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 |  |
The Praise of a Religious life by Mathias Casimirus.
In Answer to that Ode of Horace, Beatus Ille qui procul negotiis, &c.
Flaccus
not so: That worldly He
Whom in the Countreys shade we see
Ploughing his own fields, seldome can
Be justly stil'd, The Blessed man.
Whom in the Countreys shade we see
Ploughing his own fields, seldome can
Be justly stil'd, The Blessed man.
That title only fits a Saint,
Whose free thoughts far above restraint
And weighty Cares, can gladly part
With house and lands, and leave the smart
Litigious troubles, and lowd strife
Of this world for a better life.
He fears no Cold, nor heat to blast
His Corn, for his Accounts are cast,
He sues no man, nor stands in Awe
Of the devouring Courts of Law;
But all his time he spends in tears
For the Sins of his youthfull years,
Or having tasted those rich Joyes
Of a Conscience without noyse
Sits in some fair shade, and doth give
To his wild thoughts rules how to live.
Whose free thoughts far above restraint
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With house and lands, and leave the smart
Litigious troubles, and lowd strife
Of this world for a better life.
He fears no Cold, nor heat to blast
His Corn, for his Accounts are cast,
He sues no man, nor stands in Awe
Of the devouring Courts of Law;
But all his time he spends in tears
For the Sins of his youthfull years,
Or having tasted those rich Joyes
Of a Conscience without noyse
Sits in some fair shade, and doth give
To his wild thoughts rules how to live.
He in the Evening, when on high
The Stars shine in the silent skye
Beholds th'eternall flames with mirth,
And globes of light more large then Earth,
Then weeps for Joy, and through his tears
Looks on the fire-enamel'd Spheres,
Where with his Saviour he would be
Lifted above mortalitie.
Mean while the golden stars doe set,
And the slow-Pilgrim leave all wet
With his own tears, which flow so fast
They make his sleeps light, and loon past.
By this, the Sun o're night deceast
Breaks in fresh Blushes from the East,
When mindfull of his former falls
With strong Cries to his God he calls,
And with such deep-drawn sighes doth move
That he turns anger into love.
The Stars shine in the silent skye
Beholds th'eternall flames with mirth,
And globes of light more large then Earth,
Then weeps for Joy, and through his tears
Looks on the fire-enamel'd Spheres,
Where with his Saviour he would be
Lifted above mortalitie.
Mean while the golden stars doe set,
And the slow-Pilgrim leave all wet
With his own tears, which flow so fast
They make his sleeps light, and loon past.
By this, the Sun o're night deceast
Breaks in fresh Blushes from the East,
When mindfull of his former falls
With strong Cries to his God he calls,
And with such deep-drawn sighes doth move
That he turns anger into love.
In the Calme Spring, when the Earth bears,
And feeds on Aprils breath, and tears,
His Eyes accustom'd to the skyes
Find here fresh objects, and like spyes
Or busie Bees search the soft flowres
Contemplate the green fields, and Bowres,
Where he in Veyles, and shades doth see
The back Parts of the Deitye
Then sadly sighing sayes,“O how
“These flowres With hasty, stretch'd heads grow
“And strive for heav'n, but rooted here
“Lament the distance with a teare!
“The Honey-suckles Clad in white,
“The Rose in Red point to the light,
“And the Lillies hollow and bleak
“Look, as if they would something speak,
“They sigh at night to each soft gale,
“And at the day-spring weep it all.
“Shall I then only (wretched I!)
“Opprest with Earth, on Earth still lye?
Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees
And many sad Soliloquies
To Springs, and Fountaines doth impart,
Seeking God with a longing heart.
And feeds on Aprils breath, and tears,
His Eyes accustom'd to the skyes
Find here fresh objects, and like spyes
Or busie Bees search the soft flowres
Contemplate the green fields, and Bowres,
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The back Parts of the Deitye
Then sadly sighing sayes,“O how
“These flowres With hasty, stretch'd heads grow
“And strive for heav'n, but rooted here
“Lament the distance with a teare!
“The Honey-suckles Clad in white,
“The Rose in Red point to the light,
“And the Lillies hollow and bleak
“Look, as if they would something speak,
“They sigh at night to each soft gale,
“And at the day-spring weep it all.
“Shall I then only (wretched I!)
