Part 14

Quin et tu quoque busta tui Phoenicis adora; Tu quoque fer tristes, mens mea, delicias. Si nec aromata sunt, nec quod tibi fragrat amomum; Qualis Magdalina est messis odora manu. Est quod aromatibus praestat, quod praestat amomo: Haec tibi mollicula, haec gemmea lacrymula. Et lacryma est aliquid: neque frustra Magdala flevit: Sentiit haec, lacrymas non nihil esse suas. His illa, et tunc cum Domini caput iret amomo, Invidiam capitis fecerat esse pedes. Nunc quoque cum sinus huic tanto sub aromate sudet, Plus capit ex oculis, quo litet, illa suis. Christe, decent lacrymae: decet isto rore rigari Vitae hoc aeternum mane tuumque diem.

_On the day of our Lord's resurrection, the Magdalene bearing spices cometh to the sepulchre._ Marc. xvi. 1; Luc. xxiv. 1.

Come thou too, thou; kneel by thy Phoenix' tomb; Bring thy poor offerings too, my soul, and come. With thee no herbs and fragrant spice are seen-- Such odorous tribute gave the Magdalene; But these--no herbs nor spices equal them-- These little liquid drops, each tear a gem. One tear is much: thine did not fall in vain, Sweet Magdalene; thou knewest the tears were gain. With these--her Lord's head in amomum laid-- The humble feet the head's despair she made. Now, while her breast moist with such fragrance lies, She in a strife draws sweeter from her eyes. Lord Christ, these tears are well: well fits it too Life's everlasting morn drip with such dew. A.

CLXXII.

_In cicatrices Domini adhuc superstites._ Luc. xxiv. 31.

Arma vides; arcus, pharetramque levesque sagittas, Et quocunque fuit nomine miles Amor. His fuit usus Amor: sed et haec fuit ipse; suumque Et jaculum, et jaculis ipse pharetra suis. Nunc splendent tantum, et deterso pulvere belli E memori pendent nomina magna tholo. Tempus erit tamen, haec irae quando arma pharetramque, Et sobolem pharetrae spicula tradet Amor. Heu, qua tunc anima, quo stabit conscia vultu, Quum scelus agnoscet dextera quaeque suum? Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles, Qua tibi cunque tuus luserit arte furor. Seu digito suadente tuo mala laurus inibat Temporibus; sacrum seu bibit hasta latus: Sive tuo clavi saevum rubuere sub ictu; Seu puduit jussis ire flagella tuis. Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles: Quod dederis vulnus, cernere, vulnus erit. Plaga sui vindex clavosque rependet et hastam: Quoque rependet, erit clavus et hasta sibi. Quis tam terribiles, tam justas moverit iras? Vulnera pugnabunt, Christe, vel ipsa tibi.

_On the scars of the Lord still remaining._

Arms see--bows, quiver, arrows flying far, And every style in which Love went to war. These arms Love used--nay, Himself was: His own Dart and darts' quiver was Himself alone. Now they but shine, and, dusty battle ended, In treasur'd glory are on high suspended. Time comes when unto Wrath these arms, both quiver And quiver's offspring, darts, Love will deliver. Ah, with what thoughts, what countenance wilt thou stand When its own guilt comes home to each right hand? Wretch, thou wilt see the wounds which thou hast made, And with what fatal skill thy fury play'd: Whether with bloody wreath thy fingers plied His temples, or thy spear drank His dear side; Or 'neath thy blow nails turned a cruel red, Or the scourge blush'd as at thy call it sped. Wretch, there the wounds thou gavest thou shalt see: To see the wound thou gav'st a wound shall be. Stroke self-avenging follows nails and spear: Its nail and spear of recompense are here. Such awful righteous wrath who would excite? Thy very wounds, O Christ, for Thee will fight. R. WI.

CLXXIII.

_Pacem meam do vobis._ Joan. xiv. 27.

Bella vocant: arma, o socii, nostra arma paremus Atque enses: nostros scilicet, ah, jugulos. Cur ego bella paro, cum Christus det mihi pacem? Quod Christus pacem dat mihi, bella paro. Ille dedit, nam quis potuit dare certior autor? Ille dedit pacem: sed dedit ille suam.

_My peace I give unto you._

War calls: O friends, our arms let us prepare, And swords; forsooth, our throats let us lay bare. Why war prepare, if Christ His peace afford? Because Christ gives me peace, I take the sword. He gave--what surer giver can be shown? He gave the peace, but then He gave His own. R. WI.

