Part 20

Squammea vivae Lubrica terga ratis Jam conscendet Arion. Merces tam nova solvitur Navis quam nova scanditur. Illa Aerea est merces, haec est et aquatica navis. Perdidere illum viri Mercede magna, servat hic Mercede nulla piscis: et sic Salute plus ruina constat illi; Minoris et servatur hinc quam perditur. Hic dum findit aquas, findit hic aera: Cursibus, piscis; digitis, Arion: Et sternit undas, sternit et aera: Carminis hoc placido Tridente Abjurat sua jam murmura, ventusque modestior Auribus ora mutat: Ora dediscit, minimos et metuit susurros; Sonus alter restat, ut fit sonus illis Aura strepens circum muta sit lateri adjacente penna, Ambit et ora viri, nec vela ventis hic egent; Attendit hanc ventus ratem: non trahit, at trahitur.

TRANSLATION (_full_).

ARION.

Never since ship was set a-float Have men seen so strange a boat: Alive it is from deck to keel, Having the gray gleam of steel; Slippery as wave-wash'd wreck, Or as a war-ship's bloody deck. A Dolphin, lo, its huge back bending, Safety to Arion lending From the sailors of Sicily, Covetous of his golden monie; Money that as prize he had won Before all Singers aneath the sun; Playing and singing so famouslie, Singing and playing so wondrouslie, That there went up from ev'ry throat The verdict, 'for Arion I vote:' Vote the prize; and gifts as well, Crowns of gold and of asphodel; Lyres all a-glow with gems, Robes bejewell'd to their hems; A thousand golden pieces and one For the gifted son of Poseidon: And, hark, as 'twere the bellowing thunder, In clang'rous shouts men tell their wonder. Arion now homeward takes his way In a fair ship steer'd for Corinth Bay; Proud of his prizes, proud of his skill, Proud that soon Periander will Welcome him fondly, and call him friend, With words such as no money can send. Alas and alas, such crime to tell! The ship-captain and sailors fell Covet his gold, and have it must, Though Arion they murder by blow or thrust. But Apollo at midnight hour Sendeth a dream in mystic power; It showeth the men, it showeth their crime. Arion awakes with the morning's chime; Awakes, and planneth how to escape. Vain, vain all; on him they gape, Thirsting alike for gold and life, Murder and covetousness at strife. 'Suffer me, then,' Arion said, 'That I may play as I have play'd; Here is my poor Lyre, and, ere I die, Let me prove its minstrelsy.' He has donn'd him now in gay attire, Festal robes; in his hand his Lyre. List ye, list ye; above, below, Sounds such as only the angels know; Sounds that are born of rapture and bliss, Of the throbbing heart and the burning love-kiss. Now it is soft, pathetic, low, Then 'gins to change to cry of woe; Now it comes rushing as if the thunder Came booming from the deep earth under; Pulsing along each quivering string As though the Lyre were a living thing, And Arion's hand had so cunning a spell As should win all heaven--ay and hell. O, came there never such melodie From mortal earth or mortal sky. He mounted to the good ship's prow, And mingling with his song a vow To the gods, he himself threw Out 'mid the waves from that damnable crew. Up through the waves the Dolphins bound, A hundred bended backs are found, Each one more eager than the rest To upbear the sweet Player on Ocean's breast. Arion ascends; and, lo, he stands, His Lyre unwet within his hands: Onward and onward careering they go; O soft and true the notes that flow! Rising, falling, swelling, dying, Near and nearer, far-off flying; Pulsing along each quivering string As though the Lyre were a living thing. New is the ship, as new the freight; The Dolphin feels never the weight; New is the ship, and new the fare, That of the water, this of the air: The sailors in their greed him lost, The Dolphin bears him withouten cost. Away and away with a shim'ring track Arion goes on the Dolphin's back; Away and away, still softly playing, Each string his lightest touch obeying. Under the spell the Sea grows calm, Listing attent his witching psalm; Under the spell the air grows mild, Breathing soft as sleeping child. But who may seek all the tale to tell? It is a tale unspeakable. Onward and onward careering they go, Silence above and silence below: The Storm-gale shuts its mouth and lists, The Wind folds its pinions and desists, Following, not blowing, drawing not, but drawn, From early ev'ning to breaking dawn. Tenarus at last Arion beheld; Tenarus, his own dear home that held; And as together they swiftly come, He claps hands loud and thinks of home. The Dolphin seeks a quiet cove; The Dolphin arching its back above The azure waters, leaves him there, A-list'ning still his Lyre to hear. Homeward to Corinth Arion proceeds: Periander a tale of suff'ring reads In the thinned cheek and the dreamy eye, In the tremulous words and the laden sigh. The story is told. O story of wrong! The ship returns; and it is not long Ere captain and crew, at bar arraign'd, Must tell where Arion they detain'd. 'He tarries,' quoth they, 'in Sicily, Winning all men by his minstrelsie.' Lies were proven in their throat. Periander his hands together smote, Swearing a solemn oath that they-- One, all--should drown'd be in the Bay. Tied hand and foot, pallor'd and grim, 'Tis done as they would ha' done to him. A plunge as of a plunging stone, A few bubbles--Vengeance is done! G.

