant was the ship’s mainmast With an obscure-green ivy’s arms embrac’d, That flourish’d straight, and were with berries grac’d; Of which did garlands circle every brow Of all the pirates, and no one knew how. Which when they saw, they made the master steer Out to the shore; whom Bacchus made forbear, With showing more wonders. On the hatches He Appear’d a terrible lion, horribly Roaring; and in the mid-deck a male bear, Made with a huge mane; making all, for fear, Crowd to the stern, about the master there, Whose mind he still kept dauntless and sincere, But on the captain rush’d and ramp’d, with force So rude and sudden, that his main recourse Was to the main-sea straight: and after him Leapt all his mates, as trusting to their swim To fly foul death; but so found what they fled, Being all to dolphins metamorphosed. The master he took ruth of, sav’d, and made The blessed’st man that ever tried his trade, These few words giving him: “Be confident, Thou God-inspired pilot, in the bent Of my affection, ready to requite Thy late-to-me-intended benefit. I am the roaring God of spritely wine, Whom Semele (that did even Jove incline To amorous mixture, and was Cadmus’ care) Made issue to the mighty Thunderer.” And thus, all excellence of grace to thee, Son of sweet-count’nance-carry’ng Semele. I must not thee forget in least degree, But pray thy spirit to render so my song Sweet, and all ways in order’d fury strong.

A Hymn to Mars

Mars, most-strong, gold-helm’d, making chariots crack; Never without a shield cast on thy back; Mind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven; Strong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven; Father of victory with fair strokes given; Joint surrogate of justice, lest she fall In unjust strifes a tyrant; general Only of just men justly; that dost bear Fortitude’s sceptre, to heaven’s fiery sphere Giver of circular motion, between That and the Pleiads that still wand’ring been, Where thy still-vehemently-flaming horse About the third heaven make their fiery course; Helper of mortals; hear!—As thy fires give The fair and present boldnesses that strive In youth for honour, being the sweet-beam’d light That darts into their lives, from all their height, The fortitudes and fortunes found in fight; So would I likewise wish to have the pow’r To keep off from my head thy bitter hour, And that false fire, cast from my soul’s low kind, Stoop to the fit rule of my highest mind, Controlling that so eager sting of wrath That stirs me on still to that horrid scathe Of war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen (Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men. But O thou Ever-Blessed! give me still Presence of mind to put in act my will, Varied, as fits, to all occasion; And to live free, unforc’d, unwrought upon, Beneath those laws of peace that never are Affected with pollutions popular Of unjust hurt, or loss to anyone; And to bear safe the burthen undergone Of foes inflexive, and inhuman hates, Secure from violent and harmful fates.

A Hymn to Diana

Diana praise, Muse, that in darts delights, Lives still a maid, and had nutritial rights With her born-brother, the far-shooting Sun. That doth her all-of-gold-made chariot run In chase of game, from Meles that abounds In black-brow’d bulrushes, and, where her hounds She first uncouples, joining there her horse, Through Smyrna carried in most fiery course To grape-rich Claros; where (ill his rich home, And constant expectation She will come) Sits Phœbus, that the silver bow doth bear, To meet with Phœbe, that doth darts transfer As far as He his shafts. As far then be Thy chaste fame shot, O Queen of archery! Sacring my song to every Deity.

A Hymn to Venus (Third Hymn)

To Cyprian Venus still my verses vow, Who gifts as sweet as honey doth bestow On all mortality; that ever smiles, And rules a face that all foes reconciles; Ever sustaining in her hand a flow’r That all desire keeps ever in her pow’r.

Hail, then, O Queen of well-built Salamine, And all the state that Cyprus doth confine, Inform my song with that celestial fire That in thy beauties kindles all desire. So shall my Muse for ever honour thee, And any other thou commend’st to me.

A Hymn to Pallas

Pallas Minerva only I begin To give my song; that makes war’s terrible din, Is patroness of cities, and with Mars Marshall’d in all the care and cure of wars, And in everted cities, fights, and cries. But never doth herself set down or rise Before a city, but at both times She All injur’d people sets on foot and free. Give, with thy war’s force, fortune then to me, And, with thy wisdom’s force, felicity.

