Eclips'd, and having lost her light,
The dull soul whom distraction rends
Into outward darkness tends!
How often--by these mists made blind--
Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind!
This soul, sometimes wont to survey
The spangled Zodiac's fiery way,
Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd,
With the cool moon's unstable crest,
And whatsoever wanton star,
In various courses near or far,
Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well
Track all her journey, and would tell
Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall,
By curious calculation all.
Of sudden winds the hidden cause,
And why the calm sea's quiet face
With impetuous waves is curl'd,
What spirit wheels th' harmonious world,
Or why a star dropp'd in the west
Is seen to rise again by east,
Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours,
Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs,
Or how it comes--for man's recruit--
That Autumn yields both grape and fruit,
With many other secrets, he
Could show the cause and mystery.
But now that light is almost out,
And the brave soul lies chain'd about
With outward cares, whose pensive weight
Sinks down her eyes from their first height.
And clean contrary to her birth
Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.
METRUM IV.
Whose calm soul in a settled state
Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate,
And in his fortunes, bad or good,
Keeps the same temper in his blood;
Not him the flaming clouds above,
Nor Aetna's fiery tempests move;
No fretting seas from shore to shore,
Boiling with indignation o'er,
Nor burning thunderbolt that can
A mountain shake, can stir this man.
Dull cowards then! why should we start
To see these tyrants act their part?
Nor hope, nor fear what may befall,
And you disarm their malice all.
But who doth faintly fear or wish,
And sets no law to what is his,
Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!--
Makes up a chain to bind himself.
METRUM V.
O Thou great builder of this starry frame,
Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame
The rapid spheres, and lest they jar
Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star.
Thou art the cause that now the moon
With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon
Again grows dark, her light being done,
The nearer still she's to the sun.
Thou in the early hours of night
Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright,
And at sun-rising--'cause the least--
Look pale and sleepy in the east.
Thou, when the leaves in winter stray,
Appoint'st the sun a shorter way,
And in the pleasant summer light,
With nimble hours dost wing the night.
Thy hand the various year quite through
Discreetly tempers, that what now
The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree
In spring again restor'd we see.
Then what the winter stars between
The furrows in mere seed have seen,
The dog-star since--grown up and born--
Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn.
Thus by creation's law controll'd
All things their proper stations hold,
Observing--as Thou didst intend--
Why they were made, and for what end.
Only human actions Thou
Hast no care of, but to the flow
And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all.
Hence th' innocent endures that thrall
Due to the wicked; whilst alone
They sit possessors of his throne.
The just are kill'd, and virtue lies
Buried in obscurities;
And--which of all things is most sad--
The good man suffers by the bad.
No perjuries, nor damn'd pretence
Colour'd with holy, lying sense
Can them annoy, but when they mind
To try their force, which most men find,
They from the highest sway of things
Can pull down great and pious kings.
O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd,
Look on this miserable world,
Whoe'er Thou art, that from above
Dost in such order all things move!
And let not man--of divine art
Not the least, nor vilest part--
By casual evils thus bandied, be
The sport of Fate's obliquity.
But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven
Settle this earth, and make them even.
METRUM VI.
When the Crab's fierce constellation
Burns with the beams of the bright sun,
Then he that will go out to sow,
Shall never reap, where he did plough,
But instead of corn may rather
The old world's diet, acorns, gather.
Who the violet doth love,
Must seek her in the flow'ry grove,
But never when the North's cold wind
The russet fields with frost doth bind.
If in the spring-time--to no end--
The tender vine for grapes we bend,
We shall find none, for only--still--
Autumn doth the wine-press fill.
Thus for all things--in the world's prime--
The wise God seal'd their proper time,
Nor will permit those seasons, He
Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be;
Then whose wild actions out of season
Cross to Nature, and her reason,
Would by new ways old orders rend,
Shall never find a happy end.
METRUM VII.
Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night,
The stars cannot send forth their light.
And if a sudden southern blast
The sea in rolling waves doth cast,
That angry element doth boil,
And from the deep with stormy coil
Spews up the sands, which in short space
Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face.
Then those calm waters, which but now
Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow,
And like transparent glass did lie
Open to ev'ry searcher's eye,
Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd--
Resist the sight, because bemir'd.
So often from a high hill's brow
Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow,
And in a straight line keep her course,
'Till from a rock with headlong force
Some broken piece blocks up the way,
And forceth all her streams astray.
