The Amaranth Or, religious poems; consisting of fables, visions, emblems, etc. Adorned with copper-plates from the best masters [by Walter Harte] |
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 | The Amaranth |  |
80
In those fair vales by nature form'd to please,
Where Guadalquíver serpentines with ease,
[The richest tract the Andalusians know,
Fertile in herbage, grateful to the plow,]
A lovely villa stood; [suppose it mine;]
Rich without cost, and without labour fine;
Indulgent nature all her beauties brought,
And art withdrew, un-ask'd for, and un-sought.
For lo, th'Iberians by tradition found
That the whole district once was classic ground;
Here Columella first improv'd the plains,
And show'd Ascréan arts to simple swains:
Taught by the Georgic-muse the lyre he strung,
And sung, what dying Virgil left un-sung .
Where Guadalquíver serpentines with ease,
[The richest tract the Andalusians know,
Fertile in herbage, grateful to the plow,]
A lovely villa stood; [suppose it mine;]
Rich without cost, and without labour fine;
Indulgent nature all her beauties brought,
And art withdrew, un-ask'd for, and un-sought.
For lo, th'Iberians by tradition found
That the whole district once was classic ground;
Here Columella first improv'd the plains,
And show'd Ascréan arts to simple swains:
Taught by the Georgic-muse the lyre he strung,
And sung, what dying Virgil left un-sung .
Fatigu'd with courts, and votary to truth,
Hither I fled, philosopher, and youth:
And, leaving Olivarez to sustain
Th'encumb'ring fasces of ambitious Spain,
[As once rash Phaeton usurp'd a day,
Mis-led the seasons, and mistook his way,]
I chose to wander in the silent wood,
Or breathe my aspirations to the flood,
Studying the humble science to be good.
From the brute beasts humanity I learn'd,
And in the pansy's life God's providence discern'd.
Hither I fled, philosopher, and youth:
81
Th'encumb'ring fasces of ambitious Spain,
[As once rash Phaeton usurp'd a day,
Mis-led the seasons, and mistook his way,]
I chose to wander in the silent wood,
Or breathe my aspirations to the flood,
Studying the humble science to be good.
From the brute beasts humanity I learn'd,
And in the pansy's life God's providence discern'd.
'Twas now the joyous season of the year:
The sun had reach'd the Twins in bright career;
Nature, awaken'd from six months repose,
Sprung from her verdant couch;—and active rose
Like health refresh'd with wine; she smil'd, array'd
With all the charms of sun-shine, stream, and glade,
New drest and blooming as a bridal maid.
The sun had reach'd the Twins in bright career;
Nature, awaken'd from six months repose,
Sprung from her verdant couch;—and active rose
Like health refresh'd with wine; she smil'd, array'd
With all the charms of sun-shine, stream, and glade,
New drest and blooming as a bridal maid.
Yet all these charms could never lull to rest
A peevish irksomeness which teiz'd my breast;
The vernal torrent, murm'ring from afar;
Whisper'd no peace to calm this nervous war;
And Philomel, the Siren of the plain,
Sung soporific unisons in vain.
I sought my bed, in hopes relief to find;
But restlessness was mistress of my mind.
My wayward limbs were turn'd, and turn'd in vain,—
Yet free from grief was I, and void of pain.
In me, as yet, ambition had no part;
Pride had not sowr'd, nor wealth debas'd my heart.
I knew nor public cares, nor private strife;—
And love, the blessing, or the curse of life,
Had only hover'd round me like a dream,
Play'd on the surface, not disturb'd the stream.
A peevish irksomeness which teiz'd my breast;
82
Whisper'd no peace to calm this nervous war;
And Philomel, the Siren of the plain,
Sung soporific unisons in vain.
I sought my bed, in hopes relief to find;
But restlessness was mistress of my mind.
My wayward limbs were turn'd, and turn'd in vain,—
Yet free from grief was I, and void of pain.
In me, as yet, ambition had no part;
Pride had not sowr'd, nor wealth debas'd my heart.
I knew nor public cares, nor private strife;—
And love, the blessing, or the curse of life,
Had only hover'd round me like a dream,
Play'd on the surface, not disturb'd the stream.
Yet still I felt, what young men often feel;
[Impossible to tell, or to conceal,]
When nothing makes them sick but too much wealth,
Or wild o'er-boiling of ungovern'd health;
Whose grievance is satiety of ease,
Freedom their pain, and plenty their disease.
