Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 7

TO AMORET, OF THE DIFFERENCE 'TWIXT HIM AND OTHER LOVERS, AND WHAT TRUE LOVE IS.

Mark, when the evening's cooler wings Fan the afflicted air, how the faint sun, Leaving undone, What he begun, Those spurious flames suck'd up from slime and earth To their first, low birth, Resigns, and brings.

They shoot their tinsel beams and vanities, Threading with those false fires their way; But as you stay And see them stray, You lose the flaming track, and subtly they Languish away, And cheat your eyes.

Just so base, sublunary lovers' hearts Fed on loose profane desires, May for an eye Or face comply: But those remov'd, they will as soon depart, And show their art, And painted fires.

Whilst I by pow'rful love, so much refin'd, That my absent soul the same is, Careless to miss A glance or kiss, Can with those elements of l.u.s.t and sense Freely dispense, And court the mind.

Thus to the North the loadstones move, And thus to them th' enamour'd steel aspires: Thus Amoret I do affect; And thus by winged beams, and mutual fire, Spirits and stars conspire: And this is Love.

TO AMORET WEEPING.

Leave Amoret, melt not away so fast Thy eyes' fair treasure; Fortune's wealthiest cast Deserves not one such pearl; for these, well spent, Can purchase stars, and buy a tenement For us in heaven; though here the pious streams Avail us not; who from that clue of sunbeams Could ever steal one thread? or with a kind Persuasive accent charm the wild loud wind?

Fate cuts us all in marble, and the Book Forestalls our gla.s.s of minutes; we may look But seldom meet a change; think you a tear Can blot the flinty volume? shall our fear Or grief add to their triumphs? and must we Give an advantage to adversity?

Dear, idle prodigal! is it not just We bear our stars? What though I had not dust Enough to cabinet a worm? nor stand Enslav'd unto a little dirt, or sand?

I boast a better purchase, and can show The glories of a soul that's simply true.

But grant some richer planet at my birth Had spied me out, and measur'd so much earth Or gold unto my share: I should have been Slave to these lower elements, and seen My high-born soul flag with their dross, and lie A pris'ner to base mud, and alchemy.

I should perhaps eat orphans, and suck up A dozen distress'd widows in one cup; Nay, further, I should by that lawful stealth, d.a.m.n'd usury, undo the commonwealth; Or patent it in soap, and coals, and so Have the smiths curse me, and my laundress too; Geld wine, or his friend tobacco; and so bring The incens'd subject rebel to his king; And after all--as those first sinners fell-- Sink lower than my gold, and lie in h.e.l.l.

Thanks then for this deliv'rance! blessed pow'rs, You that dispense man's fortune and his hours, How am I to you all engag'd! that thus By such strange means, almost miraculous, You should preserve me; you have gone the way To make me rich by taking all away.

For I--had I been rich--as sure as fate, Would have been meddling with the king, or State, Or something to undo me; and 'tis fit, We know, that who hath wealth should have no wit, But, above all, thanks to that Providence That arm'd me with a gallant soul, and sense, 'Gainst all misfortunes, that hath breath'd so much Of Heav'n into me, that I scorn the touch Of these low things; and can with courage dare Whatever fate or malice can prepare: I envy no man's purse or mines: I know That, losing them, I've lost their curses too; And Amoret--although our share in these Is not contemptible, nor doth much please-- Yet, whilst content and love we jointly vie, We have a blessing which no gold can buy.

UPON THE PRIORY GROVE, HIS USUAL RETIREMENT.

Hail, sacred shades! cool, leafy house!

Chaste treasurer of all my vows And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid My love's fair steps I first betray'd: Henceforth no melancholy flight, No sad wing, or hoa.r.s.e bird of night, Disturb this air, no fatal throat Of raven, or owl, awake the note Of our laid echo, no voice dwell Within these leaves, but Philomel.

The poisonous ivy here no more His false twists on the oak shall score; Only the woodbine here may twine, As th' emblem of her love, and mine; The amorous sun shall here convey His best beams, in thy shades to play; The active air the gentlest show'rs Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers; And the moon from her dewy locks Shall deck thee with her brightest drops.

Whatever can a fancy move, Or feed the eye, be on this grove!

And when at last the winds and tears Of heaven, with the consuming years, Shall these green curls bring to decay, And clothe thee in an aged grey --If ought a lover can foresee, Or if we poets prophets be-- From hence transplanted, thou shalt stand A fresh grove in th' Elysian land; Where--most bless'd pair!--as here on earth Thou first didst eye our growth, and birth; So there again, thou'lt see us move In our first innocence and love; And in thy shades, as now, so then, We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.

JUVENAL'S TENTH SATIRE TRANSLATED.

In all the parts of earth, from farthest West, And the Atlantic Isles, unto the East And famous Ganges, few there be that know What's truly good, and what is good, in show, Without mistake: for what is't we desire, Or fear discreetly? to whate'er aspire, So throughly bless'd, but ever as we speed, Repentance seals the very act, and deed?

