The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume II (of 2), by Richard Crashaw

On this vile theme thee we congratulate,
O golden Muse, pleasing and delicate;
This fair white vileness, Muse, which by its own
Or name or face is now no longer known.
For, charm'd by thy poetic sacred strain,
It knows not, happily, itself again;
But with new face wonders at its new splendour—
For splendid e'en a vile theme thou canst render:
Congratulations for vile theme we tender.
For had not he,[114] with headlong buttocks base,
Gone flashing foully on with thunderous pace,
From whence would this avenging plant have sprung,
This solemn strain with polish'd music rung?
And whence had gather'd these brave angers tender?
O Muse, the vilest theme can bring thee splendour,
For which congratulations now we render.
Thy Hippocrenè comes with a fair face,
Finely unworthy of its father base;
Of a foul fountain so serene a daughter:
From dunghill, who would dream such crystal water?
Thus rise, O Muse, O rise, a milk-white queen,
Out of the midst of vileness rise serene.
Even as Venus rising from her spray,
When she discover'd to the light of day
Her golden limbs, the billowy waves surprising
With the first glory of her purple rising;
So rise, O Muse, thy milk-white grace unfold;
Ennius' dunghill will be Virgil's gold! R. Wi.

MELIUS PURGATUR STOMACHUS PER

Dum vires refero vomitus et nobile munus,
Da mini de vomitu, grandis Homere, tuo.
Nempe olim, multi cum carminis anxia moles
Vexabat stomachum, magne Poeta, tuum;
Aegraque jejuno tenuebat pectora morsu,
Jussit et in crudam semper hiare famem:
Phoebus, ut est medicus, vomitoria pocula praebens,
Morbum omnem longos expulit in vomitus.
Protinus et centum incumbunt toto ore Poetae,
Certantes sacras lambere relliquias.
Quod vix fecissent, scio, si medicamen ineptum
Venisset misere posteriore via.
Quippe per anfractus caecique volumina ventris
Sacra, putas, hostem vult medicina sequi?
Tam turpes tenebras haec non dignatur, at ipsum
Sedibus ex imis imperiosa trahit.

ERGO:

Per vomitum stomachus melius purgabitur, alvus
Quam qua secretis exit opaca viis.

CUM HORUM ALIQUA DEDICARAM

En tibi Musam, Praeceptor colendissime, quas ex tuis modo scholis, quasi ex Apollinis officina, accepit alas timide adhuc, nec aliter quam sub oculis tuis jactitantem.

Qualiter e nido multa jam floridus ala
Astra sibi meditatur avis, pulchrosque meatus
Aërios inter proceres, licet aethera nunquam
Expertus, rudibusque illi sit in ardua pennis
Prima fides, micat ire tamen, quatiensque decora
Veste leves humeros, querulumque per aëra ludens
Nil dubitat vel in astra vagos suspendere nisus,
At vero simul immensum per inane profundis
Exhaustus spatiis, vacuoque sub aethere pendens,
Arva procul sylvasque suas, procul omnia cernit,
Cernere quae solitus: tum vero victa cadit mens,
Spesque suas, et tanta timens conamina, totus
Respicit ad matrem, pronisque revertitur auris.

Quod tibi enim haec feram, vir ornatissime, non ambitio dantis est, sed justitia reddentis; neque te libelli mei tam elegi patronum, quam dominum agnosco. Tua sane sunt haec et mea; neque tamen ita mea sunt, quin si quid in illis boni est, tuum hoc sit totum, neque interim in tantum tua, ut quantumcumque est in illis mali, illud non sit ex integro meum. Ita medio quodam et misto jure utriusque sunt, ne vel mihi, dum me in societatem tuarum laudum elevarem, invidiam facerem; vel injuriam tibi, ut qui te in tenuitatis meae consortium deducere conarer. Ego enim de meo nihil ausim boni mecum agnoscere, nedum profiteri palam, praeter hoc unum, quo tamen nihil melius, animum nempe non ingratum tuorum beneficiorum historiam religiosissima fide in se reponentem. Hoc quibuscumque testibus coram, hoc palam in os coeli meaeque conscientiae meum jacto effero me in hoc ultra aemuli patientiam. Enim vero elegantiore obsequio venerentur te, et venerantur scio, tuorum alii: nemo me sincero magis vel ingenuo poterit. Horum denique rivulorum, tenuium utcunque nulliusque nominis, haec saltem laus erit propria, quod suum nempe norint Oceanum.