CLXXIV.

_In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excaecatum._ Act. ix. 8, 9.

Quae, Christe, ambigua haec bifidi tibi gloria teli est, Quod simul huic oculos abstulit atque dedit? Sancta dies animi, hac oculorum in nocte, latebat; Te ut possit Paulus cernere, caecus erat.

_Paul's conversion and blindness._

Why, Lord, this twofold glory of Thy ray, Giving him sight whose sight it takes away? Paul in that night God's inner light shall find: That he may see The Christ his eyes are blind. CL.

CLXXV.

_Ego sum Via. Ad Judaeos spretores Christi._ Joan. xiv. 6.

O sed nec calcanda tamen: pes improbe, pergis? Improbe pes, ergo hoc coeli erat ire viam? Ah pereat, Judaec ferox, pes improbus ille, Qui coeli tritam sic facit esse viam.

_I am the Way. To the Jewish despisers of Christ._

Not to be trampled on, though: vile foot, stay; Vile foot, is this to tread the heavenly Way? Let that fierce Jewish foot to death be given, Which thus wears out the blessed Way to heaven. R. WI.

CLXXVI.

_In nocturnum et hyemale iter infantis Domini._ Matt. ii. 19-21.

Ergo viatores teneros, cum Prole parentem, Nox habet hos, queis est digna nec ulla dies. Nam quid ad haec Pueri vel labra genasve parentis? Heu, quid ad haec facient oscula, nox et hyems! Lilia ad haec facerent, faceret rosa; quicquid et halat Aeterna Zephyrus qui tepet in viola. Hi meruere, quibus vel nox sit nulla; vel ulla Si sit, eat nostra purius illa die. Ecce sed hos quoque nox et hyems clausere tenellos: Et quis scit, quid nox, quid meditetur hyems? Ah, ne quid meditetur hyems saevire per Austros, Quaeque solet nigros nox mala ferre metus! Ah, ne noctis eat currus non mollibus Euris, Aspera ne tetricos nuntiet aura Notos! Heu, quot habent tenebrae, quot vera pericula secum, Quot noctem dominam quantaque monstra colunt! Quot vaga quae falsis veniunt ludibria formis! Trux oculus, Stygio concolor ala Deo! Seu veris ea, sive vagis stant monstra figuris; Virginei satis est hinc, satis inde metus. Ergo veni; totoque veni resonantior arcu, Cynthia, praegnantem clange procul pharetram. Monstra vel ista vel illa, tuis sint meta sagittis: Nec fratris jaculum certior aura vehat. Ergo veni, totoque veni, flagrantior ore, Dignaque Apollineas sustinuisse vices. Scis bene quid deceat Phoebi lucere sororem: Ex his, si nescis, Cynthia, disce genis. O tua, in his, quanto lampas formosior iret! Nox suam, ab his, quanto malit habere diem! Quantum ageret tacitos haec luna modestior ignes, Atque verecundis sobria staret equis! Luna, tuae non est rosa tam pudibunda diei, Nec tam Virgineo fax tua flore tremit. Ergo veni; sed et astra, tuas age, Cynthia, turmas: Illa oculos pueri, quos imitentur, habent. Hinc oculo, hinc astro: at parili face nictat utrumque; Aetheris os, atque os aethereum Pueri. Aspice, quam bene res utriusque deceret utrumque! Quam bene in alternas mutua regna manus! Ille oculus coeli hoc si staret in aethere frontis; Sive astrum hoc Pueri fronte sub aetherea. Si Pueri hoc astrum aetherea sub fronte micaret, Credat et hunc oculum non minus esse suum. Ille oculus coeli, hoc si staret in aethere frontis, Non minus in coelis se putet esse suis. Tam pulchras variare vices cum fronte Puelli, Cumque Puelli oculis aether et astra queant. Astra quidem vellent; vellent aeterna pacisci Foedera mutatae sedis inire vicem. Aether et ipse, licet numero tam dispare, vellet Mutatis oculis tam bona pacta dari. Quippe iret coelum quanto melioribus astris, Astra sua hos oculos si modo habere queat! Quippe astra in coelo quantum meliore micarent, Si frontem hanc possint coelum habuisse suum. Aether et astra velint: frustra velit aether et astra: Ecce negat Pueri frons, oculique negant. Ah, neget illa, negent illi: nam quem aethera mallent Isti oculi? aut frons haec quae magis astra velit? Quid si aliquod blanda face lene renideat astrum? Lactea si coeli terque quaterque via est? Blandior hic oculus, roseo hoc qui ridet in ore; Lactea frons haec est terque quaterque magis. Ergo negent, coelumque suum sua sidera servent: Sidera de coelis non bene danda suis. Ergo negant: seque ecce sua sub nube recondunt, Sub tenera occidui nube supercilii: Nec claudi contenta sui munimine coeli, Quaerunt in gremio matris ubi lateant. Non nisi sic tactis ubi nix tepet illa pruinis, Castaque non gelido frigore vernat hyems. Scilicet iste dies tam pulchro vespere tingi Dignus; et hos soles sic decet occidere. Claudat purpureus qui claudit vesper Olympum; Puniceo placeas tu tibi, Phoebe, toro; Dum tibi lascivam Thetis auget adultera noctem, Pone per Hesperias strata pudenda rosas. Illas nempe rosas, quas conscia purpura pinxit; Culpa pudorque suus queis dedit esse rosas. Hos soles, niveae noctes, castumque cubile, Quod purum sternet per mare virgo Thetis; Hos, sancti flores; hos, tam sincera decebant Lilia; quaeque sibi non rubuere rosae. Hos, decuit sinus hic; ubi toto sidere proni Ecce lavant sese lacteo in oceano. Atque lavent: tandemque suo se mane resolvant, Ipsa dies ex hoc ut bibat ore diem.