IN

APOLLINEA DEPEREUNTEM DAPHNEN.

Stulte Cupido, Quid tua flamma parat? Annos sole sub ipso Accensae pereunt faces? Sed fax nostra potentior istis, Flammas inflammare potest, ipse uritur ignis, Ecce flammarum potens Majore sub flamma gemit. Eheu, quid hoc est? En Apollo Lyra tacente, ni sonet dolores, Coma jacente squallet aeternus decor Oris, en, dominae quo placeat magis, Languido tardum jubar igne promit. Pallente vultu territat aethera. Mundi oculus lacrymis senescit, Et solvit pelago debita, quodque hauserat ignibus, His lacrymis rependit. Noctis adventu properans se latebris recondit, Et opacas tenebrarum colit umbras, Namque suos odit damnans radios nocensque lumen. An lateat tenebris dubitat, an educat diem, Hinc suadet hoc luctus furens, inde repugnat amor.

TRANSLATION (_full_).

ON APOLLO PINING FOR DAPHNE.

Cupid, foolishest of pets, What woe thy swift-sent flame begets! Surely before the flashing Sun Torches pale to extinction? But our torch is mightier far; It able is 'gainst fire to war, Yea, fire itself to burn and char. The igni-potent in amaze, Lo, groans, his huge heart all a-blaze With keener flame than his own rays. Ah, what is this? Apollo burns, And as distraught in anguish mourns. Lo, see his lyre mute and unstrung, Or only grief-notes from it wrung: Lo, his golden locks neglected, And his radiant face dejected; Beauty eterne distain'd, rejected. The great Sun-god is in love, And seeks in vain his Fair to move: Hence his weird pallor, and those cries That the sky shudd'ring terrifies; Hence the world's day-bringing eye Tears dim, such as in mortals' lie; Hence those showers often falling, The Sea her erst gifts recalling; Hence welcome the approaching night, That mourning he may veil his light-- Veil his light, and in shadows deep His great anguish in secret weep. Nor, when vermeil-draped Morning, With her smile the East adorning, Touches with her rosy finger Eyes that 'neath their lashes linger, Seeking to wake the God of Day, That round the world his beams may play, Does he haste at all to rise To his 'fulgent throne i' the skies; But rather would abide within The clouds whereon he rests his chin; Hating his own beams' splendour now, Since Daphne scorns to list his vow: Thus he lingers, and still weighs Whether Day or Night to raise. Raging grief he cannot smother, Says the one; and Love the other. Cupid, tricksiest of pets, What woe thy swift-sent flame begets![99] G.

AENEAS PATRIS SUI BAJULUS.

