Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 16

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 bl.u.s.t'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 coa.r.s.e 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 sh.o.r.e.

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 s.h.i.+ning 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 t.i.tles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.

3.

There with n.o.bles 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 s.p.a.cious 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 G.o.d!

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 gla.s.s, It melts, breaks, and away doth pa.s.s.

'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 s.h.i.+ne amongst those glorious fires!

CASIMIRUS, LYRIC[ORUM] LIB. III. ODE XXIII.