The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw Volume II Part 57

Illa autem, hospitium licet vetustum Mentem solicitet nimis nimisque, Et suetum nemus, hinc opaca mitis Umbrae frigora, et hinc aprica puri 15 Solis fulgura, patriaeque sylvae Nunquam muta quies; ubi illa dudum Totum per nemus, arborem per omnem, Hospes libera liberis querelis Cognatum bene provocabat agmen: 20 Quanquam ipsum nemus arboresque alumnam Implorant profugam, atque amata multum Quaerant murmura lubric.u.mque carmen Blandi gutturis et melos serenum.

Illa autem, tamen, illa jam relictae, 25 Simplex! haud meminit domus, nec ultra Sylvas cogitat; at brevi sub antro, Ah penna nimium brevis recisa, Ah ritu vidua sibique sola, Privata heu fidicen! canit, vagoque 30 Exercens querulam domum susurro Fallit vincula, carceremque mulcet; Nec pugnans placidae procax quieti Luctatur gravis, orbe sed reducto Discursu vaga salt.i.tans tenello, 35 Met.i.tur spatia invidae cavernae.

Sic in se pia mens reposta, sec.u.m Alte tuta sedet, nec ardet extra, Aut ullo solet aestuare fato: Quamvis cuncta tumultuentur, atrae 40 Sortis turbine non movetur illa.

Fortunae furias onusque triste Non tergo minus accipit quieto, Quam vectrix Veneris columba blando Admittat juga delicata collo. 45 Torvae si quid inhorruit procellae, Si quid saeviat et minetur, illa Spernit, nescit, et obviis furorem Fallit blanditiis, amatque et ambit Ipsum, quo male vulneratur, ictum. 50 Curas murmure non fatetur ullo; Non lambit lacrymas dolor, nec atrae Mentis nubila frons iniqua prodit.

Quod si lacryma pervicax rebelli Erumpit tamen evolatque gutta, 55 Invitis lacrymis, negante luctu, Ludunt perspicui per ora risus.

TRANSLATION. PEACE OF MIND:[98]

UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A CAPTIVE SONG-BIRD.

The time of the singing of birds is come; I will away i' the greenwood to roam; I will away; and thou azure-ey'd Muse Deign with thy gifts my mind to suffuse.-- So o'erheard I one say, as he withdrew To a fairy scene that well I knew, Light lac'd with shadow, shadow with light, Leaves playing bo-peep from morn unto night.

But, ah, what is this? Alas, and alas, A sweet bird flutters upon the gra.s.s; Flutters and struggles with quivering wing!

Tempted and snar'd--gentle, guileless thing.

Vain, vain thy struggles; for, lo, a hand Hollow'd above, makes thee captive stand.

Home hies the Captor, loud singing his joy; He has got a pet song-bird for his boy.

Now twining and twisting, a cage he makes Wire-wrought and fast'n'd. Ah, my heart aches!

It is a prison, for the poor bird prepar'd; Shut close and netted, netted and barr'd.

Comes the flutter and gleam of forest-leaves Through the trellis'd window under the eaves; Comes the breath and stir of the vernal wind, Comes the goldening suns.h.i.+ne--to remind Of all that is lost; comes now and again Far off a song from the blading grain; Calling, still calling the Songster to come Back--once more back--to its woodland home.

I mark eyelids rise; mark the lifting wing; Mark the swelling throat, as if it would sing; Mark the weary 'chirp, chirp,' like infant's cry, Yearning after the free and boundless sky; For the grand old woods; once more to sit On the swinging bough into blossom smit.

Vain, vain, poor bird! thou'rt captive still; Thou must bend thee to thy Captor's will: Thy wing is cut; from thy mate thou'rt taken; All alone thou abidest, sad, forsaken.

The days pa.s.s on; and I look in once more On the captive bird 'bove the ivied door.

Sweetly it sings, as if all by itself, A short, quiet song. O thou silly elf, Hast forgot the greenwood, the forest h.o.a.r, The flash of the sky, the wind's soften'd roar?