Moenia Trojae, hostis et ignis, Hostes inter et ignes, Aeneas spolium pium Atque humeris venerabile pondus Excipit, et 'Saevae nunc o nunc parcite flammae; Parcite haud, clamat, mihi; Sacrae favete sarcinae: Quod si negatis, nec licebit Vitam juvare, sed juvabo funus Rogusque fiam patris ac bustum mei.' His dictis, acies pervolat hostium, Gestit, et partis veluti trophaeis Ducit triumphos. Nam furor hostium Jam stupet, et pietate tanta Victor vincitur; imo et moritur Troja libenter, funeribusque gaudet, Ac faces admittit ovans, ne lateat tenebras Per opacas opus ingens pietatis. Debita sic patri solvis tua, sic pari rependis Officio. Dederat vitam tibi, tu reddis huic: Felix, parentis qui pater diceris esse tui.

TRANSLATION (_full_).

AENEAS THE BEARER OF HIS FATHER.

The walls of Troy--the walls of Troy! 'Tis an old tale you will enjoy: A foe is there amid the fire, A foe 'twixt foemen in their ire. Aeneas takes a pious load With upward prayer to his god; E'en his old father, whose gray head Lay 'mong the dying and the dead: O venerable spoil in truth, Fit from the demons to fetch ruth. Fierce roar the flames, and fiercer still Rages the fight on plain and hill. 'Spare the old man,' Aeneas cries; 'Spare the white hairs; or if he dies, Be mine the privilege of his pyre; Be mine with him at once t'expire.' Scarcely are the true words spoken, When through line of battle broken Swift he passes; and this brave son His father bears in triumph on; Reck'ning that he a trophy has That the conquerors' doth surpass. He safely goes: for, lo, amaz'd, The foe upon them wistful gaz'd: The conquerors the conquer'd are By filial love so strong, so fair. The flames Troy willingly receives, Jubilant that the old man lives; Welcomes the torches, that the night May not conceal this deed of light. All praise to thee, high-hearted son! Thou an undying name hast won: The debt of love thou hast repaid Unto thy father, who is made Thy debtor now; for life he gave, And thou in turn his life dost save. Happy the son whom thus we see Father of his own sire to be. G.

PHOENICIS GENETHLIACON ET EPICEDION.

Phoenix alumna mortis, Quam mira tua puerpera! Tu scandis haud nidos, sed ignes. Non parere sed perire ceu parata: Mors obstetrix; atque ipsa tu teipsam paris, Tu tuique mater ipsa es, Tu tuique filia. Tu sic odora messis Surgis tuorum funerum; Tibique per tuam ruinam Reparata, te succedis ipsa. Mors o Faecunda; sancta o lucra pretiosae necis! Vive, monstrum dulce, vive, Tu tibique suffice.

TRANSLATION.

OF THE GENERATION AND REGENERATION OF THE PHOENIX.

Phoenix, nursling of Death, How wondrous is thy birth! Thou gainest not thy breath I' nest, like birds of Earth: 'Mid fire all flaming hot Thou strangely art begot; The leaping flames thee cherish When thou seem'st to perish. Lo, Death thy midwife is; Lo, thyself thou bearest. O tell me how is this, That mystery thou preparest? Thou mother of thyself! Thou daughter of thyself! When thy 'pointed hour is done, Thou an od'rous nest entwinest; And, as for thy destruction, Thou 'midst its fires reclinest. Most surely thou'rt consum'd; Most surely thou'rt relum'd. O fruitful Death! O gainful Death! Live then, self-contained bird; Most pleasing wonder. The old legend is absurd; But truth lies under. G.

EPITAPHIUM.

Quisquis nectareo serenus aevo Et spe lucidus aureae juventae, Nescis purpureos abire soles, Nescis vincula ferreamque noctem Imi careris horridumque Ditem, 5 Et spectas tremulam procul senectam, Hinc disces lacrymas, et huc repones. Hic, o scilicet hic brevi sub antro Spes et gaudia mille, mille, longam, Heu longam nimis! induere noctem. 10 Flammantem nitidae facem juventae Submersit Stygiae paludis unda. Ergo, si lacrymas neges doloris, Huc certo lacrymas feres timoris.

NOTE.

I correct, in l. 6, 'tremulam' for 'tremulum;' l. 7, 'disces' for 'discas,' and 'huc' for 'hinc.' G.

TRANSLATION.

EPITAPH.