The easy G.o.ds, mov'd by no other fate Than our own pray'rs, whole kingdoms ruinate, And undo families: thus strife, and war Are the sword's prize, and a litigious bar The gown's prime wish. Vain confidence to share In empty honours and a b.l.o.o.d.y care To be the first in mischief, makes him die Fool'd 'twixt ambition and credulity.

An oily tongue with fatal, cunning sense, And that sad virtue ever, eloquence, Are th' other's ruin, but the common curse; And each day's ill waits on the rich man's purse; He, whose large acres and imprison'd gold So far exceeds his father's store of old, As British whales the dolphins do surpa.s.s.

In sadder times therefore, and when the laws Of Nero's fiat reign'd, an armed band Seiz'd on Longinus, and the s.p.a.cious land Of wealthy Seneca, besieg'd the gates Of Latera.n.u.s, and his fair estate Divided as a spoil: in such sad feasts Soldiers--though not invited--are the guests.

Though thou small pieces of the blessed mine Hast lodg'd about thee, travelling in the s.h.i.+ne Of a pale moon, if but a reed doth shake, Mov'd by the wind, the shadow makes thee quake.

Wealth hath its cares, and want has this relief, It neither fears the soldier nor the thief; Thy first choice vows, and to the G.o.ds best known, Are for thy stores' increase, that in all town Thy stock be greatest, but no poison lies I' th' poor man's dish; he tastes of no such spice.

Be that thy care, when, with a kingly gust, Thou suck'st whole bowls clad in the gilded dust Of some rich mineral, whilst the false wine Sparkles aloft, and makes the draught divine.

Blam'st thou the sages, then? because the one Would still be laughing, when he would be gone From his own door; the other cried to see His times addicted to such vanity?

Smiles are an easy purchase, but to weep Is a hard act; for tears are fetch'd more deep.

Democritus his nimble lungs would tire With constant laughter, and yet keep entire His stock of mirth, for ev'ry object was Addition to his store; though then--alas!-- Sedans, and litters, and our Senate gowns, With robes of honour, fasces, and the frowns Of unbrib'd tribunes were not seen; but had He liv'd to see our Roman praetor clad In Jove's own mantle, seated on his high Embroider'd chariot 'midst the dust and cry Of the large theatre, loaden with a crown, Which scarce he could support--for it would down, But that his servant props it--and close by His page, a witness to his vanity: To these his sceptre and his eagle add, His trumpets, officers, and servants clad In white and purple; with the rest that day, He hir'd to triumph, for his bread, and pay; Had he these studied, sumptuous follies seen, 'Tis thought his wanton and effusive spleen Had kill'd the Abderite, though in that age --When pride and greatness had not swell'd the stage So high as ours--his harmless and just mirth From ev'ry object had a sudden birth.

Nor was't alone their avarice or pride, Their triumphs or their cares he did deride; Their vain contentions or ridiculous fears, But even their very poverty and tears.

He would at Fortune's threats as freely smile As others mourn; nor was it to beguile His crafty pa.s.sions; but this habit he By nature had, and grave philosophy.

He knew their idle and superfluous vows, And sacrifice, which such wrong zeal bestows, Were mere incendiaries; and that the G.o.ds, Not pleas'd therewith, would ever be at odds.

Yet to no other air, nor better place Ow'd he his birth, than the cold, homely Thrace; Which shows a man may be both wise and good, Without the brags of fortune, or his blood.

But envy ruins all: what mighty names Of fortune, spirit, action, blood, and fame, Hath this destroy'd? yea, for no other cause Than being such; their honour, worth and place, Was crime enough; their statues, arms and crowns Their ornaments of triumph, chariots, gowns, And what the herald, with a learned care, Had long preserv'd, this madness will not spare.

So once Seja.n.u.s' statue Rome allow'd Her demi-G.o.d, and ev'ry Roman bow'd To pay his safety's vows; but when that face Had lost Tiberius once, its former grace Was soon eclips'd; no diff'rence made--alas!-- Betwixt his statue then, and common bra.s.s, They melt alike, and in the workman's hand For equal, servile use, like others stand.

Go, now fetch home fresh bays, and pay new vows To thy dumb Capitol G.o.ds! thy life, thy house, And state are now secur'd: Seja.n.u.s lies I' th' lictors' hands. Ye G.o.ds! what hearts and eyes Can one day's fortune change? the solemn cry Of all the world is, "Let Seja.n.u.s die!"

They never lov'd the man, they swear; they know Nothing of all the matter, when, or how, By what accuser, for what cause, or why, By whose command or sentence he must die.

But what needs this? the least pretence will hit, When princes fear, or hate a favourite.

A large epistle stuff'd with idle fear, Vain dreams, and jealousies, directed here From Caprea does it; and thus ever die Subjects, when once they grow prodigious high.

'Tis well, I seek no more; but tell me how This took his friends? no private murmurs now?

No tears? no solemn mourner seen? must all His glory perish in one funeral?

O still true Romans! State-wit bids them praise The moon by night, but court the warmer rays O' th' sun by day; they follow fortune still, And hate or love discreetly, as their will And the time leads them. This tumultuous fate Puts all their painted favours out of date.