By night, by day, from pole to pole they run:
Or from the setting seek the rising sun;
No poor deserting soldier makes such haste,
No doves pursu'd by falcons fly so fast;
And when Automedon at length attains
The place he sought for with such cost and pains,
Swift to embrace, and eager to pursue,
He finds he has no earthly thing to do;
Then yawns for sleep, the opium of the mind,
The last dull refuge indolence can find .
[Impossible to tell, or to conceal,]
When nothing makes them sick but too much wealth,
Or wild o'er-boiling of ungovern'd health;
83
Freedom their pain, and plenty their disease.
By night, by day, from pole to pole they run:
Or from the setting seek the rising sun;
No poor deserting soldier makes such haste,
No doves pursu'd by falcons fly so fast;
And when Automedon at length attains
The place he sought for with such cost and pains,
Swift to embrace, and eager to pursue,
He finds he has no earthly thing to do;
Then yawns for sleep, the opium of the mind,
The last dull refuge indolence can find .
Most men, like David, wayward in extremes,
Languish for Ramah's cisterns, and her streams:
The bev'rage sought for comes; capricious, they
Loathe their own choice, and wish the boon away .
Languish for Ramah's cisterns, and her streams:
84
Loathe their own choice, and wish the boon away .
Such was my state. “O gentle Sleep,” I cry'd,
“Why is thy gift to me alone deny'd?
“Mildest of beings, friend to ev'ry clime,
“Where lies my error, what has been my crime?
“Beasts, birds, and cattle feel thy balmy rod;
“The drowsy mountains wave, and seem to nod:
“The torrents cease to chide, the seas to roar,
“And the hush'd waves recline upon the shoar.”
Perhaps the wretch, whose God is wealth and care,
Rejects the precious object of my pray'r:
Th'ambitious statesman strives not to partake
Thy blessings, but desires to dream awake:
“The lover rudely thrusts thee from his arms,
“And like Ixion clasps imagin'd charms.
“Thence come to me.—Let others ask for more;
“I ask the slightest influence of thy pow'r:
“Swiftest in flight of all terrestrial things,
“Oh only touch my eye-lids with thy wings !”
“Why is thy gift to me alone deny'd?
“Mildest of beings, friend to ev'ry clime,
“Where lies my error, what has been my crime?
“Beasts, birds, and cattle feel thy balmy rod;
“The drowsy mountains wave, and seem to nod:
“The torrents cease to chide, the seas to roar,
“And the hush'd waves recline upon the shoar.”
Perhaps the wretch, whose God is wealth and care,
Rejects the precious object of my pray'r:
Th'ambitious statesman strives not to partake
Thy blessings, but desires to dream awake:
“The lover rudely thrusts thee from his arms,
“And like Ixion clasps imagin'd charms.
“Thence come to me.—Let others ask for more;
“I ask the slightest influence of thy pow'r:
85
“Oh only touch my eye-lids with thy wings !”
So spoke I restless; and, then springing light
From my tir'd bed, walk'd forth in meer despite.
What impulse mov'd my steps I dare not say;
Perhaps some guardian-angel mark'd the way.
By this time Phospher had his lamp withdrawn,
And rising Phoebus glow'd on ev'ry lawn.
The air was gentle, [for the month was May,]
And ev'ry scene look'd innocent and gay.
In pious matins birds with birds conspire,—
Some lead the notes, and some assist the choir.
From my tir'd bed, walk'd forth in meer despite.
What impulse mov'd my steps I dare not say;
Perhaps some guardian-angel mark'd the way.
By this time Phospher had his lamp withdrawn,
And rising Phoebus glow'd on ev'ry lawn.
The air was gentle, [for the month was May,]
And ev'ry scene look'd innocent and gay.
86
Some lead the notes, and some assist the choir.
The goat-herd, gravely pacing with his flocks,
Leads them to heaths and bry'rs, and crags and rocks.
Th'impatient mower with an aspect blythe
Surveys the sain-foyn-fields , and whets his scythe.
Ynoisa, Sanchia, Beatrix, prepare
To turn th'Alfalsa-swarths with anxious care.
[No more for Moorish sarabrands they call,
Their castanets hang idle on the wall:]
Alfalsa, whose luxuriant herbage feeds
The lab'ring oxe, mild sheep, and fiery steeds:
Which ev'ry summer, ev'ry thirtieth morn,
I six times re-produc'd, and six times shorn.
The Cembran pine-trees form an awful shade,
And their rich balm perfumes the neighb'ring glade;
[Whilst humbler olives, intermix'd between,
Had chang'd their fruit to filamotte from green:]
The Punic granate op'd its rose-like flow'rs;
The orange breath'd its aromatic pow'rs.
Leads them to heaths and bry'rs, and crags and rocks.
