Part 17

That Faith which only justifies A sinner as in guilt he lies, Bow'd aneath the awful blood, Clinging to the uplifted rood, Is not alone so as nor Love Nor heavenly Hope may in it move, To thrill with touch of ecstasy The bruised heart, the swimming eye. What, censor! bitter to ill end, Dost thou thy dogma still defend? And wouldest thou to hands allied Mutual sceptres see denied, Snapping betwixt Faith and Love The tie that binds them from Above? I tell thee nay, stone-hearted one, The Faith of Christ is not alone: Take Faith away, and Love will sigh; Take Hope away, and Faith will die; Take Faith away, Love will do naught; Take Love away, and Faith's distraught: For I tell thee, vain sophister, They're as sister unto sister. But mark, this Love that brings Faith joy Is not blind Cupid. Ah, bright Boy, Begone; thou shalt not, wouldst thou, stay; Go, get thee swift from light o' day; Go, get thee now to the vast shades, And there indulge thy escapades: Thou in Elysian realms mayst reign A fitting deity, not vain: Go therefore, and with thee thy bow And quiver. Well it is below That these for thee shall form a pyre, To which thy torch will furnish fire. But, ah, thou hast a heart of stone, Who wouldest make Faith live alone, Loos'ning the sweet ties Love has found To bind Faith to her, herself bound. O, it is cruel thus to sever Sisters whom God hath joined ever; Whose clasped hands so closely cling, E'en as vine-tendrils ring on ring: You may not tell there's more than one, So absolute the union. Where shall you find beneath the sky Two differing so variously, And yet each life in other bound, Touch one, the other you shall wound: Or where, 'mid all the pairs on earth, Twins through marriage or through birth, Shall you find two so truly one? Arms twining in affection, They clasp each other, chin to chin, Above, below, without, within, Embracing and embrac'd by turns; Yet not with such wild-fire as burns In Lust's hot touch, and clasp and grasp Eager and stinging as tongue of asp. Not so closely interwine The graceful Elm and clinging Vine, When to bosom of the tree Bacchus' clusters prest you see, And the Nymph the fruit receives, And hides it amid dewy leaves; Ev'n as the poets tell of old, In legends of the Age of Gold. Faith and Love know no such flame, Their pure twining brings no shame; Look for taint, you'll find it missing: 'Tis as flower flower kissing; Or twin-roses dewy dripping, And twin-bees their honey sipping. The Turtle-dove, robb'd of her mate, Pines and mourns disconsolate; Yet still lives on in widow'd grief, Knowing at times Hope's sweet relief. But Faith when once of Love bereft Loses her all, has nothing left; Nor mourns nor frets nor pales--she's dead, Struck to the heart astonied. The Palm that by the wintry blast Sees her companion-tree downcast, Whose mighty shadow o'er her threw Protection when the fierce storm blew; Her umbrage sheds, and quivering Seeks that some fav'ring wind would bring Her branches with his boughs to mingle, Since she is left in sadness, single; Wretched, she wears and wastes away, Leaf following leaf in wan decay, Until at last, naked and bare, She shivers in the piercing air; And when the Spring comes, Winter sped, 'Tis vain to call her--she is dead! But when Love from Faith is gone, Faith lingers not still on and on; That while her form yet meets your eye, You can pronounce 'She'll surely die.' SHE'S DEAD i' the instant: or you will Maintain a stark corpse liveth still, Whose soul has pass'd beyond the sky, Sunder'd until the last great Cry. Faith is the body, Love the soul; Take Love from it, you take the whole: Now, now indeed thy Faith's alone, But being alone, lo, it is none. To make it clear, turn Homer's page That paints Achilles' hate and rage, When, having mighty Hector slain, He dragg'd him dead over the plain-- That Hector whom the chariot feels Dragg'd helpless, lifeless at its wheels, Was it the same who, with proud crest, That chariot's lord had lately prest, Eager the victory to wrest? Hercules' name and deeds dost see In Oeta's bloody tragedy, When dead the mighty hero lay, Of jealousy the poison'd prey. His living strength the lion slew, And hide Nemaean round him threw: 'Gainst more than lion-rage of Death Dost summon the sad corpse of Faith? Sure Love with love for Faith will burn, While Faith herself trusts Love in turn.

