But when their life, in its decline, Touches th' inevitable line, All the world's mortal to them then, And wine is aconite to men; Nay, in Death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's. I'd advise them, when they spy Any illustrious piety, To reward her, if it be she To reward him, if it be he- ODE, FROM CATULLUS. ACME AND SEPTIMIUS. WHILST on Septimius' panting breast My dearest Acme, if I be Once alive, and love not thee With a passion far above All that e'er was called love; In a Libyan desert may I become some lion's prey; Let him, Acme, let him tear My breast, when Acme is not there." The god of love, who stood to hear him, " Twice (and twice could scarce suffice) She kiss'd his drunken rolling eyes. My little life, my all!" (said she) To this best god, and ne'er retain So may thy passion last for me, Into my marrow is it gone, But runs, like life, through every part." This good omen thus from Heaven Their loves and lives (all four) embrace, The whole world's imperial throne; If the gods would please to be But advis'd for once by me, THE COMPLAINT. IN a deep vision's intellectual scene, Of the black yew's unlucky green And lo! a Muse appear'd to's closed sight, And with loose pride it wanton'd in the air. A crown was on her head, and wings were on her feet. She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him fror the ground; The shaken strings melodiously resound. Had to their dearest children done, show, Would'st into courts and cities from me go; create; Business! the frivolous pretence Of human lusts, to shake off innocence; Business! the grave impertinence; Business! the thing which I of all things hate; Business! the contradiction of thy fate. "Go, renegado! cast up thy account, And see to what amount Thy foolish gains by quitting me: The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, The fruits of thy unlearn'd apostasy. Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were past, All thy remaining life should sunshine be; Art got at last to shore. But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see "As a fair morning of the blessed spring, After a tedious stormy night, Such was the glorious entry of our king; One of old Gideon's miracles was shown; With pearly dew was crown'd, And upon all the quicken'd ground The fruitful seed of Heaven did brocding lie, It did all other threats surpass, When God to his own people said The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, Make all my art and labor fruitless now; Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow. "When my new mind had no infusion known, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, That ever since I vainly try To wash away th' inherent dye : Long work perhaps may spoil thy colors quite, But never will reduce the native white: To all the ports of honor and of gain, The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy This was my error, this my gross mistake, Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate, The men whom through long wanderings he had led) | (A fault which I, like them, am taught too late,, That he would give them ev'n a Heaven of For all that I gave up I nothing gain, brass: And perish for the part which I retain They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, which God did not re-" Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse! strain Upon the most unjust to shine and rain The court, and better king, t' accuse: The heaven under which I live is fair, The fertile soil will a full harvest bear: "The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou Thou didst with faith and labor serve, And didst (if faith and labor can) deserve, Though she contracted was to thee, Of fairer and of richer wives before, Into the court's deceitful lottery: But think how likely 'tis that thou, Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall, Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, And my abused soul didst bear Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where, Still I rebel, still thou dost reign; Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should plow Our patient sovereign did attend How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, I ought to be accurst, if I refuse To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! Should'st not reproach rewards for being small or slow; Thou! who rewardest but with popular breath, And that too after death." HYMN TO LIGHT. FIRST-BORN of Chaos, who so fair didst come Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know, Thou golden shower of a true Jove! Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth make love! Hail, active Nature's watchful life and healtn Say, from what golden quivers of the sky Do all thy winged arrows fly? Swiftness and Power by birth are thine: From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine. "Tis, I believe, this archery to show, That so much cost in colors thou, Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow. Swift as light thoughts their empty career run, Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn The humble glow-worms to adorn, And with those living spangles gild (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright, And Sleep, the lazy owl of night; The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume A body's privilege to assume, Vanish again invisibly, And bodies gain again their visibility. All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes, Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thor go'st. A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st; Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light The violet, Spring's little infant, stands Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands. With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand withhold And be less liberal to gold! Did'st thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas! might'st thou poor man relieve! To me the Sun is more delightful far. And all fair days much fairer are. But few, ah! wondrous few, there be, Who do not gold prefer, O goddess! ev'n to thee They screen their horrid shapes with the black Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air, and sea hemisphere. Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide, With them there hastes, and wildly takes th' alarm, And with thy living stream through the close chan Of painted dreams a busy swarm: The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly. The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, Creep, conscious, to their secret rests: Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. At thy appearance, Grief itself is said To shake his wings, and rouse his head: And cloudy Care has often took A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look. At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold; Thy sun-shine melts away his cold. nels slide. But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose, But the vast ocean of unbounded day, In th' empyrean Heaven does stay. Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow. AGAINST HOPE. HOPE! whose weak being ruin'd is, To the cheek color comes, and firmness to the Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss; knee. Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face, Blushes, if thou be'st in the place, In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires. Whom good or ill does equally confound, The stars have not a possibility Of blessing thee; If things then from their end we happy call, When, goddess! thou lift'st up thy waken'd head, "Tis hope is the most hopeless thing of all. Out of the morning's purple bed, Thy quire of birds about thee play, And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. Hope! thou bold taster of delight, [quite! Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st i Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, The joys which we entire should wed, For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste. Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be; Fond archer, Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are! Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives With shapes that our own fancy gives! A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears, But must drop presently in tears! When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail. Brother of Fear, more gayly clad! The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad: Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire! That blow'st the chymics', and the lovers', fire, Leading them still insensibly on By the strange witchcraft of "anon!" By thee the one does changing Nature, through Her endless labyrinths, pursue; And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows. FOR HOPE. HOPE! of all ills that men endure, Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness! Thou gentle dawning of a bright success! Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain, Whether she her bargain break or else fulfil; Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee The joys of Heaven and Earth divided be! Though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate, Thy portion yet in movables is great. Happiness itself's all one In thee, or in possession! Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend! Fruition more deceitful is Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Some other way again to thee; And that's a pleasant country, without doubt To which all soon return that travel out. CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA. DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM EGRESSUS EST. FELIX, qui patriis, &c. HAPPY the man, who his whole time doth bound The cold and heat, winter and summer shows, THE WISH. WELL, then; I now do plainly see Does of all meats the soonest cloy; Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave, Only belov'd, and loving me! Oh, fountains! when in you shall I Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy? Oh fields! oh woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade? Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood; Where all the riches lie, that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From Heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say, That 'tis the way too thither. How happy here should I, And one dear she, live, and embracing die! I should have then this only fear- FROM THE DAVIDEIS. AWAKE, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: |