Then thou that with enlighten'd rays
Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways
Keep without error; neither fear
The future, nor too much give ear
To present joys; and give no scope
To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope.
For when these rebels reign, the mind
Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.
LIB. II. METRUM I.
Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils
The state of things, and in tempestuous foils
Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down
With headlong force the highest monarch's crown,
And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch
The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch:
So jests at tears and miseries, is proud,
And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud.
These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive,
And plagues man with her blind prerogative;
Nor is't a favour of inferior strain,
If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.
METRUM II.
If with an open, bounteous hand
--Wholly left at man's command--
Fortune should in one rich flow
As many heaps on him bestow
Of massy gold, as there be sands
Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands,
Or bright stars in a winter night
Decking their silent orbs with light;
Yet would his lust know no restraints,
Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.
Though Heaven should his vows regard,
And in a prodigal reward
Return him all he could implore,
Adding new honours to his store,
Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight
Are scorn'd, and lust in greedy flight
Lays out for more; what measure then
Can tame these wild desires of men?
Since all we give both last and first
Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.
For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store
Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
METRUM III.
When the sun from his rosy bed
The dawning light begins to shed,
The drowsy sky uncurtains round,
And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd
In one great light look dull and tame,
And homage his victorious flame.
Thus, when the warm Etesian wind
The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind,
Straight she her various store discloses,
And purples every grove with roses;
But if the South's tempestuous breath
Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.
Oft in a quiet sky the deep
With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep,
And oft again the blust'ring North
In angry heaps provokes them forth.
If then this world, which holds all nations,
Suffers itself such alterations,
That not this mighty massy frame,
Nor any part of it can claim
One certain course, why should man prate,
Or censure the designs of Fate?
Why from frail honours, and goods lent
Should he expect things permanent?
Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree
That nothing mortal shall eternal be.
METRUM IV.
Who wisely would for his retreat
Build a secure and lasting seat,
Where stov'd in silence he may sleep
Beneath the wind, above the deep;
Let him th' high hills leave on one hand,
And on the other the false sand.
The first to winds lies plain and even,
From all the blust'ring points of heaven;
The other, hollow and unsure,
No weight of building will endure.
Avoiding then the envied state
Of buildings bravely situate,
Remember thou thyself to lock
Within some low neglected rock.
There when fierce heaven in thunder chides,
And winds and waves rage on all sides,
Thou happy in the quiet sense
Of thy poor cell, with small expense
Shall lead a life serene and fair,
And scorn the anger of the air.
METRUM V.
Happy that first white age! when we
Lived by the Earth's mere charity.
No soft luxurious diet then
Had effeminated men,
No other meat, nor wine had any
Than the coarse mast, or simple honey,
And by the parents' care laid up
Cheap berries did the children sup.
No pompous wear was in those days
Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize,
Their beds were on some flow'ry brink,
And clear spring-water was their drink.
The shady pine in the sun's heat
Was their cool and known retreat,
For then 'twas not cut down, but stood
The youth and glory of the wood.
The daring sailor with his slaves
Then had not cut the swelling waves,
Nor for desire of foreign store
Seen any but his native shore.
No stirring drum had scarr'd that age,
Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage,
No wounds by bitter hatred made
With warm blood soil'd the shining blade;
For how could hostile madness arm
An age of love, to public harm?
When common justice none withstood,
Nor sought rewards for spilling blood.
O that at length our age would raise
Into the temper of those days!
But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate
And avarice inflame our State.
Alas! who was it that first found
Gold, hid of purpose under ground,
That sought our pearls, and div'd to find
Such precious perils for mankind!
METRUM VII.
He that thirsts for glory's prize,
Thinking that the top of all,
Let him view th' expansed skies,
And the earth's contracted ball;
'Twill shame him then: the name he wan
Fills not the short walk of one man.
2.
O why vainly strive you then
To shake off the bands of Fate,
Though Fame through the world of men
Should in all tongues your names relate,
And with proud titles swell that story:
The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.
3.
There with nobles beggars sway,
And kings with commons share one dust.
What news of Brutus at this day,
Or Fabricius the just?
Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead,
Keeps up the names, but they are dead.
4.
So shall you one day--past reprieve--
Lie--perhaps--without a name.
But if dead you think to live
By this air of human fame,
Know, when Time stops that posthume breath,
You must endure a second death.
METRUM VIII.