Ye that still, serene in peace, Lying in the lap of ease, Believe the hopes of golden youth, And have not heard the bitter truth, How shining suns fade at a breath; Ye, with little dread of death, Or fear of chains and iron night Of man's last prison, or the sight Of gloomy Dis; that think to keep Old age away,--look here, and weep. Here, to this one narrow room, A thousand joys and hopes have come; Here bright minutes many a one Have a lasting night put on: Youth's torch, that flash'd such light about, Is in the Stygian wave put out. Then, if you grudge poor grief a tear, Heave, at least, a sigh for fear. A.

ANOTHER RENDERING (_more freely_).

Whoe'er ye be, upgazing here, Calm, unruffl'd, without tear; Joyous in your golden prime, And unwitting of the time When shall pale Life's glowing sun, And the web of years be spun; Thinking not o' the iron night Where grim Pluto reigns in might; Thinking not of the nether world, With its clanking chains; Whither damned souls are hurl'd When the Judge arraigns; Seeing old age far away; Making Life one holiday;-- Here perceive that Grief shall yet Your ruddy cheeks with sorrow wet; Here musing upon this poor stone, Ye may learn prevention. This Earth, what is it but a home Fugitive as sea-wave's foam? Mark where breaks the whit'n'd wave 'Mid the cliffs--an arched cave; Light and shadow play within, Flick'ring o'er its walls; In the gloom--with Hell akin-- A dull stream slowly crawls. E'en such is Life, how bright soe'er, Hope and Joy lure to Despair; And Life's stream goes plunging down Into dark drear Acheron; Youth's bright torch extinguish'd quite; Golden Day exchang'd for Night: To long night of changeless woe Swift the Christless souls shall go. Shun not therefore in thy prime, Shun not whilst thou art in Time, Tears of penitence over sin; Or bitterly shalt thou rue, When Death shall fling his javelin, And Hell's prison thee immew. Bethink thee in thy golden prime; Bethink thee whilst thou'rt yet in Time. G.

ELEGIA.[100]

Ite, meae lacrymae, nec enim moror, ite; sed oro Tantum ne miserae claudite vocis iter. O liceat querulos verbis animare dolores, Et saltem 'Ah periit!' dicere noster amor. Ecce negant tamen; ecce negant, lacrymaeque rebelles Pergunt indomita praecipitantque via. Visne, o care, igitur te nostra silentia dicant? Vis fleat assiduo murmure mutus amor? Flebit, et urna suos semper bibet humida rores, Et fidas semper semper habebit aquas. Interea, quicunque estis, ne credite mirum Si verae lacrymae non didicere loqui.

TRANSLATION.

ELEGY.

Flow, flow, my tears; I stay you not; but pray To my unhappy voice close not the way. My plaintive griefs with words, O let me move; To say, 'Alas, he died!' allow my love. Lo, they say, no--the rebel tears say, no! And with unconquer'd headlong torrent flow. Wouldst thou, O dear one, that our silence speak? Mute love with ceaseless sob moisten our cheek? It shall; and still thine urn drink its own dews, And never its own faithful waters lose. Meanwhile let no one think a wonder wrought, If real tears to speak could not be taught. R. WI.

THESAURUS MALORUM FOEMINA.

Quis deus, o quis erat, qui te, mala foemina, finxit? Proh, crimen superum, noxa pudenda deum! Quae divum manus est adeo non dextera mundo? In nostras clades ingeniosa manus: Parcite; peccavi: nec enim pia numina possunt Tam crudele semel vel voluisse nefas. Vestrum opus est pietas; opus est concordia vestrum; Vos equidem tales haud reor artifices. Heus, inferna cohors, foetus cognoscite vestros. Num pudet hanc vestrum vincere posse scelus? Plaudite Tartarei proceres Erebique potentes, Nae mirum est tantum vos potuisse malum; Jam vestras laudate manus. Si forte tacetis, Artificum laudes grande loquetur opus. Quam bene vos omnes speculo contemplor in isto? Pectus in angustum cogitur omne malum. Quin dormi, Pluto; rabidas compesce sorores; Jam non poscit opem nostra ruina tuam. Haec satis in nostros fabricata est machina muros, Mortales furias Tartara nostra dabunt.

TRANSLATION.