A Hymn to Juno

Saturnia, and her throne of gold, I sing, That was of Rhea the eternal spring, And empress of a beauty never yet Equall’d in height of tincture. Of the great Saturnius (breaking air in awful noise) The far-fam’d wife and sister; whom in joys Of high Olympus all the Blessed love, And honour equal with unequall’d Jove.

A Hymn to Ceres

The rich-hair’d Ceres I assay to sing; A Goddess, in whose grace the natural spring Of serious majesty itself is seen; And of the wedded, yet in grace still green, Proserpina, her daughter, that displays A beauty casting every way her rays. All honour to thee, Goddess! Keep this town; And take thou chief charge of my song’s renown!

A Hymn to the Mother of the Gods

Mother of all, both Gods and men, commend, O Muse, whose fair form did from Jove descend; That doth with cymbal sounds delight her life, And tremulous divisions of the fife; Love’s dreadful lions’ roars, and wolves’ hoarse howls, Sylvan retreats, and hills, whose hollow knolls Raise repercussive sounds about her ears. And so may honour ever crown thy years With all-else Goddesses, and ever be Exalted in the Muses’ harmony!

A Hymn to Lion-Hearted Hercules

Alcides, forcefullest of all the brood Of men enforc’d with need of earthy food, My Muse shall memorise; the son of Jove, Whom, in fair-seated Thebes (commix’d in love With great heaven’s sable-cloud-assembling State) Alcmena bore to him; and who, in date Of days forepast, through all the sea was sent, And Earth’s inenarrable continent, To acts that king Eurystheus had decreed; Did many a petulant and imperious deed Himself, and therefore suffer’d many a toil; Yet now inhabits the illustrious soil Of white Olympus, and delights his life With still-young Hebe, his well-ankled wife. Hail, King, and Son of Jove! Vouchsafe me Virtue, and, her effect, felicity!

A Hymn to Æsculapius

With Æsculapius, the physician, That cur’d all sickness, and was Phœbus’ son, My Muse makes entry; to whose life gave yield Divine Coronis in the Dotian field, (King Phlegius’ daughter) who much joy on men Conferr’d, in dear ease of their irksome pain. For which, my salutation, worthy king, And vows to thee paid, ever when I sing!

A Hymn to Castor and Pollux

Castor and Pollux, the Tyndarides, Sweet Muse illustrate; that their essences Fetch from the high forms of Olympian Jove, And were the fair fruits of bright Leda’s love, Which she produc’d beneath the sacred shade Of steep Taygetus, being subdu’d, and made To serve th’ affections of the Thunderer. And so all grace to you, whom all aver (For skill in horses, and their manage given) To be the bravest horsemen under heaven!

A Hymn to Mercury

Hermes I honour, the Cyllenian Spy, King of Cyllenia, and of Arcady With flocks abounding; and the Messenger Of all th’ Immortals, that doth still infer Profits of infinite value to their store; Whom to Saturnius bashful Maia bore, Daughter of Atlas, and did therefore fly Of all th’ Immortals the society, To that dark cave, where, in the dead of night, Jove join’d with her in love’s divine delight, When golden sleep shut Juno’s jealous eye, Whose arms had wrists as white as ivory, From whom, and all, both men and Gods beside, The fair-hair’d nymph had scape kept undescried. Joy to the Jove-got then, and Maia’s care, ’Twixt men and Gods the general Messenger, Giver of good grace, gladness, and the flood Of all that men or Gods account their good!