That the world in constant force
Varies her concordant course;
That seeds jarring hot and cold
Do the breed perpetual hold;
That in his golden coach the sun
Brings the rosy day still on;
That the moon sways all those lights
Which Hesper ushers to dark nights;
That alternate tides be found
The sea's ambitious waves to bound,
Lest o'er the wide earth without end
Their fluid empire should extend;
All this frame of things that be,
Love which rules heaven, land, and sea,
Chains, keeps, orders as we see.
This, if the reins he once cast by,
All things that now by turns comply
Would fall to discord, and this frame
Which now by social faith they tame,
And comely orders, in that fight
And jar of things would perish quite.
This in a holy league of peace
Keeps king and people with increase;
And in the sacred nuptial bands
Ties up chaste hearts with willing hands;
And this keeps firm without all doubt
Friends by his bright instinct found out.
O happy nation then were you,
If love, which doth all things subdue,
That rules the spacious heav'n, and brings
Plenty and peace upon his wings,
Might rule you too! and without guile
Settle once more this floating isle!
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XXVIII.
Almighty Spirit! Thou that by
Set turns and changes from Thy high
And glorious throne dost here below
Rule all, and all things dost foreknow!
Can those blind plots we here discuss
Please Thee, as Thy wise counsels us?
When Thou Thy blessings here doth strow,
And pour on earth, we flock and flow,
With joyous strife and eager care,
Struggling which shall have the best share
In Thy rich gifts, just as we see
Children about nuts disagree.
Some that a crown have got and foil'd
Break it; another sees it spoil'd
Ere it is gotten. Thus the world
Is all to piecemeals cut, and hurl'd
By factious hands. It is a ball
Which Fate and force divide 'twixt all
The sons of men. But, O good God!
While these for dust fight, and a clod,
Grant that poor I may smile, and be
At rest and perfect peace with Thee!
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. II. ODE VII.
It would less vex distressed man
If Fortune in the same pace ran
To ruin him, as he did rise.
But highest States fall in a trice;
No great success held ever long;
A restless fate afflicts the throng
Of kings and commons, and less days
Serve to destroy them than to raise.
Good luck smiles once an age, but bad
Makes kingdoms in a minute sad,
And ev'ry hour of life we drive,
Hath o'er us a prerogative.
Then leave--by wild impatience driv'n,
And rash resents--to rail at heav'n;
Leave an unmanly, weak complaint
That death and fate have no restraint.
In the same hour that gave thee breath,
Thou hadst ordain'd thy hour of death,
But he lives most who here will buy,
With a few tears, eternity.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXII.
Let not thy youth and false delights
Cheat thee of life; those heady flights
But waste thy time, which posts away
Like winds unseen, and swift as they.
Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye
With Time's breath will dissolve and fly;
'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass,
It melts, breaks, and away doth pass.
'Tis like a rose which in the dawn
The air with gentle breath doth fawn
And whisper to, but in the hours
Of night is sullied with smart showers.
Life spent is wish'd for but in vain,
Nor can past years come back again.
Happy the man, who in this vale
Redeems his time, shutting out all
Thoughts of the world, whose longing eyes
Are ever pilgrims in the skies,
That views his bright home, and desires
To shine amongst those glorious fires!
CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.
'Tis not rich furniture and gems,
With cedar roofs and ancient stems,
Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood
Of gold, that makes man truly good.
Leave to inquire in what fair fields
A river runs which much gold yields;
Virtue alone is the rich prize
Can purchase stars, and buy the skies.
Let others build with adamant,
Or pillars of carv'd marble plant,
Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell
Far under earth, and near to hell.
But richer much--from death releas'd--
Shines in the fresh groves of the East
The ph[oe]nix, or those fish that dwell
With silver'd scales in Hiddekel.
Let others with rare, various pearls
Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls
Bind up their locks, look big and high,
And shine in robes of scarlet dye.
But in my thoughts more glorious far
Those native stars and speckles are
Which birds wear, or the spots which we
In leopards dispersed see.
The harmless sheep with her warm fleece
Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees
Shall find a wolf or fox within,
That kills the castor for his skin.
Virtue alone, and nought else can
A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man;
And on her wings above the spheres
To the true light his spirit bears.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XV.
Nothing on earth, nothing at all
Can be exempted from the thrall
Of peevish weariness! The sun,
Which our forefathers judg'd to run
Clear and unspotted, in our days
Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays.