Hast forgot that thou still a captive art, Prison'd in wire-work? hast forgot thy smart?

'Tis even so: for now down, and now up, Now hopping on perch, now sipping from cup, I mark it sullen and pining no more, But keeping within, though open the door.

List ye, now list--from its swelling throat, Of its woodland song you miss never a note.

Alone, it is true, and in a wir'd cage; But kindness has melted the captive's rage.

Behold a sweet meaning in this bird's story-- How the child of G.o.d is ripen'd for glory: For it is thus with the child of G.o.d, Smitten and bleeding 'neath His rod: Thus 'tis with him; for, tranquil and calm 'Mid dangers and insults, he singeth his psalm: Alone, all alone, deserted of man, Slander'd and trampl'd and plac'd under ban, He frets not, he pines not, he plains not still, But sees clear in all his dear Father's will: Come loss, come cross, come bereavement, come wrong, He sets all to music, turns all to song; Come terror, come trial, come dark day, come bright, Still upward he looks, and knows all is right: Wounded, he sees the Hand gives the stroke, Bending his neck to bear his Lord's yoke, And finds it grow light, by grace from Above, As love's slender collars o' the Queen of Love; Comes the starting tear, 'tis dried with a smile; Comes a cloud, as you look 'tis gone the while; Stirs the 'old Adam' to tempt and to dare, He thinks Who was tempted and knows what we are; Gentle and meek, murmurs not nor rebels, But serene as in heaven and tranquil dwells: And so the Believer has 'songs in the night,'

And so every cloud has a lining of light.

Thus, even thus, the captive bird's story Tells how a soul is ripen'd for glory. G.

d.a.m.nO AFFICI SAEPE FIT LUCRUM.

d.a.m.na adsunt multis taciti compendia lucri, Felicique docent plus properare mora.

Luxuriem annorum posita sic pelle redemit, Atque sagax serpens in nova saecla subit.

Cernis ut ipsa sibi replicato suppetat aevo, Seque iteret multa morte perennis avis?

Succrescit generosa sibi, facilesque per ignes Perque suos cineres, per sua fata ferax.

Quae sollers jactura sui? quis funeris usus?

Flammarumque fides ingeniumque rogi?

Siccine fraude subis? pretiosaque funera ludis?

Siccine tu mortem, ne moriaris, adis?

Felix cui medicae tanta experientia mortis, Cui tam Parcarum est officiosa ma.n.u.s.

TRANSLATION.

GAIN OUT OF LOSS.

Losses are often source of secret gain, Delays good-speed, and ease the child of pain.

The subtle snake, laying aside her fears, Casts off her slough, and heals the waste of years.

The phnix thus her waning pride supplies, And, to be ever-living, often dies; Bold for her good, she makes the fires her friend, And to begin anew, will plot her end.

What skilful losing! what wise use of dying!

What trust in flames! and what a craft in plying That trick of immolation! Canst thou so Compound with griefs? canst wisely undergo Life's losses, crosses? play with gainful doom?

Canst, to be quicken'd, gladly seek the tomb?

Thrice-happy he thus touch'd with healing sorrow, For whom night's strife plots but a gracious morrow. A.

ANOTHER RENDERING (_more freely_).

Suff'ring is not always loss; Often underneath the cross-- Heavy, crus.h.i.+ng, wearing, slow, Causing us in dread to go-- All unsuspected lieth gain, Like suns.h.i.+ne in vernal rain.

Lo, the serpent's mottled skin Cast, new lease of years doth win: Lo, the phnix in the fire Leaps immortal from its pyre, The mystic plumage mewing, And life by death renewing.

What a wise loss thus to lose!-- Who will gainsay or abuse?

What strange end to fun'ral pile, Thus in Death's gaunt face to smile!

Faith still strong within the fire, Faith triumphant o'er its ire.

How stands it, fellow-man, with thee?

What meaning in this myth dost see?