THEREFORE:

That Faith alone, lording it high, Which Hope despairs of, and with cry Of anguish Love can never love, Is not the Faith sent from Above: The Faith that thus would be alone, What is't to us--desolate, lone? Faith then, that loved will not love Nor hope--may no such Faith me move! But ever in my bosom lie Faith, Hope, and Love in trinity: Yea, Love himself shall Faith's best lover prove, And Faith confirm his strongest faith in Love. G.

BAPTISMUS NON TOLLIT FUTURA PECCATA.

Quisquis es ille tener modo quem tua mater[93] Achilles In Stygis aethereae provida tinxit aquis, Sanus, sed non securus dimitteris illinc: In nova non tutus vulnera vivis adhuc. Mille patent aditus; et plus quam calce petendus 5 Ad nigri metues spicula mille dei. Quod si est vera salus, veterem meminisse salutem; Si nempe hoc vere est esse, fuisse pium; Illa tibi veteres navis quae vicerat Austros, Si manet in mediis usque superstes aquis; 10 Ac dum tu miseros in littore visis amicos, Et peccatorum triste sodalitium, Illa tibi interea tutis trahet otia velis, Expectans donec tu rediisse queas: Quin igitur da vina, puer; da vivere vitae; 15 Mitte suum senibus, mitte supercilium; Donemus timide, o socii, sua frigora brumae: Aeternae teneant hic nova regna rosae. Ah, non tam tetricos sic eluctabimur Euros; Effractam non est sic revocare ratem. 20 Has undas aliis decet ergo extinguere in undis; Naufragium hoc alio immergere naufragio: Possit ut ille malis oculus modo naufragus undis, Jam lacrymis melius naufragus esse suis.

TRANSLATION.

BAPTISM CANCELS NOT AFTER-SINS.

O young Achilles, whom a mother's care Hath dipp'd as in a sacred Stygian wave; Whole, but yet not secure, thou hence dost fare, For there are wounds from which it will not save. A thousand ways of entrance open lie For evil; not alone against thy heel The prince of darkness in his rage lets-fly The thousand arrows thou mayst dread to feel. But if remember'd health may still have given True health, and to have been is still to be, Thou seem'st as one whose bark, by storms unriven, Still rides, as yet unconquer'd, on the sea; And, while on shore thy friends thou visitest, And the sad company of them that sin, With furled sails upon the waves at rest, Thy bark floats idly till thou art within. But if for this thou criest overbold, 'Bring wine! enjoy the moment as it goes; Leave to old age its cares; dismiss the cold, While in new realms for ever reigns the rose!' Ah, know that not in revels such as these Learn we to struggle with the spiteful gale; Nor thus can hope to rescue from rough seas The broken cable and the driven sail. These waves must in another wave be wash'd, This shipwreck in another shipwreck drown'd; The eye in such ill storms so vilely dashed, A happier wreck in its own tears be found. CL.

Latin Poems.

PART FIRST. SACRED.

IV.

NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.

NOTE.

The Sancroft MS., as before, furnishes the following hitherto unprinted longer Poems, which I place under SACRED, as being throughout in subject and treatment such. The Rev. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., as before, has at once the praise and responsibility of the translations in the whole of this section. G.

PSALMUS I.

O te te nimis et nimis beatum, Quem non lubricus implicavit error; Nec risu misero procax tumultus. Tu cum grex sacer undique execrandis Strident consiliis, nec aure felix; Felix non animo, vel ore mixtus, Haud intelligis impios susurros. Sed tu deliciis ferox repostis Cultu simplice, sobriaque cura Legem numinis usque et usque volvis. Laeta sic fidas colit arbor undas, Quem immiti violentus aura Seirius frangit, neque contumacis.

NOTE.

This fragment of a Latin rendering of the first Psalm may be compared with BUCHANAN'S, but, I fear, not to its advantage. It were superfluous to give a translation of it; but see the parallel which follows. G.

IRA PROCELLAE.