A Hymn to Pan

Sing, Muse, this chief of Hermes’ love-got joys, Goat-footed, two-horn’d, amorous of noise, That through the fair greens, all adorn’d with trees, Together goes with Nymphs, whose nimble knees Can every dance foot, that affect to scale The most inaccessible tops of all Uprightest rocks, and ever use to call On Pan, the bright-hair’d God of pastoral; Who yet is lean and loveless, and doth owe By lot all loftiest mountains crown’d with snow; All tops of hills, and cliffy highnesses, All sylvan copses, and the fortresses Of thorniest queaches, here and there doth rove, And sometimes, by allurement of his love, Will wade the wat’ry softnesses. Sometimes (In quite oppos’d _capriccios_) he climbs The hardest rocks, and highest, every way Running their ridges. Often will convey Himself up to a watch-tow’r’s top, where sheep Have their observance. Oft through hills as steep His goats he runs upon, and never rests. Then turns he head, and flies on savage beasts, Mad of their slaughters; so most sharp an eye Setting upon them, as his beams let fly Through all their thickest tapistries. And then (When Hesp’rus calls to fold the flocks of men) From the green clossets of his loftiest reeds He rushes forth, and joy with song he feeds. When, under shadow of their motions set, He plays a verse forth so profoundly sweet, As not the bird that in the flow’ry spring, Amidst the leaves set, makes the thickets ring Of her sour sorrows, sweeten’d with her song, Runs her divisions varied so and strong. And then the sweet-voic’d Nymphs that crown his mountains (Flock’d round about the deep-black-water’d fountains) Fall in with their contention of song. To which the echoes all the hills along Their repercussions add. Then here and there (Plac’d in the midst) the God the guide doth bear Of all their dances, winding in and out, A lynce’s hide, besprinkled round about With blood, cast on his shoulders. And thus He, With well-made songs, maintains th’ alacrity Of his free mind, in silken meadows crown’d With hyacinths and saffrons, that abound In sweet-breath’d odours, that th’ unnumber’d grass (Besides their scents) give as through all they pass. And these, in all their pleasures, ever raise The blessed Gods’ and long Olympus’ praise: Like zealous Hermes, who of all I said Most profits up to all the Gods convey’d. Who, likewise, came into th’ Arcadian state, (That’s rich in fountains, and all celebrate For nurse of flocks,) where He had vow’d a grove (Surnam’d Cyllenius) to his Godhead’s love. Yet even himself (although a God he were) Clad in a squalid sheepskin, govern’d there A mortal’s sheep. For soft love ent’ring him Conform’d his state to his conceited trim, And made him long, in an extreme degree, T’ enjoy the fair-hair’d virgin Dryope. Which ere he could, she made consummate The flourishing rite of Hymen’s honour’d state; And brought him such a piece of progeny As show’d, at first sight, monstrous to the eye, Goat-footed, two-horn’d, full of noise even then, And (opposite quite to other childeren) Told, in sweet laughter, he ought death no tear. Yet straight his mother start, and fled, in fear, The sight of so unsatisfying a thing, In whose face put forth such a bristled spring. Yet the most useful Mercury embrac’d, And took into his arms, his homely-fac’d, Beyond all measure joyful with his sight; And up to heaven with him made instant flight, Wrapp’d in the warm skin of a mountain hare, Set him by Jove, and made most merry fare To all the Deities else with his son’s sight; Which most of all fill’d Bacchus with delight; And Pan they call’d him, since he brought to all Of mirth so rare and full a festival. And thus all honour to the shepherds’ King, For sacrifice to thee my Muse shall sing!

A Hymn to Vulcan

Praise Vulcan, now Muse; whom fame gives the prize For depth and fracture of all forge-devise; Who, with the sky-ey’d Pallas, first did give Men rules of buildings, that before did live In caves and dens, and hills, like savage beasts; But now, by art-fam’d Vulcan’s interests In all their civil industries, ways clear Through th’ all-things-bringing-to-their-ends (the year) They work out to their ages’ ends, at ease Lodg’d in safe roofs from Winter’s utmost prease. But, Vulcan, stand propitious to me, Virtue safe granting, and felicity!

A Hymn to Phœbus

O Phœbus! Even the swan from forth her wings, Jumping her proyning-bank, thee sweetly sings, By bright Peneus’ whirl-pit-making streams. Thee, that thy lute mak’st sound so to thy beams, Thee, first and last, the sweet-voic’d singer still Sings, for thy song’s all-songs-transcending skill. Thy pleasure, then, shall my song still supply, And so salutes thee King of Poesy.

