Olor Iscanus A Collection of some Select Poems, and Translations, Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist. Published by a Friend |
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 | Olor Iscanus |  |
Ausonii Cupido, Edyl. 6.
In those blest fields of Everlasting aire
(Where to a Myrtle-grove the soules repaire
Of deceas'd lovers,) the sad, thoughtfull ghosts
Of Injur'd Ladyes meet, where each accoasts
The other with a sigh, whose very breath
Would break a heart, and (kind Soules!) love in death.
A thick wood clouds their walks where day scarse peeps,
And on each hand Cypresse and Poppey sleepes,
The drowsie Rivers slumber, and Springs there
Elab not, but softly melt into a teare,
A sickly dull aire fans them, which can have
When most in force scarce breath to build a wave.
On either bank through the still shades appear
A Scene of pensive flowres, whose bosomes wear
Drops of a Lever's bloud, the Emblem'd truths
Of deep despair, and Love-slain Kings and Youths.
The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd Boy
Narcissus flourish there, with Venus Joy
The spruce Adonis, and that Prince whose flowre
Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this houre;
All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve
As if their passions in each leafe did live;
And here (alas!) these soft-soul'd Ladies stray,
And (oh! too late!) treason in love betray.
(Where to a Myrtle-grove the soules repaire
Of deceas'd lovers,) the sad, thoughtfull ghosts
Of Injur'd Ladyes meet, where each accoasts
The other with a sigh, whose very breath
Would break a heart, and (kind Soules!) love in death.
A thick wood clouds their walks where day scarse peeps,
And on each hand Cypresse and Poppey sleepes,
The drowsie Rivers slumber, and Springs there
Elab not, but softly melt into a teare,
A sickly dull aire fans them, which can have
When most in force scarce breath to build a wave.
On either bank through the still shades appear
A Scene of pensive flowres, whose bosomes wear
Drops of a Lever's bloud, the Emblem'd truths
Of deep despair, and Love-slain Kings and Youths.
The Hyacinth, and self-enamour'd Boy
Narcissus flourish there, with Venus Joy
41
Hath sorrow languag'd on him to this houre;
All sad with love they hang their heads, and grieve
As if their passions in each leafe did live;
And here (alas!) these soft-soul'd Ladies stray,
And (oh! too late!) treason in love betray.
Her blasted birth sad Semele repeats,
And with her tears would quench the thund'rers heats,
Then shakes her bosome, as if fir'd again,
And fears another lightnings flaming train.
The lovely Pocris (here) bleeds, sighes, and swounds,
Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds.
Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light
Her lost Leander through the waves and night.
Her Boateman desp'rate Sapho still admires,
And nothing but the Sea can quench her fires.
Distracted Phœdra with a restless Eye
Her disdain'd Letters reads, then casts them by.
Rare, faithfull Thysbe (sequestred from these)
A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please,
For her Loves sake, and last good-night, poor she
Walks in the shadow of a Mulberrie.
Neer her young Canace with Dido sits
A lovely Couple, but of desp'rate wits,
Both dy'd alike, both pierc'd their tender brests,
This with her Fathers Sword, that with her Guests.
Within the thickest textures of the Grove
Diana in her Silver-beams doth rove,
Her Crown of stars the pitchieaire Invades,
And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,
Whilst her sad thoughts fixt on her sleepie lover
To Latmos-hill, and his retirements move her.
A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood
Feast on their cares, the Maudlin-Lovers food,
For griefe and absence doe but Edge desire,
And Death is fuell to a Lovers fire.
And with her tears would quench the thund'rers heats,
Then shakes her bosome, as if fir'd again,
And fears another lightnings flaming train.
The lovely Pocris (here) bleeds, sighes, and swounds,
Then wakes, and kisses him that gave her wounds.
Sad Hero holds a torch forth, and doth light
Her lost Leander through the waves and night.
Her Boateman desp'rate Sapho still admires,
And nothing but the Sea can quench her fires.
Distracted Phœdra with a restless Eye
Her disdain'd Letters reads, then casts them by.
Rare, faithfull Thysbe (sequestred from these)
A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please,
For her Loves sake, and last good-night, poor she
Walks in the shadow of a Mulberrie.
Neer her young Canace with Dido sits
A lovely Couple, but of desp'rate wits,
Both dy'd alike, both pierc'd their tender brests,
This with her Fathers Sword, that with her Guests.
Within the thickest textures of the Grove
Diana in her Silver-beams doth rove,
Her Crown of stars the pitchieaire Invades,
And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,
Whilst her sad thoughts fixt on her sleepie lover
To Latmos-hill, and his retirements move her.
A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood
Feast on their cares, the Maudlin-Lovers food,
For griefe and absence doe but Edge desire,
And Death is fuell to a Lovers fire.
To see these Trophies of his wanton bow
Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now
(Rash, unadvised Boy!) disperseth round
The sleepie Mists, his Wings and quiver wound
With noise the quiet aire. This sudden stirre
Betrayes his godship, and as we from far
A clouded, sickly Moon observe, so they
Through the false Mists his Ecelyps'd torch betray.
A hot pursute thy make, and though with care,
And a slow wing he softly stems the aire,
Yet they (as subtill now as he) surround
His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound
Surprize the Wag. As in a dream we strive
To voyce our thoughts, & vainly would revive
Our Entraunc'd tongues, but can not speech enlarge
'Till the Soule wakes and reassumes her Charge,
So joyous of their Prize, they flock about
And vainly Swell with an Imagin'd shout.
Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now
42
The sleepie Mists, his Wings and quiver wound
With noise the quiet aire. This sudden stirre
Betrayes his godship, and as we from far
A clouded, sickly Moon observe, so they
Through the false Mists his Ecelyps'd torch betray.