Th'impatient mower with an aspect blythe
Surveys the sain-foyn-fields , and whets his scythe.
Ynoisa, Sanchia, Beatrix, prepare
To turn th'Alfalsa-swarths with anxious care.
[No more for Moorish sarabrands they call,
Their castanets hang idle on the wall:]
Alfalsa, whose luxuriant herbage feeds
The lab'ring oxe, mild sheep, and fiery steeds:
Which ev'ry summer, ev'ry thirtieth morn,
I six times re-produc'd, and six times shorn.
The Cembran pine-trees form an awful shade,
And their rich balm perfumes the neighb'ring glade;
87
Had chang'd their fruit to filamotte from green:]
The Punic granate op'd its rose-like flow'rs;
The orange breath'd its aromatic pow'rs.
Wand'ring still on, at length my eyes survey'd
A painted seat, beneath a larch-tree's shade.
I sate, and try'd to dose, but slumber fled;
I then essay'd a book, and thus I read :
A painted seat, beneath a larch-tree's shade.
I sate, and try'd to dose, but slumber fled;
I then essay'd a book, and thus I read :
“Suppose, O man, great Nature's voice should call
“To thee, or me, or any of us all;
“What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch! thou vain
“Thou mortal thing, thus idly to complain?
“If all the bounteous blessings I could give
“Thou hadst enjoy'd; If thou hadst known to live,
“[And pleasure not leak'd thro' thee like a sieve;]
“Why dost thou not give thanks as at a plenteous feast,
“Cramm'd to the throat with life, and rise and take thy rest?
“But, if my blessings thou hast thrown away,
“If indigested joys pass'd thro' and would not stay,
“Why dost thou wish for more to squander still?
“If life be grown a load, a real ill,
“And I would all thy cares and labours end,
“Lay down thy burthen, fool! and know thy friend.
“To please thee, I have empty'd all my store,
“I can invent and can supply no more:
“But run the round again, the round I ran before.
“Suppose thou art not broken yet with years,
“Yet still the self-same scene of things appears,
“And would be ever, could'st thou ever live;
“For life is still but life, there's nothing new to give.
“What can we plead against so just a bill?
“We stand convicted, and our cause goes ill.
“But if a wretch, a man oppress'd by fate,
“Should beg of nature to prolong his date,
“She speaks aloud to him, with more disdain;
“Be still, thou martyr-fool, thou covetous of pain.
“But if an old decrepid sot lament;
“What thou! she cries, who hast out-liv'd content?
“Dost thou complain, who hast enjoy'd my store?—
“But this is still th'effect of wishing more!
“Unsatisfy'd with all that nature brings,
“Loathing the present, liking absent things.
“From hence it comes, thy vain desires at strife
“Within themselves, have tantaliz'd thy life;
“And ghastly death appear'd before thy sight
“E'er thou hast gorg'd thy soul and senses with delight.
“Now leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age,
“To a fresh comer, and resign the stage.
“To thee, or me, or any of us all;
“What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch! thou vain
“Thou mortal thing, thus idly to complain?
“If all the bounteous blessings I could give
“Thou hadst enjoy'd; If thou hadst known to live,
“[And pleasure not leak'd thro' thee like a sieve;]
88
“Cramm'd to the throat with life, and rise and take thy rest?
“But, if my blessings thou hast thrown away,
“If indigested joys pass'd thro' and would not stay,
“Why dost thou wish for more to squander still?
“If life be grown a load, a real ill,
“And I would all thy cares and labours end,
“Lay down thy burthen, fool! and know thy friend.
“To please thee, I have empty'd all my store,
“I can invent and can supply no more:
“But run the round again, the round I ran before.
“Suppose thou art not broken yet with years,
“Yet still the self-same scene of things appears,
“And would be ever, could'st thou ever live;
“For life is still but life, there's nothing new to give.
“What can we plead against so just a bill?
“We stand convicted, and our cause goes ill.
89
“Should beg of nature to prolong his date,
“She speaks aloud to him, with more disdain;
“Be still, thou martyr-fool, thou covetous of pain.
“But if an old decrepid sot lament;
“What thou! she cries, who hast out-liv'd content?
“Dost thou complain, who hast enjoy'd my store?—
“But this is still th'effect of wishing more!
“Unsatisfy'd with all that nature brings,
“Loathing the present, liking absent things.
“From hence it comes, thy vain desires at strife
“Within themselves, have tantaliz'd thy life;
“And ghastly death appear'd before thy sight
“E'er thou hast gorg'd thy soul and senses with delight.
“Now leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age,
“To a fresh comer, and resign the stage.