_On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord._

These tender travellers, feel they Night's dark sway, Mother and Child, too good for whitest day? For how will mother's cheeks, or lips of Child, How kisses fare, from Night and Winter wild? With lilies these, with roses, should be blest, Or sweetest breath of violet-perfum'd West. Such travellers merited to have no night, Or, if at all, one whiter than our light. Winter and Night these tender ones enclose, And what Night plots, or Winter, ah, who knows? Ah, lest fell Winter with its north-winds rage, Ill-omen'd Night its wonted fears engage. Ah, lest rough east-winds should Night's chariot draw, Or harsh south-winds should shake the heart with awe. What real perils troop in Darkness' train, Over what monsters Night extends her reign: What vagrant phantoms, which in false shapes go, Stern-ey'd, black-pinion'd, like the gods below! But standing forth in false forms or in true, For these, for those, a Virgin's dread is due. Come then, come, Cynthia, with resounding bow, And clang thy full-charg'd quiver at the foe. These monsters, those, thy darts unerring share, Nor truer aim thy brother's arrows bear: Come, then, O come, with all thy face a-flame, Worthy thyself to take Apollo's name. Thou know'st how Phoebus' sister ought to shine; If not, learn, Cynthia, from these cheeks divine. Placed here thy torch more beauty would display, And Night from hence prefer to draw its day; Such moon more modest shed its silent beam, And shamefac'd stay her softly-going team. O Moon, thy day no rose so chaste resembles, Thy torch with no such virgin beauty trembles. Come then, but bring thy troops of stars likewise; For they can try to shine like the Child's eyes. An eye, a star, twinkling with equal grace, The face of heaven and the Child's heavenly face. How well the charm of each transferr'd would show, From hand to hand the mutual sceptres go! Whether heaven's eye should deck His skiey brow, Or the Child's star adorn heaven's forehead now. If the Child's star on heaven's forehead shone, That eye would seem to Him not less His own. Place on His skiey forehead heaven's eye, Not less 'twould deem itself in its own sky. Such interchanges might the stars and skies Make charmingly with the Child's brow and eyes. For change of place the stars indeed might like An everlasting treaty now to strike; And differing though in numbers, e'en the skies Might wish to bargain for a change of eyes. With how much better stars the sky would shine, If as its stars it had these eyes divine! The stars would shine in how much better heaven, If as their sky this brow divine were given! So sky and stars may choose--in vain they choose; For the Child's brow and His fair eyes refuse. Ah, wisely; for these eyes what better heaven Could wish? what better stars to brow be given? What though some gentle star more softly gleams? What if heaven's way thrice, four times, milky seems? Softer this eye which smiles in ruddy face; This milk-white brow, thrice, four times is its grace. To quit their heaven, let then these stars deny; Stars ought not to be ta'en from their own sky. They do deny; and soon in cloud are hid, In tender shadow of the drooping lid. Nor with their own defence content they rest, But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast. Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd, And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste. Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink; Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink. Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine, Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine; While wanton Thetis day too early closes, Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses; Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted, By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted. Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be, Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea; All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate, Roses with innocent blush upon them wait. Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white. And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise; And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. WI.