'Well done, Muse!' was thy encouraging word, most estimable Præceptor; 'Well done, Muse!' fluttering its wings, which it received from thy School of late, as from Apollo's workshop, timidly as yet, nor otherwise than beneath thine eyes.

Like as a nestling, feather'd gaily o'er,
Is meditating towards the stars to soar,
And in ambitious flights already vies
With the wing'd chiefs that skim along the skies:
What though he never has essay'd the air,
And needs must trust in plumes untried to bear
Unwonted burden heavenward? yet he quivers
To stretch his wings, and his fair plumage shivers
Round his light shoulders till he flits away,
While whispering airs against his pinions play;
Nor dreams he will suspend his wandering flight
Anywhere short of regions starry bright.
But when exhausted by the spaces high
And the immeasurable void of sky,
Hovering in empty air, far off he sees
The fields and hedges and familiar trees—
O, how far off!—which used his sight to please;
Then sudden overpower'd behold him sink,
And from his hopes and lofty soarings shrink:
To his dear mother his whole soul looks back,
And down he flutters on the homeward track.

That I offer thee these poems, most honourable Sir, is not the ambitious desire to give, but the righteous wish to restore what is due. And I have not chosen thee so much the patron of my little book, as I recognise thee to be its owner. Thine indeed these things are, and mine: nor yet are they so much mine, but that if there is anything good in them, this is wholly thine; nor at the same time are they so far thine, that everything bad in them is not entirely mine. Thus, by a sort of common and joint right, they belong to each of us; lest either I should bring envy to myself, while I presumed to a share of thy praises, or injury to thee, by endeavouring to drag thee down to association with my feebleness. For concerning anything belonging to me, I should not venture even to myself to admit any merit, much less to proclaim it openly, except this one thing, than which there is nothing more excellent—namely, a mind not ungrateful, and cherishing in itself with most punctilious fidelity the record of thy kindnesses.

This in the presence of any witnesses, this openly in the face of heaven and to my own conscience, I boast of as my own. I proclaim myself in this particular incapable of enduring a rival; for others of thy admirers [pupils] may venerate thee, and do venerate thee, with more polite attention, but none will be able to do so with observance more sincere and felt. In conclusion; of these rivulets, however slender they may be and of no name, this at least will be the fitting praise—that at all events they know their own Ocean. R. Wi.

IN OBITUM REV. V. D^ris MANSELL,

Ergo iterum in lacrymas et saevi murmura planctus
Ire jubet tragica mors iterata manu;
Scilicet illa novas quae jam fert dextra sagittas,
Dextra priore recens sanguine stillat adhuc.
Vos ô, quos socia Lachesis prope miscuit urna,
Et vicina colus vix sinit esse duos;
Ite ô, quos nostri jungunt consortia damni;
Per nostras lacrymas ô nimis ite pares;
Ite per Elysias felici tramite valles,
Et sociis animos conciliate viis.
Illic ingentes ultro confundite manes,
Noscat et aeternam mutua dextra fidem.
Communes eadem spargantur in otia curae,
Atque idem felix poscat utrumque labor.
Nectarae simul ite vagis sermonibus horae;
Nox trahat alternas continuata vices.
Una cibos ferat, una suas vocet arbor in umbras;
Ambobus faciles herba det una toros.
Certum erit interea quanto sit major habenda
Quam quae per vitam est, mortis amicitia.