A Hymn to Neptune

Neptune, the mighty marine God, I sing, Earth’s mover, and the fruitless ocean’s King, That Helicon and th’ Ægean deeps dost hold. O thou Earth-shaker! Thy command two-fold The Gods have sorted; making thee of horses The awful tamer, and of naval forces The Sure preserver. Hail, O Saturn’s birth! Whose graceful green hair circles all the earth. Bear a benign mind; and thy helpful hand Lend all submitted to thy dread command.

A Hymn to Jove

Jove now I sing, the greatest and the best Of all these Pow’rs that are with Deity blest, That far-off doth his dreadful voice diffuse, And, being King of all, doth all conduce To all their ends. Who (shut from all Gods else With Themis, that the laws of all things tells) Their fit composures to their times doth call, Weds them together, and preserves this all. Grace then, O far-heard Jove, the grace thou’st given, Most Glorious, and most Great of Earth and Heaven!

A Hymn to Vesta

Vesta, that as a servant oversees King Phœbus’ hallow’d house, in all degrees Of guide about it, on the sacred shore Of heavenly Pythos, and hast evermore Rich balms distilling from thy odorous hair, Grace this house with thy housewifely repair! Enter, and bring a mind that most may move, Conferring even, the great in counsels, Jove; And let my verse taste of your either’s love.

A Hymn to the Muses and Apollo

The Muses, Jove, and Phœbus, now I sing; For from the far-off-shooting Phœbus spring All poets and musicians, and from Jove Th’ ascents of kings. The man the Muses love, Felicity blesses; elocution’s choice In syrup lay’ng of sweetest breath his voice. Hail, Seed of Jove, my song your honours give, And so in mine shall yours and others’ live.

A Hymn to Bacchus

Ivy-crown’d Bacchus iterate in thy praises, O Muse; whose voice all loftiest echoes raises, And he with all th’ illustrious Seed of Jove Is join’d in honour, being the fruit of love To him, and Semele the-great-in-graces; And from the King his father’s kind embraces By fair-hair’d Nymphs was taken to the dales Of Nyssa, and with curious festivals Given his fair grought, far from his father’s view, In caves from whence eternal odours flew, And in high number of the Deities plac’d. Yet when the many-hymn-given God had past His Nurses’ cares, in ivies and in bays All over thicketed, his varied ways To sylvan coverts evermore He took, With all his Nurses, whose shrill voices shook Thickets, in which could no foot’s entry fall, And he himself made captain of them all. And so, O grape-abounding Bacchus, be Ever saluted by my Muse and me! Give us to spend with spirit our hours out here, And every hour extend to many a year.

A Hymn to Diana

Diana, that the golden spindle moves, And lofty sounds as well as Bacchus loves, A bashful virgin, and of fearful hearts The death-affecter with delighted darts, By sire and mother Phœbus’ sister born, Whose thigh the golden falchion doth adorn, I sing; who likewise over hills of shade And promontories that vast winds invade, Amorous of hunting, bends her all-gold bow, And sigh-begetting arrows doth bestow In fates so dreadful that the hill-tops quake, And bristled woods their leafy foreheads shake, Horrors invade earth, and [the] fishy seas Impassion’d furies; nothing can appease The dying brays of beasts. And her delight In so much death affects so with affright Even all inanimate natures; for, while she Her sports applies, their general progeny She all ways turns upon to all their banes. Yet when her fiery pleasures find their wanes, Her yielding bow unbent, to th’ ample house, Seated in Delphos, rich and populous, Of her dear brother, her retreats advance. Where th’ instauration of delightsome dance Amongst the Muses and the Graces she Gives form; in which herself the regency (Her unbent bow hung up, and casting on A gracious robe) assumes, and first sets gone The dances’ entry; to which all send forth Their heavenly voices, and advance the worth Of her fair-ankled mother, since to light She children brought the far most exquisite In counsels and performances of all The Goddesses that grace the heavenly hall. Hail then, Latona’s fair-hair’d Seed, and Jove’s! My song shall ever call to mind your loves.