At tu, profane pulvis, et lusus sacer Cujusvis aurae; fronte qua tandem feres Vindex tribunal? quanta tum, et qualis tuae Moles procellae stabit? O quam ferreo Frangere nutu, praeda frontis asperae, Sacrique fulminandus ah procul, procul A luce vultus, aureis procul a locis, Ubi longa gremio mulcet aeterno pios. Sincera semper pax, et umbrosa super Insurgit ala, vividique nectaris Imbres beatos rore perpetuo pluit. Sic ille, sic, o vindice, stat vigil, Et stabit ira torvus in impios, Seseque sub mentes bonorum Insinuat facili favore.

TRANSLATION.

THE WRATH OF THE JUDGMENT-WHIRLWIND.

But thou, O dust profane, and of each air The plaything doom'd, with what face wilt thou bear The Judgment-throne? how huge a stormy cloud Will lower upon thee! how wilt thou be bow'd With iron nod, the prey of frowning Face, By thunder to be driven far off, apace, From light of sacred Countenance! afar From golden regions, where the righteous are, Sooth'd in pure Peace's lap eterne, whose wing Towers high above them, overshadowing; While happy showers of nectar sweet imbue Their lips, as with an everlasting dew. The wicked so His watchful ire will learn, And cower 'neath God's avenging countenance stern; The righteous so His love divine will feel With gentle lapse into their bosom steal. R. WI.

CHRISTE, VENI.

Ergo veni; quicunque ferant tua signa timores, Quae nos cunque vocant tristia, Christe, veni. Christe, veni; suus avulsum rapiat labor axem, Nec sinat implicitas ire redire vias; Mutuus attonito titubet sub foedere mundus, Nec natura vagum dissona volvat opus. Christe, veni; roseos ultra remeare per ortus Nolit, et ambiguos Sol trahat aeger equos. Christe, veni; ipsa suas patiatur Cynthia noctes, Plus quam Thessalico tincta tremore genas; Astrorum mala caesaries per inane dolendum Gaudeat, horribili flore repexa caput; Sole sub invito subitae vis improba noctis Corripiat solitam, non sua jura, diem; Importuna dies, nec Eoi conscia pacti, Per desolatae murmura noctis eat. Christe, veni; tonet Oceanus pater, et sua nolit Claustra vagi montes sub nova sceptra meent. Christe, veni; quodcunque audet metus, audeat ultra Fata id agant, quod agant; tu modo, Christe, veni. Christe, veni; quacunque venis mercede malorum. Quanti hoc constiterit cunque venire, veni. Teque tuosque oculos tanti est potuisse videre! O tanti est te vel sic potuisse frui! Quicquid id est, veniat. TU MODO, CHRISTE, VENI.

TRANSLATION.

EVEN SO: COME, LORD JESUS.

O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry, Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry. Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place, And its perplexed paths no more can trace; Though sympathising earth astonied reel, And nature jarred cease its round to wheel. Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team. Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white; Though ominous comets through the dolorous air Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear; Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day; Mistimed Day, mindless of eastern glow, Through moanings of forsaken Night should go. Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers, That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers. Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare; Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there. Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill, Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still. Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see! Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be! Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. WI.

CIRCUMCISIO.

Ah ferus, ah culter, qui tam bona lilia primus In tam crudeles jussit abire rosas; Virgineum hoc qui primus ebur violavit ab ostro, Inque sui instituit muricis ingenium. Scilicet hinc olim quicunque cucurrerit amnis, Ex hoc purpurei germine fontis erit. Scilicet hunc mortis primum puer accipit unguem, Injiciunt hodie fata, furorque manus. Ecce illi sanguis fundi jam coepit; et ecce Qui fundi possit, vix bene sanguis erat; Excitat e dolio vix dum bene musta recenti, Atque rudes furias in nova membra vocat. Improbus, ut nimias jam nunc accingitur iras, Armaque non molli sollicitanda manu; Improbus, ut teneras audet jam ludere mortes, Et vitae ad modulum, quid puerile mori; Improbus, ut tragici impatiens praeludia fati Ornat, et in socco jam negat ire suo: Scilicet his pedibus manus haec meditata cothurnos? Haec cum blanditiis mens meditata minas? Haec tam dura brevem decuere crepundia dextram? Dextra giganteis haec satis apta genis? Sic cunis miscere cruces? cumque ubere matris Commisisse neces et scelus et furias? Quo ridet patri, hoc tacite quoque respicit hastam, Quoque oculo matrem mulcet, in arma redit. Dii superi, furit his oculis! hoc asper in ore est! Dat Marti vultus, quos sibi mallet Amor. Deliciae irarum! torvi, tenera agmina, risus! Blande furor! terror dulcis! amande metus! Praecocis in paenas pueri lascivia tristis! Cruda rudimenta! et torva tyrocinia! Jam parcum breviusque brevi pro corpore vulnus, Proque brevi brevior vulnere sanguis eat: Olim, cum nervi vitaeque ferocior haustus Materiam morti luxuriemque dabunt; Olim maturos ultro conabitur imbres; Robustum audebit tunc solidumque mori. Ergo illi, nisi qui in saevos concreverit usus, Nec nisi quem possit fundere, sanguis erit? Euge, puer trux! euge tamen mitissime rerum! Quique tibi tantum trux potes esse, puer? Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum! Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen! Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore! Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio! Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum, In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum. Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis, Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.