“Mean-time, when thoughts of death disturb thy head,
“Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead:
“Ancus, thy better far, was born to die;
“And thou, dost thou bewail mortality ?”
“Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead:
90
“And thou, dost thou bewail mortality ?”
Charm'd with these lines of reason and good sense,
[No matter who the author was, nor whence,]
I stopp'd, and into contemplation fell;
Amaz'd an impious Wit should think so well;
Who often [to his own and reader's cost]
To show the atheist, half the poet lost.
[Knowing too much, makes many a muse unfit;
'Tis not the bloom, but plethory of wit.—]
At length a drowsiness arrested thought,
And sleep [as is her custom] came unsought.
[No matter who the author was, nor whence,]
I stopp'd, and into contemplation fell;
Amaz'd an impious Wit should think so well;
Who often [to his own and reader's cost]
To show the atheist, half the poet lost.
[Knowing too much, makes many a muse unfit;
'Tis not the bloom, but plethory of wit.—]
At length a drowsiness arrested thought,
And sleep [as is her custom] came unsought.
Now listen to the purport of my tale.
Methought I wander'd in a Fairy vale:
Replete with people of each sex and age;
Good, bad, great, small, the foolish, and the sage:
Whilst on the ground promiscuously were laid
Stars, mitres, rags, the sceptre, and the spade.
Methought I wander'd in a Fairy vale:
Replete with people of each sex and age;
Good, bad, great, small, the foolish, and the sage:
91
Stars, mitres, rags, the sceptre, and the spade.
At length a haughty Dame approach'd my view,
Whom by no single attribute I knew;
For all that painters feign, and bards devize,
Is meer mock-imag'ry, and artful lyes.
Boldly she look'd, like one of high degree;
Yet never seem'd to cast a glance on me;
At which I inly joy'd; for, truth to say,
I felt an unknown awe, and some dismay.
She pass'd me: Her side-face was smooth and fair;
[Much as fine women, turn'd of forty, are:]
When, turning short, and un-perceiv'd by me,
She grasp'd my throat, and spoke with stern authority:
“Him, whom I seek, art thou! Thy race is run:
“My journey's ended, and thy bus'ness done.
“Surrender up to me thy captive-breath,
“My pow'r is nature's pow'r, my name is DEATH!”
Whom by no single attribute I knew;
For all that painters feign, and bards devize,
Is meer mock-imag'ry, and artful lyes.
Boldly she look'd, like one of high degree;
Yet never seem'd to cast a glance on me;
At which I inly joy'd; for, truth to say,
I felt an unknown awe, and some dismay.
She pass'd me: Her side-face was smooth and fair;
[Much as fine women, turn'd of forty, are:]
When, turning short, and un-perceiv'd by me,
She grasp'd my throat, and spoke with stern authority:
“Him, whom I seek, art thou! Thy race is run:
“My journey's ended, and thy bus'ness done.
“Surrender up to me thy captive-breath,
“My pow'r is nature's pow'r, my name is DEATH!”
92
Have you e'er seen th'affrighted peasant grasp
[Searching for flow'rs or fruits] th'envenom'd asp?
Or have you ever felt th'impetuous shock,
When the swift vessel splits upon a rock?
Or mark'd a face with horror over-spread,
When the third apoplex invades the head?
Then form some image of my ghastly fright;
Fear stopp'd my voice, and terror dimm'd my sight:
My heart flew from its place in consternation,
And Nature felt a short annihilation:
Then—with a plunge—I sobb'd;—and with faint eyes
Look'd upwards, to the Ruler of the skies .
[Searching for flow'rs or fruits] th'envenom'd asp?
Or have you ever felt th'impetuous shock,
When the swift vessel splits upon a rock?
Or mark'd a face with horror over-spread,
When the third apoplex invades the head?
Then form some image of my ghastly fright;
Fear stopp'd my voice, and terror dimm'd my sight:
My heart flew from its place in consternation,
And Nature felt a short annihilation:
Then—with a plunge—I sobb'd;—and with faint eyes
Look'd upwards, to the Ruler of the skies .
At length—recov'ring—in a broken tone—
Princess—I cry'd,—Thy pris'ner is undone.—
Despair and misery succeed to fear:—
Oh had I known thy presence was so near!
Princess—I cry'd,—Thy pris'ner is undone.—
Despair and misery succeed to fear:—
Oh had I known thy presence was so near!
93
Abrupt th'inexorable Pow'r reply'd,
[Then turn'd her face, and show'd the hideous side:]
Fool! 'tis too late to wish, too late to pray:
Thou hadst the means, but not the will to pay;
Each day of human life is warning-day.
