Quanti hoc const.i.terit cunque venire, veni.

Teque tuosque oculos tanti est potuisse videre!

O tanti est te vel sic potuisse frui!

Quicquid id est, veniat. TU MODO, CHRISTE, VENI.

TRANSLATION.

EVEN SO: COME, LORD JESUS.

O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry, Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry.

Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place, And its perplexed paths no more can trace; Though sympathising earth astonied reel, And nature jarred cease its round to wheel.

Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team.

Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white; Though ominous comets through the dolorous air Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear; Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day; Mistimed Day, mindless of eastern glow, Through moanings of forsaken Night should go.

Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers, That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers.

Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare; Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there.

Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill, Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still.

Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see!

Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be!

Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. WI.

CIRc.u.mCISIO.

Ah ferus, ah culter, qui tam bona lilia primus In tam crudeles jussit abire rosas; Virgineum hoc qui primus ebur violavit ab ostro, Inque sui inst.i.tuit muricis ingenium.

Scilicet hinc olim quicunque cucurrerit amnis, Ex hoc purpurei germine fontis erit.

Scilicet hunc mortis primum puer accipit unguem, Injiciunt hodie fata, furorque ma.n.u.s.

Ecce illi sanguis fundi jam coepit; et ecce Qui fundi possit, vix bene sanguis erat; Excitat e dolio vix dum bene musta recenti, Atque rudes furias in nova membra vocat.

Improbus, ut nimias jam nunc accingitur iras, Armaque non molli sollicitanda manu; Improbus, ut teneras audet jam ludere mortes, Et vitae ad modulum, quid puerile mori; Improbus, ut tragici impatiens praeludia fati Ornat, et in socco jam negat ire suo: Scilicet his pedibus ma.n.u.s haec meditata cothurnos?

Haec c.u.m blanditiis mens meditata minas?

Haec tam dura brevem decuere crepundia dextram?

Dextra giganteis haec satis apta genis?

Sic cunis miscere cruces? c.u.mque ubere matris Commisisse neces et scelus et furias?

Quo ridet patri, hoc tacite quoque respicit hastam, Quoque oculo matrem mulcet, in arma redit.

Dii superi, furit his oculis! hoc asper in ore est!

Dat Marti vultus, quos sibi mallet Amor.

Deliciae irarum! torvi, tenera agmina, risus!

Blande furor! terror dulcis! amande metus!

Praecocis in paenas pueri lascivia tristis!

Cruda rudimenta! et torva tyrocinia!

Jam parc.u.m breviusque brevi pro corpore vulnus, Proque brevi brevior vulnere sanguis eat: Olim, c.u.m nervi vitaeque ferocior haustus Materiam morti luxuriemque dabunt; Olim maturos ultro conabitur imbres; Robustum audebit tunc solidumque mori.

Ergo illi, nisi qui in saevos concreverit usus, Nec nisi quem possit fundere, sanguis erit?

Euge, puer trux! euge tamen mitissime rerum!

Quique tibi tantum trux potes esse, puer?

Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum!

Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen!

Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore!

Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio!

Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum, In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum.

Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis, Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.

TRANSLATION.

THE CIRc.u.mCISION OF CHRIST.

Ah, fierce, fierce knife, which such sweet lilies first Into such cruel roses made to burst; Which first this ivory pure with purple stain'd, And in the white a deeper dye engrain'd.

Whatever stream hereafter hence shall flow, Out of this purple fountain-head shall grow.

Now first this tender Child Death's talons knows, The Fates and Fury now hurl their first blows.

See now His blood begins to pour; and see Scarce blood enough to pour there seems to be.

Scarce wise to broach the new wine from the wood, And 'gainst those young limbs call the Furies rude.

Wanton, e'en now He girds on woes too much, And arms not to be tried by such soft touch: Wanton, He dares at gentle deaths to play, And for His age to die, as a child may: Wanton, beforehand acts His tragic woe, Restless, refusing in child-step to go.

Buskins is this hand shaping for those feet, And does this mind plan threats with coaxings sweet?

Such playthings stern does this small hand bespeak, And is it match'd with giant's iron cheek?

To mingle cross with cradle, mother's breast With slaughter, wickedness, and rage unblest?

His smiling eye now glances at the spear, And turns to arms from soothing mother dear.

G.o.d, with such face to frown, such eyes to rage!

War wins the looks which Love would fain engage.

O winsome angers! savage smiles--mild brood-- Soft rage, sweet terror, awe which might be woo'd!

Sad wanton forwardness of Child for woes; Harsh rudiments, stern training which He chose!

Now scantier wound for scanty body show, And scantier blood for scanty wound let now.

Soon, when His strength and deeper draught of breath Shall furnish food luxuriously for Death, 'Twill be His pleasure then full showers to try, Then will He strongly, wholly dare to die.

No blood but what to cruel use will grow To Him belongs, or what He can bid flow.

Ah, cruel Child, though of all things most mild, Yet to Thyself Thou canst be cruel, Child; To Thyself cruel, but most mild to me; A Lion mild, a pitiless Lamb here see.

Long, long may this stern praise Thine honour lift, A faculty for woes[94] and innate gift.

Fierce knife, from which experience sharp He borrows, While the Child hastes to grow the Man of Sorrows; Fierce knife, 'neath which Thou draw'st Thy golden breath, Advancing as 'twere 'neath the rod of Death. R. WI.

VIRGO.

Ne, pia, ne nimium, Virgo, permitte querelis: Haud volet, haud poterit natus abesse diu.

Nam quid eum teneat? vel quae magis oscula vellet?

Vestri illum indigenam quid vetet esse sinus?

Quippe illis quae labra genis magis apta putentur?

Quaeve per id collum dignior ire ma.n.u.s?

His sibi quid speret puer ambitiosius ulmo, Quove sub amplexu dulcius esse queat?

O quae tam teneram sibi vitis amicior ulmum Implicet, alternis nexibus immoriens?

Cui circ.u.m subitis eat impatientior ulnis?

Aut quae tam nimiis vultibus ora notet?

Quae tam prompta puer toties super oscula surgat?

Qua signet gemma n.o.biliore genam?

Illa ubi tam vernis adolescat mitius auris, Tamve sub apricis pendeat uva jugis?

Illi qua veniat languor tam gratus in umbra?

Commodius sub quo murmure somnus agat?

O ubi tam charo, tam casto in carcere regnet, Maternoque simul virgineoque sinu, Ille ut ab his fugiat, nec tam bona gaudia vellet?

Ille ut in hos possit non properare sinus?

Ille sui tam blanda sinus patrimonia spernet?

Haeres tot factus tam bene deliciis?

Ne tantum, ne Diva, tuis permitte querelis: Quid dubites? Non est hic fugitivus Amor.