CLXXVII.

_Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis._ Joan. xvi. 26.

Ah tamen ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Ille suos omni facie te figit amores; Inque tuos toto effunditur ore sinus. Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis; Inque tuo, Jesu, se fovet ipse sinu. Ex te metitur sese, et sua numina discit: Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi. Ille tibi se, te ille sibi par nectit utrinque: Tam tuus est, ut nec sit magis ille suus. Ergo roga: ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Illum ut ego rogitem? Hoc, eheu, non ore rogandum; Ore satis puras non faciente preces. Illum ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput? Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore: Saepe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit. Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi, Uno me nutu figet, et interii: Non ego, non rogitem: mihi scilicet ille roganti Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater. Immo rogabo: nec ore meo tamen: immo rogabo Ore meo, Jesu, scilicet ore tuo.

_I do not say that I will pray the Father for you._

Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. With favouring eyes He makes Thee all His love; Toward Thine heart, Lord, His whole affections move. Beholding Thy fair eyes Himself He sees; In Thy pure breast Himself He cherishes. By Thee He metes Himself, His godhead learns, And, sweet reversion! to Himself returns. He Thee, Thou He, in one Ye intertwine; He is His own no more, He is so Thine. Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. Shall these lips, Lord, ask Him? But how should they? With rightful words and pure they fail to pray. If I should ask Him, then, what tempests dread, What anger thundering o'er this wretched head! His look perchance would gleam as lightning down-- Yea, oft, I know, as lightning falls His frown. Perchance the javelin of one angry word, One nod, would slay, and I should die unheard. I? I'll not ask: Lord, He is wont to be, He easy proves unkind, if ask'd of me. Yet, stay: I'll ask:--not with these lips of mine; Yea, with my lips,--my lips, Lord, namely Thine. A.

CLXXVIII.

_In die ascensionis dominicae._ Act. i. 9, 10.

Usque etiam nostros te, Christe, tenemus amores? Heu, coeli quantam hinc invidiam patimur! Invidiam patiamur: habent sua sidera coeli, Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces; Phoebenque et Phoebum, et tot pictae vellera nubis, Vellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu. Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri? Una sit hic: sunt et sint ibi mille faces. Nil agimus: nam tu quia non ascendis ad illum, Aether[85] descendit, Christe, vel ipse tibi.

{Nyn eti hemeteron se, Christe, echomen ton erota? Ouranou oun hosson ton phthonon hos echomen; Alla echomen. echei hea men ta d' agalmata aither, Astra te kai Phoibon kai kala ton nephelon. Hosson een, hemin ophr' eie hen tode astron? Astron hen hemin e; eisi toi astr' hekaton. Panta maten. hoti, Christe, sy ouk anebaines es auton, Autos men katebe ouranos eis se teos.}

_On the day of the Lord's ascension._

Still do we keep Thee here, O Christ, our Love? Ah, envy much we gain from Heaven above! But be it so: Heaven is with stars a-blaze, And countless orbs that trick their tremulous rays: Moon, sun, and colour'd clouds, a fleecy store, By Evening's rosy touch embroider'd o'er. 'Twere little they should leave one light below: Let one be here, a thousand there may glow. 'Tis vain: since Thou ascendest not on high, To Thee, O Christ, descends the very sky. R. WI.

CLXXIX.

_Caecus implorat Christum._ Marc. x. 46-52.

Improba turba, tace. Mihi tam mea vota propinquant, Et linguam de me vis tacuisse meam? Tunc ego tunc taceam, mihi cum meus ille loquetur: Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quae primo riserit ore, diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem. O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quam fidei nox habet ipsa, diem. Haec animi tam clara dies rogat illam oculorum: Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.

{Nykt' eleeson emen, eleeson. nai toi ekeino, Christe, emou emar, nyx hod' emeio echei. Ophthalmon men ekeino, Theos, deetai tode gnomes; Me moi tout' aires, dos moi ekeino phaos.}[86]

_The blind man implores Christ._

Be silent, crowd: my prayers so near me come, And do you bid my pleading tongue be dumb, Before my Lord to me His speech addresses? Know, then, that voice of His my eyes possesses. Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which smiled on me in Thee with earliest ray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which if it sees Thee not, for night would pray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which in faith's dimness fades not quite away. My mind's clear day bids my eyes' day awake: This grant, O Lord, nor the other from me take. R. WI.