A Hymn to Pallas

Pallas-Minerva’s deity, the renown’d, My Muse in her variety must resound; Mighty in councils; whose illustrous eyes In all resemblance represent the skies. A reverend maid of an inflexible mind; In spirit and person strong; of triple kind; Fautress of cities that just laws maintain; Of Jove, the-great-in-councils, very brain Took prime existence, his unbounded brows Could not contain her, such impetuous throes Her birth gave way to, that abroad she flew, And stood, in gold arm’d, in her Father’s view, Shaking her sharp lance. All Olympus shook So terribly beneath her, that it took Up in amazes all the Deities there. All earth resounded with vociferous fear. The sea was put up all in purple waves, And settled suddenly her rudest raves. Hyperion’s radiant son his swift-hov’d steeds A mighty time stay’d, till her arming weeds, As glorious as the Gods’, the blue-ey’d Maid Took from her deathless shoulders; but then stay’d All these distempers, and heaven’s counsellor, Jove, Rejoic’d that all things else his stay could move. So I salute thee still; and still in praise Thy fame, and others’, shall my memory raise.

A Hymn to Vesta and Mercury

Vesta I sing, who, in bequest of fate, Art sorted out an everlasting state In all th’ Immortals’ high-built roofs, and all Those of earth-dwelling men, as general And ancient honours given thee for thy gift Of free-liv’d chastity, and precious thrift. Nor can there amongst mortals banquets be, In which, both first and last, they give not thee Their endless gratitudes in pour’d-out wine, As gracious sacrifice to thy divine And useful virtues; being invok’d by all, Before the least taste of their festival In wine or food affect their appetites. And Thou, that of th’ adorn’d-with-all-delights Art the most useful angel, born a God Of Jove and Maia, of heaven’s golden rod The sole sustainer, and hast pow’r to bless With all good all men, great Argicides, Inhabit all good houses, see’ng no wants Of mutual minds’ love in th’ inhabitants, Join in kind blessing with the bashful maid And all-lov’d virgin, Vesta; either’s aid Combin’d in every hospitable house; Both being best seen in all the gracious House-works of mortals. Jointly follow then, Even from their youths, the minds of dames and men. Hail then, old Daughter of the oldest God, And thou Great Bearer of Heaven’s golden rod! Yet not to you alone my vows belong, Others as well claim th’ homage of my song.

A Hymn to Earth, the Mother of All

Mother of all things, the well-founded Earth, My Muse shall memorize; who all the birth Gives food that all her upper regions breed, All that in her divine diffusions feed In under continents, all those that live In all the seas, and all the air doth give Wing’d expeditions, of thy bounties eat; Fair children, and fair fruits, thy labour’s sweat, O great in reverence; and referr’d to thee, For life and death is all the pedigree Of mortal humans. Happy then is he Whom the innate propensions of thy mind Stand bent to honour. He shall all things find In all abundance; all his pastures yield Herds in all plenties; all his roofs are fill’d With rich possessions; he, in all the sway Of laws best order’d, cuts out his own way In cities shining with delicious dames, And takes his choice of all those striving flames; High happiness and riches, like his train, Follow his fortunes, with delights that reign In all their princes; glory invests his sons; His daughters, with their crown’d selections Of all the city, frolic through the meads, And everyone her call’d-for dances treads Along the soft-flow’r of the claver-grass. All this, with all those, ever comes to pass, That thy love blesses, Goddess full of grace, And treasurous Angel t’ all the human race. Hail, then, Great Mother of the Deified Kind, Wife to the cope of stars! Sustain a mind Propitious to me for my praise, and give (Answering my mind) my vows fit means to live.