MASTER OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE, WHICH FOLLOWED VERY CLOSELY THE DECEASE OF REV. DR. BROOKE.[117]

In tears once more and sighs of cruel woe
Death's tragic stroke repeated bids us go;
That fatal hand, which now bears arrows new,
Still freshly drips with former crimson dew.
Ye whom Fate almost mingl'd in one urn,
Whom to be two, close threads forbid discern;
Go ye, who equally our sorrows share,
By reason of our tears too much a pair;
Go where Elysian vales your steps invite,
In social paths your happy souls unite;
There mix your mighty shades with willing mind,
Eternal faith your blended right-hands find.
Let common cares be lost in the same joys,
While the same happy labour both employs;
Through nectar'd hours in talk together range,
And night continue the sweet interchange:
One tree bear fruit for both, one tree yield shade,
On the same turf your pleasant couch be made;
Thus how much better will be plainly seen
Friendship of Death than that of life, I ween. R. Wi.

HONORATISSIMO DR. ROBERTO HEATH,

Ignitum latus et sacrum tibi gratulor ostrum,
O amor atque tuae gloria magna togae:
Nam video Themis ecce humeris, Themis ardet in istis,
Inque tuos gaudet tota venire sinus.
O ibi purpureo quam se bene porrigit astro,
Et docet hic radios luxuriare suos.
Imo eat aeterna sic ô Themis aurea pompa;
Hic velit ô sidus semper habere suum.
Sic flagret, et nunquam tua purpura palleat intus;
O nunquam in vultus digna sit ire tuos.
Sanguine ab innocuo nullos bibat illa rubores;
Nec tam crudeli murice proficiat.
Quaeque tibi est (nam quae non est tibi?) candida virtus
Fortunam placide ducat in alta tuam.
Nullius viduae lacrymas tua marmora sudent;
Nec sit, quae inclamet te, tibi facta domus.
Non gemat ulla suam pinus tibi scissa ruinam,
Ceu cadat in domini murmure maesta sui.
Fama suas subter pennas tibi sternat eunti;
Illa tubae faciat te melioris opus.
Thura tuo, quacunque meat, cum nomine migrent;
Quaeque vehit felix te, vehat aura rosas.
Vive tuis, nec enim non sunt aequissima, votis
Aequalis, quae te sidera cunque vocant.
Haec donec niveae cedat tua purpura pallae,
Lilium ibi fuerit, quae rosa vestis erat.

Upon thy sacred purple, barr'd with fire,
I gratulate thee—glorious, lov'd attire!
For on those shoulders I see Justice shine,
And glad to hide within those folds of thine.
O finely there she shoots her purple beam,
And teaches here her rays brightly to gleam.
May Justice thus in pomp eternal go,
Here always wish her golden star to glow!
Thus blaze, and ne'er thy purple pale its blush,
And never need into thy face to flush.
From innocent blood ne'er drink a deeper dye,
And turn more crimson from such cruelty.
Let all fair virtues—for thou ownest all—
Calmly to heaven above thy footsteps call.
No widows' tears thy marble halls distil,
No house cry out against thee, built by ill;
No timber cut for thee its downfall groan,
'Mid its lord's murmurs sadly overthrown.
May Fame spread out her wings beneath thy feet,
And thee with loud applause her trumpet greet!
May incense waft thy name where'er it goes,
The happy gale which bears thee bear the rose!
Live equal to thy prayers, most just are they,
Whatever stars direct thee on thy way,
Till this thy purple turn to robe of snow,
And where the rose had been, the lily glow! R. Wi.