WOMAN A TREASURY OF EVILS.

What god? or who was it? I ask, contriv'd Thee, O Woman, evil Woman? who conniv'd Together--who--in this supremest crime Of the divinities, before old Time Was born? Alas, most dire calamity As e'er has come upon humanity! Whence was the hand, ye Powers, so evil-skill'd In sin and mischief, so perversely will'd To curse this world of ours? But hold! I blunder; I must to the dark regions lying under, Ev'n Hell, descend. Not Thee, O God above, For Thou art pitiful, for Thou art Love: Not one of all the gracious Pow'rs supernal; But ye, O Furies, from the pit infernal, Ye, ye the work devis'd, matur'd, achiev'd, And brought to Man; to Man--frail Man! deceiv'd: Ho, hosts of evil! ho! on you I call: Behold your offspring diabolical. Does it a blush raise?--Spirits of evil, speak!-- Such as expos'd crime brings to mortal cheek? Lo, these your works yourselves surpass, I wis; Clap hands, ye potentates of the Abyss. Rulers of Erebus, is it not a wonder, Worthy of Hell's most resonant swift thunder, That ye such thing contrived have as Heaven Never cast out, nor e'er to Hell was driven? Take ye your praise, your praise; this work o' your hands Absolute in mischief 'bove compar'son stands. Or if ye silent be, your work will speak Your praise. Ha, ha! what mean ye that ye shriek Thus as I meditate with pulse of fear Upon this monster, Woman? Ah, 'tis clear; I see your guile and skill. The gods above Would have all ills within one scant breast move! To bed, Pluto, king of the nether world; Sleep on in peace; be every banner furl'd; Ye fires, go out; Man's ruin is complete; No need of you--in Woman all woes meet: In her, ye devils, ye have so contriv'd That Tempter, who--better than had ye div'd To furthest Tartarus--Man's protecting wall Shall breach. Earth's fury--Woman--passes all! G.

Latin Poems.

PART SECOND. SECULAR.

II.

MISCELLANEOUS AND COMMEMORATIVE.

NEVER BEFORE PRINTED.

NOTE.

Once more the Sancroft MS. furnishes the Poems of this division, all hitherto unprinted. In this section I have again been largely and finely aided in the translations by my already-named friend the Rev. Richard Wilton, as before. G.

PULCHRA NON DIUTURNA.

EHEU, ver breve et invidum! Eheu, floriduli dies! Ergo curritis improba, Et quae nunc face fulgurat, Dulcis forma tenacibus Immiscebitur infimae: Heu, noctis nebulis; amor Fallax, umbraque somnii. Quin incumbitis; invida Sic dictat colus, et rota Cani temporis incito Currens orbe volubilis. O deprendite lubricos Annos; et liquidum jubar Verni sideris, ac novi Floris fulgura, mollibus Quae debetis amoribus, Non impendite luridos In manes avidum et Chaos. Quanquam sidereis genis, Quae semper nive sobria Sinceris spatiis vigent, Floris germine simplicis, Flagrant ingenuae rosae: Quanquam perpetua fide Illic mille Cupidines, Centum mille Cupidines, Pastos nectarea dape, Blandis sumptibus educas; Istis qui spatiis vagi, Plenis lusibus ebrii, Udo rore beatuli, Uno plus decies die Istis ex oculis tuis, Istis ex oculis suas Sopitas animant faces, Et languentia recreant Succo spicula melleo: Tum flammis agiles novis Lasciva volitant face, Tum plenis tumidi minis, Tum vel sidera territant, Et coelum et fragilem Jovem: Quanquam fronte sub ardua Majestas gravis excubans, Dulces fortiter improbis Leges dictat amoribus: Quanquam tota, per omnia, Coelum machina praeferat, Tanquam pagina multiplex Vivo scripta volumine, Terris indigitans polos. Et compendia siderum: Istis heu tamen heu genis, Istis purpureis genis, Oris sidere florido, Regno frontis amabili; Mors heu crastina forsitan Crudeles faciet notas, Naturaeque superbiam Damnabit tumuli specu.

TRANSLATION.

THE BEAUTIFUL NOT LASTING.