A Hymn to the Sun

The radiant Sun’s divine renown diffuse, Jove’s daughter, great Calliope, my Muse; Whom ox-ey’d Euryphaëssa gave birth To the bright Seed of starry Heaven and Earth. For the far-fam’d Hyperion took to wife His sister Euryphaëssa, that life Of his high race gave to these lovely three: Aurora, with the rosy-wrists; and She That owns th’ enamouring tresses, the bright Moon; Together with the never-wearied Sun, Who (his horse mounting) gives both mortals light And all th’ Immortals. Even to horror, bright A blaze burns from his golden burgonet, Which to behold exceeds the sharpest set Of any eye’s intention, beams so clear It all ways pours abroad. The glorious cheer Of his far-shining face up to his crown Casts circular radiance, that comes streaming down About his temples, his bright cheeks, and all, Retaining the refulgence of their fall. About his bosom flows so fine a weed As doth the thinness of the wind exceed In rich context; beneath whose deep folds fly His masculine horses round about the sky, Till in this hemisphere he renders stay T’ his gold-yok’d coach and coursers; and his way, Let down by heaven, the heavenly coachman makes Down to the ocean, where his rest he takes. My salutations then, fair King, receive, And in propitious returns relieve My life with mind-fit means; and then from thee, And all the race of complete Deity, My song shall celebrate those half-god States, That yet sad death’s condition circulates, And whose brave acts the Gods show men that they As brave may aim at, since they can but die.

A Hymn to the Moon

The Moon, now, Muses, teach me to resound, Whose wide wings measure such a world of ground; Jove’s daughter, deck’d with the mellifluous tongue, And seen in all the sacred art of song. Whose deathless brows when she from heaven displays, All earth she wraps up in her orient rays. A heaven of ornament in earth is rais’d When her beams rise. The subtle air is sais’d Of delicate splendour from her crown of gold. And when her silver bosom is extoll’d, Wash’d in the ocean, in day’s equall’d noon Is midnight seated; but when she puts on Her far-off-sprinkling-lustre evening weeds, (The month is two cut; her high-breasted steeds Man’d all with curl’d flames, put in coach and all, Her huge orb fill’d,) her whole trims then exhale Unspeakable splendours from the glorious sky. And out of that state mortal men imply Many predictions. And with her then, In love mix’d, lay the King of Gods and men; By whom made fruitful, she Pandea bore, And added her state to th’ Immortal Store. Hail, Queen, and Goddess, th’ ivory-wristed Moon Divine, prompt, fair-hair’d! With thy grace begun, My Muse shall forth, and celebrate the praise Of men whose states the Deities did raise To semi-deities; whose deeds t’ endless date Muse-lov’d and sweet-sung poets celebrate.

A Hymn to Castor and Pollux

Jove’s fair Sons, father’d by th’ Oebalian king, Muses well-worth-all men’s beholdings, sing! The dear birth that bright-ankl’d Leda bore; Horse-taming Castor, and, the conqueror Of tooth-tongu’d Momus, Pollux; whom beneath Steep-brow’d Taygetus she gave half-god breath, In love mix’d with the black-clouds King of Heaven; Who, both of men and ships, being tempest driven, When Winter’s wrathful empire is in force Upon th’ implacable seas, preserve the course. For when the gusts begin, if near the shore, The seamen leave their ship, and, evermore Bearing two milk-white lambs aboard, they now Kill them ashore, and to Jove’s issue vow, When though their ship, in height of all the roar The winds and waves confound, can live no more In all their hopes, then suddenly appear Jove’s saving Sons, who both their bodies bear ’Twixt yellow wings down from the sparkling pole, Who straight the rage of those rude winds control, And all the high-waves couch into the breast Of th’ hoary seas. All which sweet signs of rest To seamen’s labours their glad souls conceive, And end to all their irksome grievance give. So, once more, to the swift-horse-riding race Of royal Tyndarus, eternal grace!

A Hymn to Men of Hospitality

Reverence a man with use propitious That hospitable rites wants; and a house (You of this city with the seat of state To ox-ey’d Juno vow’d) yet situate Near Pluto’s region. At the extreme base Of whose so high-hair’d city, from the race Of blue-wav’d Hebrus lovely fluent, grac’d With Jove’s begetting, you divine cups taste.

EPIGRAMS AND OTHER POEMS

To Cuma

Lend hospitable rites and house-respect, You that the virgin with the fair eyes deckt Make fautress of your stately-seated town, At foot of Sardes, with the high-hair’d crown, Inhabiting rich Cuma; where ye taste Of Hermus’ heavenly fluent, all embrac’d By curl’d-head whirl pits; and whose waters move From the divine seed of immortal Jove.