And yet this people that now spurn, and tread This mighty favourite's once honour'd head, Had but the Tuscan G.o.ddess, or his stars Destin'd him for an empire, or had wars, Treason, or policy, or some higher pow'r Oppress'd secure Tiberius; that same hour That he receiv'd the sad Gemonian doom, Had crown'd him emp'ror of the world and Rome But Rome is now grown wise, and since that she Her suffrages, and ancient liberty Lost in a monarch's name, she takes no care For favourite or prince; nor will she share Their fickle glories, though in Cato's days She rul'd whole States and armies with her voice.

Of all the honours now within her walls, She only dotes on plays and festivals.

Nor is it strange; for when these meteors fall, They draw an ample ruin with them: all Share in the storm; each beam sets with the sun, And equal hazard friends and flatt'rers run.

This makes, that circled with distractive fear The lifeless, pale Seja.n.u.s' limbs they tear, And lest the action might a witness need, They bring their servants to confirm the deed; Nor is it done for any other end, Than to avoid the t.i.tle of his friend.

So falls ambitious man, and such are still All floating States built on the people's will: Hearken all you! whom this bewitching l.u.s.t Of an hour's glory, and a little dust Swells to such dear repentance! you that can Measure whole kingdoms with a thought or span!

Would you be as Seja.n.u.s? would you have, So you might sway as he did, such a grave?

Would you be rich as he? command, dispose, All acts and offices? all friends and foes?

Be generals of armies and colleague Unto an emperor? break or make a league?

No doubt you would; for both the good and bad An equal itch of honour ever had.

But O! what state can be so great or good, As to be bought with so much shame and blood?

Alas! Seja.n.u.s will too late confess 'Twas only pride and greatness made him less: For he that moveth with the lofty wind Of Fortune, and Ambition, unconfin'd In act or thought, doth but increase his height, That he may loose it with more force and weight; Scorning a base, low ruin, as if he Would of misfortune make a prodigy.

Tell, mighty Pompey, Cra.s.sus, and O thou That mad'st Rome kneel to thy victorious brow, What but the weight of honours, and large fame After your worthy acts, and height of name, Destroy'd you in the end? The envious Fates, Easy to further your aspiring States, Us'd them to quell you too; pride, and excess.

In ev'ry act did make you thrive the less.

Few kings are guilty of grey hairs, or die Without a stab, a draught, or treachery.

And yet to see him, that but yesterday Saw letters first, how he will sc.r.a.pe, and pray; And all her feast-time tire Minerva's ears For fame, for eloquence, and store of years To thrive and live in; and then lest he dotes, His boy a.s.sists him with his box and notes.

Fool that thou art! not to discern the ill These vows include; what, did Rome's consul kill Her Cicero? what, him whose very dust Greece celebrates as yet; whose cause, though just, Scarce banishment could end; nor poison save His free-born person from a foreign grave?

All this from eloquence! both head and hand The tongue doth forfeit; petty wits may stand Secure from danger, but the n.o.bler vein With loss of blood the bar doth often stain.

} Carmen _O fortunatam natam me Consule Romam._ } Ciceronianum }

Had all been thus, thou might'st have scorn'd the sword Of fierce Antonius; here is not one word Doth pinch; I like such stuff, 'tis safer far Than thy Philippics, or Pharsalia's war.

What sadder end than his, whom Athens saw At once her patriot, oracle, and law?

Unhappy then is he, and curs'd in stars Whom his poor father, blind with soot and scars, Sends from the anvil's harmless chine, to wear The factious gown, and tire his client's ear And purse with endless noise. Trophies of war, Old rusty armour, with an honour'd scar, And wheels of captiv'd chariots, with a piece Of some torn British galley, and to these The ensign too, and last of all the train The pensive pris'ner loaden with his chain, Are thought true Roman honours; these the Greek And rude barbarians equally do seek.

Thus air, and empty fame, are held a prize Beyond fair virtue; for all virtue dies Without reward; and yet by this fierce l.u.s.t Of fame, and t.i.tles to outlive our dust, And monuments--though all these things must die And perish like ourselves--whole kingdoms lie Ruin'd and spoil'd: put Hannibal i' th' scale, What weight affords the mighty general?

This is the man, whom Afric's s.p.a.cious land Bounded by th' Indian Sea, and Nile's hot sand Could not contain--Ye G.o.ds! that give to men Such boundless appet.i.tes, why state you them So short a time? either the one deny, Or give their acts and them eternity.

All aethiopia, to the utmost bound Of t.i.tan's course,--than which no land is found Less distant from the sun--with him that ploughs That fertile soil where fam'd[52] Iberus flows, Are not enough to conquer; pa.s.s'd now o'er The Pyrrhene hills, the Alps with all its store Of ice, and rocks clad in eternal snow, --As if that Nature meant to give the blow-- Denies him pa.s.sage; straight on ev'ry side He wounds the hill, and by strong hand divides The monstrous pile; nought can ambition stay.