A hot pursute thy make, and though with care,
And a slow wing he softly stems the aire,
Yet they (as subtill now as he) surround
His silenc'd course, and with the thick night bound
Surprize the Wag. As in a dream we strive
To voyce our thoughts, & vainly would revive
Our Entraunc'd tongues, but can not speech enlarge
'Till the Soule wakes and reassumes her Charge,
So joyous of their Prize, they flock about
And vainly Swell with an Imagin'd shout.
Far in these shades, and melancholy Coasts
A Myrtle growes, well known to all the ghosts.
Whose stretch'd top (like a great man rais'd by Fate)
Looks big, and scorns his neighbours low estate;
His leavy arms into a green Cloud twist.
And on each Branch doth sit a lazie mist.
A fatall tree, and luckless to one god,
Where for disdain in life (loves worst of Ods,)
The Queen of shades, fair Proserpine did rack
The sad Adonis, hither now they pack
This little God, where, first disarm'd, they bind
His skittish wings, then both his hands behind
His back they tye, and thus secur'd at last
The peevish wanton to the tree make fast.
Here at adventure without Judge or Jurie
He is condemn'd, while with united furie
They all assaile him; As a thiefe at Bar
Left to the Law and mercy of his Star,
Hath Bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there
By all the men that have been rob'd that year,
So now what ever Fate, or their own will
Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.
Their Servants falshood, Jealousie, disdain,
And all the plagues that abus'd Maids can feign,
Are layd on him, and then to heighten spleen
Their own deaths crown the summe. Prest thus between
His faire accusers, 'tis at last decreed,
He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.
One grasps an airie Sword, a second holds
Illusive fire, and in vain, wanton folds
Belyes a flame; Others lesse kind appear
To let him bloud, and from the purple tear
Create a Rose. But Sapho all this while
Harvests the aire, and from a thicken'd pile
Of Clouds like Leucas top, spreads underneath
A Sea of Mists, the peacefull billowes breath
Without all noise, yet so exactly move
They seem to Chide, but distant from above
Reach not the eare, and (thus prepar'd) at once
She doth o'rwhelm him with the airie Sconie.
Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they
Venus steps in, and without thought, or stay
Invades her Son; her old disgrace is cast
Into the Bill, when Mars and Shee made fast
In their Embraces were expos'd to all
The Scene of gods stark naked in their fall.
Nor serves a verball penance, but with hast
From her fair brow (O happy flowres so plac'd!)
She tears a Rosie garland, and with this
Whips the untoward Boy, they gently kisse
His snowie skin, but she with angry hast
Doubles her strength, untill bedew'd at last
With a thin bloudie sweat, their Innate Red,
(As if griev'd with the Act) grew pale and dead.
This layd their spleen: And now (kind soules!) no more
They'l punish him, the torture that he bore,
Seems greater then his crime; with joynt Consent
Fate is made guilty, and he Innocent.
As in a dream with dangers we contest,
And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,
So frighted only in these shades of night
Cupid (got loose) stole to the upper light,
Where ever since (for malice unto these)
The spitefull Ape doth either Sex displease.
But O that had these Ladyes been so wise
To keep his Arms, and give him but his Eyes!
A Myrtle growes, well known to all the ghosts.
Whose stretch'd top (like a great man rais'd by Fate)
Looks big, and scorns his neighbours low estate;
His leavy arms into a green Cloud twist.
And on each Branch doth sit a lazie mist.
A fatall tree, and luckless to one god,
Where for disdain in life (loves worst of Ods,)
The Queen of shades, fair Proserpine did rack
The sad Adonis, hither now they pack
This little God, where, first disarm'd, they bind
His skittish wings, then both his hands behind
His back they tye, and thus secur'd at last
The peevish wanton to the tree make fast.
Here at adventure without Judge or Jurie
He is condemn'd, while with united furie
They all assaile him; As a thiefe at Bar
Left to the Law and mercy of his Star,
Hath Bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there
By all the men that have been rob'd that year,
So now what ever Fate, or their own will
Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.
43
And all the plagues that abus'd Maids can feign,
Are layd on him, and then to heighten spleen
Their own deaths crown the summe. Prest thus between
His faire accusers, 'tis at last decreed,
He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.
One grasps an airie Sword, a second holds
Illusive fire, and in vain, wanton folds
Belyes a flame; Others lesse kind appear
To let him bloud, and from the purple tear
Create a Rose. But Sapho all this while
Harvests the aire, and from a thicken'd pile
Of Clouds like Leucas top, spreads underneath
A Sea of Mists, the peacefull billowes breath
Without all noise, yet so exactly move
They seem to Chide, but distant from above
Reach not the eare, and (thus prepar'd) at once
She doth o'rwhelm him with the airie Sconie.
Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they
Venus steps in, and without thought, or stay
Invades her Son; her old disgrace is cast
Into the Bill, when Mars and Shee made fast
In their Embraces were expos'd to all
The Scene of gods stark naked in their fall.
Nor serves a verball penance, but with hast
From her fair brow (O happy flowres so plac'd!)
She tears a Rosie garland, and with this
Whips the untoward Boy, they gently kisse
His snowie skin, but she with angry hast
Doubles her strength, untill bedew'd at last
With a thin bloudie sweat, their Innate Red,
(As if griev'd with the Act) grew pale and dead.
This layd their spleen: And now (kind soules!) no more
They'l punish him, the torture that he bore,
Seems greater then his crime; with joynt Consent
Fate is made guilty, and he Innocent.
As in a dream with dangers we contest,
And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,
44
Cupid (got loose) stole to the upper light,
Where ever since (for malice unto these)
The spitefull Ape doth either Sex displease.
But O that had these Ladyes been so wise
To keep his Arms, and give him but his Eyes!
| Olor Iscanus | |