TRANSLATION.

THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST.

Ah, fierce, fierce knife, which such sweet lilies first Into such cruel roses made to burst; Which first this ivory pure with purple stain'd, And in the white a deeper dye engrain'd. Whatever stream hereafter hence shall flow, Out of this purple fountain-head shall grow. Now first this tender Child Death's talons knows, The Fates and Fury now hurl their first blows. See now His blood begins to pour; and see Scarce blood enough to pour there seems to be. Scarce wise to broach the new wine from the wood, And 'gainst those young limbs call the Furies rude. Wanton, e'en now He girds on woes too much, And arms not to be tried by such soft touch: Wanton, He dares at gentle deaths to play, And for His age to die, as a child may: Wanton, beforehand acts His tragic woe, Restless, refusing in child-step to go. Buskins is this hand shaping for those feet, And does this mind plan threats with coaxings sweet? Such playthings stern does this small hand bespeak, And is it match'd with giant's iron cheek? To mingle cross with cradle, mother's breast With slaughter, wickedness, and rage unblest? His smiling eye now glances at the spear, And turns to arms from soothing mother dear. God, with such face to frown, such eyes to rage! War wins the looks which Love would fain engage. O winsome angers! savage smiles--mild brood-- Soft rage, sweet terror, awe which might be woo'd! Sad wanton forwardness of Child for woes; Harsh rudiments, stern training which He chose! Now scantier wound for scanty body show, And scantier blood for scanty wound let now. Soon, when His strength and deeper draught of breath Shall furnish food luxuriously for Death, 'Twill be His pleasure then full showers to try, Then will He strongly, wholly dare to die. No blood but what to cruel use will grow To Him belongs, or what He can bid flow. Ah, cruel Child, though of all things most mild, Yet to Thyself Thou canst be cruel, Child; To Thyself cruel, but most mild to me; A Lion mild, a pitiless Lamb here see. Long, long may this stern praise Thine honour lift, A faculty for woes[94] and innate gift. Fierce knife, from which experience sharp He borrows, While the Child hastes to grow the Man of Sorrows; Fierce knife, 'neath which Thou draw'st Thy golden breath, Advancing as 'twere 'neath the rod of Death. R. WI.

VIRGO.

Ne, pia, ne nimium, Virgo, permitte querelis: Haud volet, haud poterit natus abesse diu. Nam quid eum teneat? vel quae magis oscula vellet? Vestri illum indigenam quid vetet esse sinus? Quippe illis quae labra genis magis apta putentur? Quaeve per id collum dignior ire manus? His sibi quid speret puer ambitiosius ulmo, Quove sub amplexu dulcius esse queat? O quae tam teneram sibi vitis amicior ulmum Implicet, alternis nexibus immoriens? Cui circum subitis eat impatientior ulnis? Aut quae tam nimiis vultibus ora notet? Quae tam prompta puer toties super oscula surgat? Qua signet gemma nobiliore genam? Illa ubi tam vernis adolescat mitius auris, Tamve sub apricis pendeat uva jugis? Illi qua veniat languor tam gratus in umbra? Commodius sub quo murmure somnus agat? O ubi tam charo, tam casto in carcere regnet, Maternoque simul virgineoque sinu, Ille ut ab his fugiat, nec tam bona gaudia vellet? Ille ut in hos possit non properare sinus? Ille sui tam blanda sinus patrimonia spernet? Haeres tot factus tam bene deliciis? Ne tantum, ne Diva, tuis permitte querelis: Quid dubites? Non est hic fugitivus Amor.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE VIRGIN MARY,

ON LOSING THE CHILD JESUS.