HORATII ODE,

Ὥρᾳ σε κεῖνος θῆκεν ἀποφράδι
Ὁ πρῶτος ὅστις χειρὶ τε βώμακι
Ἔθρεψε, δένδρον, τῆς τε κώμης
Αἴτιον, ἐσσομένων τ' ἔλεγχος.
Κεῖνος τοκῆος θρύψε καὶ αὐχένα,
Κεῖνος γε, φαίην, ἅιματι ξεινίῳ
Μυχώτατον κοιτῶνα ῥαῖνε
Νύκτιος, ἀμφαφάασε κεῖνος
Τὰ δῆτα Κόλχων φάρμακα, καὶ κακοῦ
Πᾶν χρῆμα, δώσας μοὶ ἐπιχώριον
Σε στυγνὸν ἔρνος, δεσπότου σε
Ἔμπεσον ἐς κεφαλὴν ἀεικῶς.
Πάσης μὲν ὥρης πᾶν ἐπικίνδυνον
Τίς οἶδε φεύγειν; δείδιε Βόσφορον
Λιβὺς ὁ πλωτὴν, οὐδ' ἀναίκηρ
Τὴν κρυφίην ἑτέρωθεν ὀκνεῖ.
Πάρθων μάχημον Ῥωμάϊκος φυγὴν,
Καὶ τόξα· Πάρθος Ῥωμαΐκην βίαν,
Καὶ δεσμὰ· λάους ἀλλὰ μοίρας
Βάλλε, βαλεῖ τ' ἀδόκητος ὁρμή.
Σχέδον σχέδον πῶς Περσεφόνης ἴδον
Αὔλην μελαίνην, καὶ κρίσιν Αἰακοῦ,
Καλὴν τ' ἀπόστασιν μακαίρων
Αἰολίαις κινύρην τε χορδαῖς
Σαπφὼ πατρίδος μεμφομένην κόραις,
Ἠχοῦντα καὶ σε πλεῖον ἐπιχρύσῳ,
Ἀλκαῖε, πλήκτρῳ σκληρὰ νῆος,
Σκληρὰ φυγῆς, πολέμου τε σκληρά
Εὐφημέουσαι δ' ἀμφοτέρων σκιαὶ
Κλύουσι θάμβει, τὰς δὲ μαχὰς πλέον,
Ἀναστάτους τε μὲν τυράννους
Ὠμιὰς ἔκπιεν ὦσι λᾶος.
Τί θαῦμ'; ἐκείναις θὴρ ὅτε τρίκρανος
Ἄκην ἀοιδαῖς, οὔατα κάββαλε,
Ἐριννύων θ' ἡδυπαθοῦσι
Βόστρυχες, ἡσυχίων ἐχιδνῶν.
Καὶ δὴ Προμηθεὺς, καὶ Πέλοπος πατὴρ
Εὕδουσιν ἠχεῖ τῷ λαθικήδεϊ·
Ἄγειν λεόντας Ὠρίων δὲ
Οὐ φιλεέι, φοβεράς τε λύγκας.

Latin Poems.

AD CAROLUM PRIMUM:

Ille redit, redit. Hoc populi bona murmura volvunt;
Publicus hoc, audin'? plausus ad astra refert:
Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum;
Omnibus hinc una est laetitiae facies.
Rex noster, lux nostra redit; redeuntis ad ora
Arridet totis Anglia laeta genis:
Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis;
Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem.
Forte roges tanto quae digna pericula plausu
Evadat Carolus, quae mala quosve metus:
Anne pererrati male fida volumina ponti
Ausa illum terris pene negare suis:
Hospitis an nimii rursus sibi conscia tellus
Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput.
Nil horum; nec enim male fida volumina ponti
Aut sacrum tellus vidit Ibera caput.
Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericula fingit—
Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor;
At Carolo qui falsa timet, nec vera timeret—
Vera peric'la solet temnere verus amor;
Illi falsa timens, sibi vera pericula temnens,
Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor.
Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi:
Et satis, ah, nostri causa doloris erat.
Causa doloris erat Carolus, sospes licet esset;
Anglia quod saltem dicere posset, abest.
Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi:
Dicere quod saltem possumus: Ille redit.