Happy thou, if when thou'rt lying On thy sick-bed slow a-dying, Cometh vision of the Eternal, Cometh strength for the supernal, Cometh triumph o'er the infernal; And thou canst the Last Enemy Calmly meet, serenely die; The hard Sisters life's web snipping, But thy spirit never gripping; Good, not evil, to thee bringing; Hus.h.i.+ng not thy upward singing, To the Golden City winging.

Even so to die is gain, Like the Harvest's tawnied grain: Suffering is not always loss; The Crown succeeds the Cross. G.

HUMANAE VITAE DESCRIPTIO.

O vita, tantum lubricus quidam furor Spoliumque vitae! scilicet longi brevis Erroris hospes! Error o mortalium!

O certus error! qui sub incerto vagum Suspendit aevum, mille per dolos viae 5 Fugacis, et proterva per volumina Fluidi laboris, ebrios lactat gradus; Et irret.i.tos ducit in nihilum dies.

O fata! quantum perfidae vitae fugit Umbris quod imputemus atque auris, ibi 10 Et umbra et aura serias partes agunt Miscentque scenam, volvimur ludibrio Procacis aestus, ut per incertum mare Fragilis protervo cymba c.u.m nutat freto; Et ipsa vitae fila, queis nentes Deae 15 Aevi severa texta produc.u.n.t manu, Haec ipsa n.o.bis implicant vestigia, Retrahunt trahuntque, donec everso gradu Ruina la.s.sos alta deducat pedes.

Felix, fugaces quisquis excipiens dies 20 Gressus serenos fixit, insidiis sui Nec servit aevi, vita inoffensis huic Feretur auris, atque clauda rarius t.i.tubabit hora: vortices anni vagi Hic extricabit, sa.n.u.s a.s.sertor sui. 25

TRANSLATION.

DESCRIPTION OF HUMAN LIFE.

O Life, or but some evanescent madness And glittering spoil of life s.n.a.t.c.h'd with blind gladness!

Of endless Error, transitory guest; Sad human Error, which would fain find rest.

O certain Error, 'neath uncertain sky Suspending here our frail mortality; Leading us through a thousand devious ways And intricacies of a treacherous maze!

Our staggering footsteps how dost thou beguile Through wanton rounds of unavailing toil, And our entangl'd days to nothing bring!

O fates, how much of our poor life takes wing, Wasted on winds and shadows! On life's stage Shadows and winds a serious part engage, The scene confusing. On life's billow tost, The sport of changeful tide, we're well-nigh lost, And, like a frail boat on a stormy sea, We waver up and down uncertainly.

Nay, e'en the threads spun by the Fates on high, As with stern fingers they divinely ply The web of life, twine round us as we go, And draw us backwards, forwards, to and fro; Till Ruin trips us up, and we are found Helpless and weary, stretched along the ground.

Happy the man who, welcoming each day With smiles that answer to its fleeting ray, Pursues with step serene his purpos'd way; The alluring snares peculiar to the age _His_ soul enslave not, nor his mind engage; His life with peaceful tenor glides along, By fav'ring breezes fann'd, and sooth'd with song; Inspir'd by Heaven with soul-sustaining force, Seldom he falls, or falters in his course; But ever, as the eddying years roll round, Bursting through all the perils that abound, A wise a.s.sertor of himself is found. R. WI.

IN PYGMALIONA.

Poenitet artis Pygmaliona suae, Quod felix opus esset, Infelix erat artifex; Sent.i.t vulnera, nec videt ictum.

Quis credit? gelido veniunt de marmore flammae: Marmor ingratum nimis Incendit autorem suum.

Concepit hic vanos furores, Opus suum miratur atque adorat.

Prius creavit, ecce nunc colit ma.n.u.s; Tentantes digitos molliter applicat; Decipit molles caro dura tactus.

An virgo vera est, an sit eburnea; Reddat an oscula quae dabantur, Nescit; sed dubitat, sed metuit, munere supplicat, Blanditiasque miscet.

Te, miser, poenas dare vult, hos Venus, hos triumphos Capit a te, quod amorem fugis omnem.

Cur fugis heu vivos? mortua te necat puella.