Not, not too much, Virgin, to plaints give way; Nor will, nor can, thy Son long from thee stay. Why should He? Where so love to be carest? What could prevent His nestling in thy breast? What lips more suited to those cheeks divine? What hand to clasp that neck more fit than thine? What could He hope more clinging than these arms? Or what embraces e'er possess such charms? What kindlier vine its tender elm around Could twine, in mutual folds e'en dying found? To whom with sudden arms more eager go? Who on this face such yearning glances throw? Where 'mid such quick-rain'd kisses could He wake?' Whence His prest cheek a nobler ruby take? Where could that grape ripen in airs more mild, Or hang 'neath hills where suns so sweetly smil'd? Where could such grateful languor o'er Him creep, Or what more soothing murmur lull to sleep? Where could He reign in nook so chaste, so dear, As in this Mother's, Virgin's bosom here? Could He fly hence, and such blest joys decline, And could He help hastening to breast of thine? This balmy bosom's heritage not share, Of such delights so easily made heir? Nay, Lady, nay; thy loud complainings stay; Be cheer'd: this is no Love that flies away. R. WI.

APOCALYPSE XII. 7.

Arma, viri! aetheriam quocunque sub ordine pubem Siderei proceres ducitis; arma, viri! Quaeque suis, nec queis solita est, stet dextra sagittis; Stet gladii saeva luce corusca sui. Totus adest, totisque movet se major in iris, Fertque Draco, quicquid vel Draco ferre potest. Quas secum facies, imae mala pignora noctis; Quot secum nigros ducit in arma deos. Jam pugnas parat, heu saevus! jam pugnat, et ecce, Vix potui 'Pugnat' dicere, jam cecidit. His tamen ah nimium est quod frontibus addidit iras; Quod potuit rugas his posuisse genis. Hoc torvum decus est, tumidique ferocia fati, Quod magni sceleris mors quoque magna fuit. Quod neque, si victus, jaceat victoria vilis; Quod meruit multi fulminis esse labor; Quod queat ille suas hoc inter dicere flammas: 'Arma tuli frustra: sed tamen arma tuli.'

TRANSLATION.

WAR IN HEAVEN.

Rev. xii. 7.

To arms, ye starry chieftains all, who lead The youth of heaven to war--to arms, with speed! Let each right-hand its untried arrows grasp, Or its own fiercely-gleaming falchion clasp. _He_ is _all_ here, and mightier in his wrath, The Dragon brings all powers the Dragon hath: Strange forms, curst children of the deepest Night-- What dusky gods he marshals to the fight! Now he makes ready, fights now, fierce as hell! Scarce could I say 'He fights,' when, lo, he fell. Ah, 'twas too much to scar with wrath these faces, And leave on angel-cheeks such furrow'd traces. 'Tis his grim boast and proudly-swelling fate, That of a great crime e'en the end was great: If vanquish'd, that 'twas no mean victory; Much bolted thunder there requir'd to be; That with these words his fiery pains he charms: 'Arms I bore vainly; but I did bear arms.' R. WI.

NOTE.

See our Essay, as before, for relation of this poem to the Sospetto d' Herode, and others. G.

NON ACCIPIMUS BREVEM VITAM,

SED FACIMUS.

Ergo tu luges nimium citatam Circulo vitam properante volvi? Tu Deos parcos gemis, ipse cum sis Prodigus aevi? Ipse quod perdis, quereris perire? Ipse tu pellis, sed et ire ploras? Vita num servit tibi? servus ipse Cedet abactus. Est fugax vitae, fateor, fluentum: Prona sed clivum modo det voluptas, Amne proclivi magis, et fugace Labitur unda. Fur Sopor magnam hinc, oculos recludens, Surripit partem, ruit inde partem Temporis magnam spolium reportans Latro voluptas. Tu creas mortes tibi mille, et aeva Plura quo perdas, tibi plura poscis......

TRANSLATION.

WE DO NOT RECEIVE, BUT MAKE, A SHORT LIFE.