'The King returns!' the people cry;
And shouts of greeting scale the sky.
The news sits in each look serene;
In each a common joy is seen.
Our King! our light! she laughs once more,
Glad Anglia, as he gains her shore.
Each at the King's eyes lights his eyes;
Sees new day with his face arise.
You'll ask, what fears beset his way,
What ills, what dangers,—we're so gay:
If 'gainst his bark, that sail'd for home,
The faithless billows dar'd to foam;
Or if, so seldom blest, you plann'd
To keep him still, Iberian land.
Nor waves have wrong'd his saintly head,
Nor green Iberia felt his tread.
Yet think such fancies true love will—
True love, that feigns false perils still:
Us such fears vex, whose hearts are stout—
True perils still true love will scout:
Thus fear false perils, scorn the true,
Will trusty love and brave in you.
O fitly we kept cloudy brow,
Because of him, as laughter now.
When we could say, 'Our King's not here,'
We griev'd for him, no danger near:
Now our hearts can no least joy lack,
When we say, laughing, 'He's come back.' A.

AD PRINCIPEM NONDUM NATUM,

Nascere nunc, ô nunc; quid enim, puer alme, moraris?
Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem.
Ergone tot tardos, ô lente, morabere menses?
Rex redit; ipse veni, et dic, bone, gratus ades.
Nam quid ave nostrum? quid nostri verba triumphi?
Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo.
At maneas tamen, et nobis nova causa triumphi:
Sic demum fueris; nec nova causa tamen:
Nam quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans,
Revera toties Carolus ipse redit.

Be born, O, now; for why, fair child, delay?
No sweeter hour will bring to thee the day.
So many months wilt linger on the wing?
The King returns; come thou, and welcome bring.
What is our hail? our voice of triumph high?
Thou wilt have said these better with thy cry.
But stay; and soon new cause of triumph be;
And yet in thee no new cause shall we see:
Oft as to Charles is born new girl, new boy,
Sure Charles himself returns, and brings us joy. R. Wi.

IN FACIEM AUGUSTISSIMI REGIS

Musa redi, vocat alma parens Aeademia: noster
En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit;
Vultus adhuc suus, et vultu sua purpura tantum
Vivit, et admixtas pergit amare nives.
Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis,
Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis?
Tu Phoebi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra
Nec Phoebe maculas novit habere suas.
Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur;
Ipsa sedet radiis ô bene tuta suis:
Quippe illic Deus est. coelumque et sanctius astrum:
Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis.
Quod facie Rex tutus erat, quod caetera tactus:
Hinc hominem Rex est fassus, et inde Deum.

Come, Muse, at call of thy Academy:
With his own face our Phœbus here we see;
His face his own yet, with its own red dyed,
Which with its whiteness loves to be allied.
O fierce disease, dost thou, with marks profane,
Attempt these cheeks, that countenance, to stain?
Most futile! Dost attempt our Phœbus' face?
Not in our Phœbe her own spots canst trace.
His self-asserting face disdains disease;
'Mid its own rays it sits, O well at ease.
Sure God and heaven and holiest star are here;
Sure 'neath these cheeks smiles Phœbus full and clear.
Our King being safe in face, but touch'd elsewhere,
Proves he was here a god, though a man there. R. Wi.

IN SERENISSIMAE REGINAE

Serta, puer; quis nunc flores non præbeat hortus?
Texe mihi facili pollice serta puer.
Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi; stulte, Decembres
Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer.
Nix et hiems? non est nostras quid tale per oras;
Non est, vel si sit, non tamen esse potest.
Ver agitur: quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem,
Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur.
Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis
Prodit, et in sacris quae sedet uva jugis?
Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis?
Quas hiemis pingit purpure tanta genas?
O Maria, ô divum soboles, genitrixque deorum,
Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt?
Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae
Sidera, nil madidos sola morare notos?
Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma,
Atque suas solum lilia nosse nives?
Ergo vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris,
Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis?
O bona turbatrix anni, quae limite noto
Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis;
O pia praedatrix hiemis, quae tristia mundi
Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes;
Perge, precor, nostris vim pulchram ferre calendis;
Perge, precor, menses sic numerare tuos.
Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri;
Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui.
Sit nobis sit saepe hiemes sic cernere nostras
Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis.
Saepe sit has vernas hiemes Maiosque Decembres,
Has per te roseas saepe videre nives.
Altera gens varium per sidera computet annum,
Atque suos ducant per vaga signa dies:
Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis?
Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices?
Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum:
In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos.
Sic tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni:
Tempus et in titulos transeat omne tuos.
Namque alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis?
Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga?
Hanc laurum Janus sibi vertice vellet utroque:
Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Maius emet.
Tota suam, vere expulso, respublica florum
Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam.
O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses
Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