“Opprest with Earth, on Earth still lye?
Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees
And many sad Soliloquies
To Springs, and Fountaines doth impart,
Seeking God with a longing heart.
But if to ease his busie breast
He thinks of home, and taking rest
A Rurall Cott, and Common fare
Are all his Cordials against Care.
There at the doore of his low Cell
Under some shade, or neer some Well
Where the Coole Poplar growes, his Plate
Of Common Earth, without more state
Expect their Lord. Salt in a shell,
Green Cheese, thin beere, Draughts that will tell
No Tales, a hospitable Cup,
With some fresh berries doe make up
His healthfull feast, nor doth he wish
For the fatt Carp, or a rare dish
Of Lucrine Oysters; The swift Quist
Or Pigeon sometimes (if he list)
With the slow Goose that loves the stream,
Fresh, various Sallads, and the Bean
By Curious Pallats never sought,
And to Close with, some Cheap unbought
Dish for digestion, are the most
And Choicest dainties he can boast.
He thinks of home, and taking rest
A Rurall Cott, and Common fare
Are all his Cordials against Care.
There at the doore of his low Cell
Under some shade, or neer some Well
Where the Coole Poplar growes, his Plate
Of Common Earth, without more state
Expect their Lord. Salt in a shell,
Green Cheese, thin beere, Draughts that will tell
No Tales, a hospitable Cup,
With some fresh berries doe make up
His healthfull feast, nor doth he wish
For the fatt Carp, or a rare dish
Of Lucrine Oysters; The swift Quist
Or Pigeon sometimes (if he list)
With the slow Goose that loves the stream,
Fresh, various Sallads, and the Bean
By Curious Pallats never sought,
And to Close with, some Cheap unbought
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And Choicest dainties he can boast.
Thus feasted, to the flowrie Groves,
Or pleasant Rivers he removes,
Where neer some fair Oke hung with Mast
He shuns the Souths Infectious blast.
On shadie banks sometimes he lyes,
Sometimes the open Current tryes,
Where with his line and feather'd flye
He sports, and takes the Scaly frie.
Mean-while each hollow wood and hill
Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,
And shadie Lakes with Rivers deep,
Eccho the bleating of the Sheep.
The Black-bird with the pleasant Thrush
And Nightingale in ev'ry Bush
Choice Musick give, and Shepherds play
Unto their flocks some loving Lay;
The thirsty Reapers in thick throngs
Return home from the field with Songs,
And the Carts loden with ripe Corn
Come groning to the well-stor'd Barn.
Or pleasant Rivers he removes,
Where neer some fair Oke hung with Mast
He shuns the Souths Infectious blast.
On shadie banks sometimes he lyes,
Sometimes the open Current tryes,
Where with his line and feather'd flye
He sports, and takes the Scaly frie.
Mean-while each hollow wood and hill
Doth ring with lowings long and shrill,
And shadie Lakes with Rivers deep,
Eccho the bleating of the Sheep.
The Black-bird with the pleasant Thrush
And Nightingale in ev'ry Bush
Choice Musick give, and Shepherds play
Unto their flocks some loving Lay;
The thirsty Reapers in thick throngs
Return home from the field with Songs,
And the Carts loden with ripe Corn
Come groning to the well-stor'd Barn.
Nor passe wee by as the least good,
A peacefull, loving neighbourhood,
Whose {boast wit}, and Chast discourse
Make none (by hearing it) the worse,
But Innocent and merry may
Help (without Sin) to spend the day.
Could now the Tyrant Userer
Who plots to be a Purchaser
Of his poor neighbours seat, but taste
These true delights, ô with what haste
And hatred of his wayes would he
Renounce his Jewish Crueltie,
And those Curs'd summes which poor men borrow
On Use to day, remit to morrow!
A peacefull, loving neighbourhood,
Whose {boast wit}, and Chast discourse
Make none (by hearing it) the worse,
But Innocent and merry may
Help (without Sin) to spend the day.
Could now the Tyrant Userer
Who plots to be a Purchaser
Of his poor neighbours seat, but taste
These true delights, ô with what haste
And hatred of his wayes would he
Renounce his Jewish Crueltie,
And those Curs'd summes which poor men borrow
On Use to day, remit to morrow!
| Olor Iscanus | |