Whatever in the glorious sky
Man sees, his rash audacious eye
Dares censure it, and in mere spite
At distance will condemn the light.
The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear
Those hills our fathers walk'd on here,
We fancy not; nor the moon's light
Which through their windows shin'd at night
We change the air each year, and scorn
Those seats in which we first were born.
Some nice, affected wand'rers love
Belgia's mild winters, others remove,
For want of health and honesty,
To summer it in Italy;
But to no end; the disease still
Sticks to his lord, and kindly will
To Venice in a barge repair,
Or coach it to Vienna's air;
And then--too late with home content--
They leave this wilful banishment.
But he, whose constancy makes sure
His mind and mansion, lives secure
From such vain tasks, can dine and sup
Where his old parents bred him up.
Content--no doubt!--most times doth dwell
In country shades, or to some cell
Confines itself; and can alone
Make simple straw a royal throne.
CASIMIRUS, [LYRICORUM] LIB. IV. ODE XIII.
If weeping eyes could wash away
Those evils they mourn for night and day,
Then gladly I to cure my fears
With my best jewels would buy tears.
But as dew feeds the growing corn,
So crosses that are grown forlorn
Increase with grief, tears make tears' way,
And cares kept up keep cares in pay.
That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear,
And melting still into a tear,
She strikes more boldly, but a face
Silent and dry doth her amaze.
Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale
Of what thou dost misfortunes call.
What thou by weeping think'st to ease,
Doth by that passion but increase;
Hard things to soft will never yield,
'Tis the dry eye that wins the field;
A noble patience quells the spite
Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.
THE PRAISE OF A RELIGIOUS LIFE BY MATHIAS CASIMIRUS. [EPODON ODE III.]
IN ANSWER TO THAT ODE OF HORACE, BEATUS ILLE QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS, &c.
Flaccus, not so! that worldly he
Whom in the country's shade we see
Ploughing his own fields, seldom can
Be justly styl'd the blessed man.
That title only fits a saint,
Whose free thoughts, far above restraint
And weighty cares, can gladly part
With house and lands, and leave the smart,
Litigious troubles and loud strife
Of this world for a better life.
He fears no cold nor heat to blast
His corn, for his accounts are cast;
He sues no man, nor stands in awe
Of the devouring courts of law;
But all his time he spends in tears
For the sins of his youthful years;
Or having tasted those rich joys
Of a conscience without noise,
Sits in some fair shade, and doth give
To his wild thoughts rules how to live.
He in the evening, when on high
The stars shine in the silent sky,
Beholds th' eternal flames with mirth,
And globes of light more large than Earth;
Then weeps for joy, and through his tears
Looks on the fire-enamell'd spheres,
Where with his Saviour he would be
Lifted above mortality.
Meanwhile the golden stars do set,
And the slow pilgrim leave all wet
With his own tears, which flow so fast
They make his sleeps light, and soon past.
By this, the sun o'er night deceas'd
Breaks in fresh blushes from the East,
When, mindful of his former falls,
With strong cries to his God he calls,
And with such deep-drawn sighs doth move
That He turns anger into love.
In the calm Spring, when the Earth bears,
And feeds on April's breath and tears,
His eyes, accustom'd to the skies,
Find here fresh objects, and like spies
Or busy bees, search the soft flow'rs,
Contemplate the green fields and bow'rs,
Where he in veils and shades doth see
The back parts of the Deity.
Then sadly sighing says, "O! how
These flow'rs with hasty, stretch'd heads grow
And strive for heav'n, but rooted here
Lament the distance with a tear!
The honeysuckles clad in white,
The rose in red, point to the light;
And the lilies, hollow and bleak,
Look as if they would something speak;
They sigh at night to each soft gale,
And at the day-spring weep it all.
Shall I then only--wretched I!--
Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?"
Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees,
And many sad soliloquies
To springs and fountains doth impart,
Seeking God with a longing heart.
But if to ease his busy breast
He thinks of home, and taking rest,
A rural cot and common fare
Are all his cordials against care.
There at the door of his low cell,
Under some shade, or near some well
Where the cool poplar grows, his plate
Of common earth without more state
Expect their lord. Salt in a shell,
Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell
No tales, a hospitable cup,
With some fresh berries, do make up
His healthful feast; nor doth he wish
For the fat carp, or a rare dish
Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist
Or pigeon sometimes--if he list--
With the slow goose that loves the stream,
Fresh, various salads, and the bean
By curious palates never sought,
And, to close with, some cheap unbought
Dish for digestion, are the most
And choicest dainties he can boast.
Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves
Or pleasant rivers he removes,
Where near some fair oak, hung with mast,
He shuns the South's infectious blast.
On shady banks sometimes he lies,
Sometimes the open current tries,
Where with his line and feather'd fly
He sports, and takes the scaly fry.
Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill
Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,
And shady lakes with rivers deep
Echo the bleating of the sheep;
The blackbird with the pleasant thrush
And nightingale in ev'ry bush
Choice music give, and shepherds play
Unto their flock some loving lay!
The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs,
Return home from the field with songs,
And the carts, laden with ripe corn,
Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn.
Nor pass we by, as the least good,
A peaceful, loving neighbourhood,
Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse
Make none--by hearing it--the worse,
But innocent and merry, may
Help--without sin--to spend the day.
Could now the tyrant usurer,
Who plots to be a purchaser
Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste
These true delights, O! with what haste
And hatred of his ways, would he
Renounce his Jewish cruelty,
And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow
On use to-day, remit to-morrow!
AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.
Isca parens florum, placido qui spumeus ore
Lambis lapillos aureos;
Qui maestos hyacinthos, et picti [Greek: anthea] tophi
Mulces susurris humidis;
Dumque novas pergunt menses consumere lunas
C[oe]lumque mortales terit,
Accumulas cum sole dies, aevumque per omne
Fidelis induras latex;
O quis inaccessos et quali murmure lucos
Mutumque solaris nemus!
Per te discerpti credo Thracis ire querelas
Plectrumque divini senis.
VENERABILI VIRO PRAECEPTORI SUO OLIM ET SEMPER COLENDISSIMO MAGISTRO
MATHAEO HERBERT.
Quod vixi, Mathaee, dedit pater, haec tamen olim
Vita fluat, nec erit fas meminisse datam.
Ultra curasti solers, perituraque mecum
Nomina post cineres das resonare meos.
Divide discipulum: brevis haec et lubrica nostri
Pars vertat patri, posthuma vita tibi.
PRAESTANTISSIMO VIRO THOMAE POELLO IN SUUM DE ELEMENTIS OPTICAE
LIBELLUM.[56]
Vivaces oculorum ignes et lumina dia
Fixit in angusto maximus orbe Deus;
Ille explorantes radios dedit, et vaga lustra
In quibus intuitus lexque, modusque latent.
Hos tacitos jactus, lususque, volubilis orbis
Pingis in exiguo, magne[57] Poelle, libro,
Excursusque situsque ut Lynceus opticus, edis,
Quotque modis fallunt, quotque adhibenda fides.
Aemula Naturae manus! et mens conscia c[oe]li.
Ilia videre dedit, vestra videre docet.
FOOTNOTES:
[56] The version in _Elementa Opticae_ has _Eximio viro, et amicorum
longe optimo, T. P. in hunc suum de Elementis Opticae libellum_.
[57] _El. Opt._ has _docte_.
AD ECHUM.
O quae frondosae per am[oe]na cubilia silvae
Nympha volas, lucoque loquax spatiaris in alto,
Annosi numen nemoris, saltusque verendi
Effatum, cui sola placent postrema relatus!
Te per Narcissi morientis verba, precesque
Per pueri lassatam animam, et conamina vitae
Ultima, palantisque precor suspiria linguae.
Da quo secretae haec incaedua devia silvae,
Anfractusque loci dubios, et lustra repandam.
Sic tibi perpetua--meritoque--haec regna juventa
Luxurient, dabiturque tuis, sine fine, viretis
Intactas lunae lachrymas, et lambere rorem
Virgineum, c[oe]lique animas haurire tepentis.
Nec cedant aevo stellis, sed lucida semper
Et satiata sacro aeterni medicamine veris
Ostendant longe vegetos, ut sidera, vultus!
Sic spiret muscata comas, et cinnama passim!
Diffundat levis umbra, in funere qualia spargit
Ph[oe]nicis rogus aut Pancheae nubila flammae!
THALIA REDIVIVA.
1678.
TO THE MOST HONOURABLE AND TRULY NOBLE HENRY, LORD MARQUIS AND EARL OF
WORCESTER, &c.
My Lord,