Garlands! bring garlands, boy! what garden now
Would not give flowers? with ready hand do thou
Weave garlands. What! December, sayst thou,—snow?
Fool! hold thy blabbing, speak of what we know.
Winter upon our shores, and snow? the thing
Is not, and cannot be. It is the Spring:
Whatever ghost threatens us with the drear
Beatings of wild December, Spring is here.
See'st thou not with what leaves the royal vine
Spreads forth, what clusters on her boughs incline?
Say, when like this was Winter ever seen
To laugh and glow in purple? O great Queen,
Offspring of gods, and mother! do we see
The seasons thus a plaything made for thee?
Thus with thy Spring mayst thou the stars restrain,
That Winter sting not, nor the South bring rain.
And do the lilies by thy grace alone
Spring up, and know no snows except their own?
In spite of all that Winter may oppose,
Are thus our kingdoms blooming with the rose?
O thou most blest disturber of the year,
Who sufferest not the bounded seasons here
To keep i' their own signs! destroyer kind
Of Winter, whose sweet influence can bind
All harsher murmurs of the world, still dare
We pray thee, thus to force our calendar
With thy fair violence; continue still
The months to number at thine own sweet will;
Still thus untimely, still thus burdensome,
Make all things subject to thy royal womb.
So, by thy grace, may it be often ours
To see dethronèd Winter deck'd in flowers;
On snow that falls i' roses still to gaze,
Sweet vernal Winters and December Mays!
Let others by the stars compute their year,
And count their days as wandering signs appear:
Not so we Britons; not for us shall storm
With cruel change our seasons dare deform;
To thee, great Queen, our whole year we resign,
O spend it all i' those rich births of thine!
So the whole year shall own thy womb to be
Its sovereign arbitress of good; in thee
Merge all its titles. Where's the month could bear
A more delicious name, or ever wear
More whiteness? Janus, for his double crown,
Covets this laurel; Maius for his own
Would buy it, though his Chloris were the cost.
Thee or thine infant, now that Spring has lost
His ancient throne, the flow'ry states invite
To take their empire. O blest year, how bright
Thy fortunes, where each month in turn may claim
From Mary or from Charles its mighty name! G.

AD REGINAM

Huc ô sacris circumflua coetibus,
Huc ô frequentem, Musa, choris pedem
Fer, annuo doctum labore
Purpureas agitare cunas.
Foecunditatem provocat, en, tuam
Maria partu nobilis altero,
Prolemque Musarum ministram
Egregius sibi poscit infans.
Nempe illa nunquam pignore simplici
Sibive soli facta puerpera est:
Partu repercusso, vel absens,
Perpetuos procreat gemellos.
Hos ipsa partus scilicet efficit,
Inque ipsa vires carmina suggerit,
Quae spiritum vitamque donat
Principibus simul et Camaenis.
Possit Camaenas, non sine numine,
Lassare nostras diva puerpera,
Et gaudiis siccare totam
Perpetuis Heliconis undam.
Quin experiri pergat, et in vices
Certare sanctis conditionibus:
Lis dulcis est, nec indecoro
Pulvere, sic potuisse vinci.
Alternis Natura diem meditatur et umbras,
Hinc atro, hinc albo pignore facta parens.
Tu melior Natura tuas, dulcissima, servas—
Sed quam dissimili sub ratione!—vices.
Candida tu, et partu semper tibi concolor omni:
Hinc natam, hinc natum das; sed utrinque diem.