CLXXX.

_Quis ex vobis si habeat centum oves, et perdiderit unam ex illis, &c._ Luc. xv. 4.

O ut ego angelicis fiam bona gaudia turmis! Me quoque solicito quaere per arva gradu. Mille tibi tutis ludunt in montibus agni, Quos potes haud dubia dicere voce tuos. Unus ego erravi, quo me meus error agebat; Unus ego fuerim gaudia plura tibi. Gaudia non faciunt, quae nec fecere timorem; Et plus quae donant ipsa peric'la placent. Horum quos retines fuerit tibi latior usus: De me quem recipis dulcior usus erit.

{Eis men ego, he mou plane periegen, alemi; Eis de toi sos esomai gethosynai pleones. Amnos ho me poion phobon ou poiei de te charma. Meizon ton men, emou chreia de glykytere.}

_What man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, &c._

O might I fire the angel-bands with joy, Thy seeking steps o'er anxious plains employ! A thousand lambs on the safe mountains play; All Thine they are, Thou certainly canst say. The one that err'd and stray'd behold in me; Be I the one to bring more joy to Thee! They give no joy who never caus'd a fear; Dangers themselves, o'ercome, the more endear. Of those retain'd, more wide be the employment; Of me recover'd, sweeter the enjoyment. R. WI.

CLXXXI.

_Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncanti._ Act. xii. 2.

Nescis Jacobus quantum hunc tibi debeat ictum, Quaeque tua in sacrum saeviat ira caput. Scilicet ipso illi donasti hoc ense coronam, Quo sacrum abscideras scilicet ense caput. Abscissum pensare caput quae possit abunde, Sola haec tam saeva et sacra corona fuit.

{En men, Iakobe, kephalen toi xiphos aperen, Hen tode kai stephanon xiphos edoke teon. Mounon ameibesthai kephalen, Iakobe, dynaito, Keinos hod' hos kalos martyriou stephanos.}

_To Herod beheading St. James._

Know'st not how much James owes thee for this stroke, Or how on his blest head thine anger broke. Lo, to himself a crown thou dost accord Forsooth with that selfsame beheading sword. Only this sacred sanguinary crown That sunder'd head was able to weigh down. R. WI.

CLXXXII.

_Caeci receptis oculis Christum sequuntur._ Matt. xx. 34.

Ecce manu imposita Christus nova sidera ponit: Sectantur patriam sidera fida manum. Haec manus his, credo, coelum est: haec scilicet astra Suspicor esse olim quae geret ille manu.[87]

{Cheir epiballomene Christou epeballen opopon Astra; opedeuei keina ge cheiri Theou. Cheir haue toutois pelen ouranos. astra gar oimai En cheri taut' oisei Christos epeita hee.}

_The blind men having received their sight follow Christ._

See Christ with outstretcht hand new stars create, Which on that hand with due observance wait. That hand, sure, is their heaven: these stars are they Which He will hold in His right hand one day. R. WI.

CLXXXIII.

_Zachaeus in sycomoro._ Luc. xix. 4.

Quid te, quid jactas alienis fructibus, arbor? Quid tibi cum foliis non, sycomore, tuis? Quippe istic ramo qui jam tibi nutat ab alto, Mox e divina Vite racemus erit.

{Tipt' epikompazeis keneon xeino de te karpo, Kai phyllois semne me, sykomore, teois? Kai gar hod' ekkremnes sou nyn meteoros ap' ernous, Ampelou ho kladon essetai ouraniou.}

_Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree._

Why of strange fruits dost boast, O sycamore? Of leaves not thine who gave thee such a store? He who waves to and fro on bough of thine, A cluster soon will be of the True Vine. R. WI.

CLXXXIV.

_On our crucified Lord naked and bloody._

Th' have left Thee naked, Lord: O that they had! This garment too I would they had deny'd. Thee with Thyselfe they have too richly clad, Opening the purple wardrobe of Thy side. O never could bee found garments too good For Thee to weare, but these of Thine own blood.

CLXXXV.

_Sampson to his Dalilah._