O what kind visits daily pa.s.s 'Twixt Thy great self and such poor gra.s.s: With what sweet looks doth Thy love shine On those low violets of Thine, While the tall tulip is accurst, And crowns imperial die with thirst!

O give me still those secret meals, Those rare repasts which Thy love deals!

Give me that joy, which none can grieve, And which in all griefs doth relieve!

This is the portion Thy child begs; Not that of rust, and rags, and dregs.

JORDANIS.

Quid celebras auratam undam, et combusta pyropis Flumina, vel medio quae serit aethra salo?

aeternum refluis si pernoctaret in undis Ph[oe]bus, et incertam sidera suda Tethyn Si colerent, tantae gemmae! nil caerula librem: Sorderet rubro in littore dives Eos.

Pactoli mea lympha macras ditabit arenas, Atque universum gutta minuta Tagum.

O caram caput! O cincinnos unda beatos Libata! O Domini balnea sancta mei!

Quod fortunatum voluit spectare ca.n.a.lem, Hoc erat in laudes area parva tuas.

Jordanis in medio perfusus flumine lavit, Divinoque tuas ore beavit aquas.

Ah! Solyma infelix rivis obsessa prophanis!

Amisit genium porta Bethesda suum.

Hic Orientis aquae currunt, et apostata Parphar, Atque Abana immundo turbidus amne fluit, Ethnica te totam c.u.m f[oe]davere fluenta, Mansit Christicola Jordanis unus aqua.

SERVILII FATUM, SIVE VINDICTA DIVINA.

Et sic in cithara, sic in dulcedine vitae Et facti et luctus regnat amarities.

Quam subito in fastum extensos atque esseda[68] vultus Ultrici oppressit vilis arena sinu!

Si violae, spiransque crocus: si lilium [Greek: aeinon]

Non nisi justorum nascitur e cinere: Spinarum, tribulique atque infelicis avenae Quantus in hoc tumulo et qualis acervus erit?

Dii superi! d.a.m.nosa piis sub sidera longum Mansuris stabilem conciliate fidem!

Sic olim in c[oe]lum post nimbos clarius ibunt, Supremo occidui tot velut astra die.

Quippe ruunt horae, qualisque in corpore vixit, Talis it in tenebras bis moriturus h.o.m.o.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] The original edition misprints _essera_.

DE SALMONE

_Ad virum optimum, et sibi familiarius notum: D. Thomam Poellum Cantrevensem: S. S. Theologiae Doctorem._

Accipe praerapido salmonem in gurgite captum, Ex imo in summas c.u.m penetra.s.set aquas, Ment.i.tae culicis quem forma elusit inanis: Picta coloratis plumea musca notis.

Dum captat, capitur; vorat inscius, ipse vorandus; Fitque cibi raptor grata rapina mali.

Alma quies! miserae merces ditissima vitae, Quam tuto in tacitis hic latuisset aquis!

Qui dum spumosi fremitus et murmura rivi Quaeritat, hamato sit cita praeda cibo, Quam grave magnarum specimen dant ludicra rerum?

Gurges est mundus: salmo, h.o.m.o: pluma, dolus.

THE WORLD.

Can any tell me what it is? Can you That wind your thoughts into a clue To guide out others, while yourselves stay in, And hug the sin?

I, who so long have in it liv'd, That, if I might, In truth I would not be repriev'd, Have neither sight Nor sense that knows These ebbs and flows: But since of all all may be said, And likeliness doth but upbraid And mock the truth, which still is lost In fine conceits, like streams in a sharp frost; I will not strive, nor the rule break, Which doth give losers leave to speak.

Then false and foul world, and unknown Ev'n to thy own, Here I renounce thee, and resign Whatever thou canst say is thine.

Thou art not Truth! for he that tries Shall find thee all deceit and lies, Thou art not Friendship! for in thee 'Tis but the bait of policy; Which like a viper lodg'd in flow'rs, Its venom through that sweetness pours; And when not so, then always 'tis A fading paint, the short-liv'd bliss Of air and humour; out and in, Like colours in a dolphin's skin; But must not live beyond one day, Or convenience; then away.

Thou art not Riches! for that trash, Which one age h.o.a.rds, the next doth wash And so severely sweep away, That few remember where it lay.

So rapid streams the wealthy land About them have at their command; And shifting channels here restore, There break down, what they bank'd before.

Thou art not Honour! for those gay Feathers will wear and drop away; And princes to some upstart line Gives new ones, that are full as fine.

Thou art not Pleasure! for thy rose Upon a thorn doth still repose; Which, if not cropp'd, will quickly shed, But soon as cropp'd, grows dull and dead.

Thou art the sand, which fills one gla.s.s, And then doth to another pa.s.s; And could I put thee to a stay, Thou art but dust! Then go thy way, And leave me clean and bright, though poor; Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; And, swallow-like, when he hath done, To unknown dwellings must be gone!

Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours, Enrich'd with sunshine and with show'rs; Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares, The not to be repented shares Of time and business; the sure road Unto my last and lov'd abode!

O supreme Bliss!

The Circle, Centre, and Abyss Of blessings, never let me miss Nor leave that path which leads to Thee, Who art alone all things to me!

I hear, I see, all the long day The noise and pomp of the broad way.

I note their coa.r.s.e and proud approaches, Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches.

But in the narrow way to Thee I observe only poverty, And despis'd things; and all along The ragged, mean, and humble throng Are still on foot; and as they go They sigh, and say, their Lord went so.

Give me my staff then, as it stood When green and growing in the wood; --Those stones, which for the altar serv'd, Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd-- With this poor stick I'll pa.s.s the ford, As Jacob did; and Thy dear word, As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it, Shall in the pa.s.sage be my meat, And none else will Thy servant eat.

Thus, thus, and in no other sort, Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't; And leaving the wise world their way, Go through, though judg'd to go astray.

THE BEE.

From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders, Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders, Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs, And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds, To the wild woods I will be gone, And the coa.r.s.e meals of great Saint John.

When truth and piety are miss'd Both in the rulers and the priest; When pity is not cold, but dead, And the rich eat the poor like bread; While factious heads with open coil And force, first make, then share, the spoil; To h.o.r.eb then Elias goes, And in the desert grows the rose.

Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades, Where no proud look invades, No busy worldling hunts away The sad retirer all the day!

Hail, happy, harmless solitude!

Our sanctuary from the rude And scornful world; the calm recess Of faith, and hope, and holiness!

Here something still like Eden looks; Honey in woods, juleps in brooks, And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, When the toils of the day are done, And the tir'd world sets with the sun.

Here flying winds and flowing wells Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells; Their busy murmurs all the night To praise or prayer do invite, And with an awful sound arrest, And piously employ his breast.

When in the East the dawn doth blush, Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush; Herbs straight get up, flow'rs peep and spread, Trees whisper praise, and bow the head: Birds, from the shades of night releas'd, Look round about, then quit the nest, And with united gladness sing The glory of the morning's King.

The hermit hears, and with meek voice Offers his own up, and their joys: Then prays that all the world may be Bless'd with as sweet an unity.

If sudden storms the day invade, They flock about him to the shade: Where wisely they expect the end, Giving the tempest time to spend; And hard by shelters on some bough Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.

O purer years of light and grace!