The present point of time is all thou hast,
The future doubtful, and the former past!
Yet, as I read contrition in thy eyes,
And thy breast heaves with terror and surprize,
[I, who as yet was never known to show
False pity to premeditated woe]
Will graciously explain great nature's laws,
And hear thy sophisms in so plain a cause.
There is a reason, [which to time I leave]
Why I give thee alone this short reprieve .
Banish thy fears, urge all thy wit can find,
Suppose me what I am, suppose thy self mankind!
[Then turn'd her face, and show'd the hideous side:]
Fool! 'tis too late to wish, too late to pray:
Thou hadst the means, but not the will to pay;
Each day of human life is warning-day.
The present point of time is all thou hast,
The future doubtful, and the former past!
Yet, as I read contrition in thy eyes,
And thy breast heaves with terror and surprize,
[I, who as yet was never known to show
False pity to premeditated woe]
Will graciously explain great nature's laws,
And hear thy sophisms in so plain a cause.
There is a reason, [which to time I leave]
Why I give thee alone this short reprieve .
Banish thy fears, urge all thy wit can find,
Suppose me what I am, suppose thy self mankind!
94
She spoke, and led me by a private way,
Where a small winding path half-printed lay:
Then, turning short, an avenue we 'spy'd,
Long, smoothly pav'd, magnificently wide.
Dark cypresses the skirting sides adorn'd,
And gloomy eugh-trees, which for ever mourn'd:
Whilst, on the margin of the beaten road,
Its pallid bloom sick-smelling hen-bane show'd;
Next emblematic rose-mary appear'd,
And lurid hemlock its stain'd stalks up-rear'd,
[God's signature to man in evil hour!—]
Nor were the night-shades wanting, nor the pow'r
Of thorn'd Stramonium, nor the sickly flow'r
Of cloying mandrakes; the deceitful root
Of the monk's fraudful cowl , and Plinian fruit .
Hypericon
was there, the herb of war,
Pierc'd thro' with wounds, and seam'd with many a scar:
Add pale nymphæa with her clay-cold breath;
And poppies, which suborn the sleep of death.
Where a small winding path half-printed lay:
Then, turning short, an avenue we 'spy'd,
Long, smoothly pav'd, magnificently wide.
Dark cypresses the skirting sides adorn'd,
And gloomy eugh-trees, which for ever mourn'd:
Whilst, on the margin of the beaten road,
Its pallid bloom sick-smelling hen-bane show'd;
Next emblematic rose-mary appear'd,
And lurid hemlock its stain'd stalks up-rear'd,
[God's signature to man in evil hour!—]
Nor were the night-shades wanting, nor the pow'r
Of thorn'd Stramonium, nor the sickly flow'r
Of cloying mandrakes; the deceitful root
Of the monk's fraudful cowl , and Plinian fruit .
95
Pierc'd thro' with wounds, and seam'd with many a scar:
Add pale nymphæa with her clay-cold breath;
And poppies, which suborn the sleep of death.
This avenue [mysterious to relate]
Surpriz'd me much, and warn'd me of my fate.
Its length at first approach enormous seem'd;
Full half a thousand stadia as I deem'd:
But then the road was smooth and fair to see;
[With such insensible declivity]
That what men thought a tedious course to run,
Was finish'd oft the hour it first begun.
Surpriz'd me much, and warn'd me of my fate.
Its length at first approach enormous seem'd;
Full half a thousand stadia as I deem'd:
But then the road was smooth and fair to see;
[With such insensible declivity]
That what men thought a tedious course to run,
Was finish'd oft the hour it first begun.
96
Sudden, arriving at a palace-gate,
I saw a spectre in the portal wait:
An ill-shap'd monster, hideous to be seen;
She seem'd, methought, the mother of the queen .
I saw a spectre in the portal wait:
An ill-shap'd monster, hideous to be seen;
She seem'd, methought, the mother of the queen .
Opening their valves, self-mov'd on either side,
The adamantine doors expanded wide:
When Death commands they close, when Death commands divide.
Then quick we enter'd a magnific hall,
Where groups of trophies over-spread the wall.
In sable scrawls I Nero's name perus'd,
And Herod's, with a sanguine stain suffus'd;
While Numa's name adorn'd a radiant place,
And that of Titus deck'd a milk-white space.
The adamantine doors expanded wide:
When Death commands they close, when Death commands divide.
Then quick we enter'd a magnific hall,
Where groups of trophies over-spread the wall.
In sable scrawls I Nero's name perus'd,
And Herod's, with a sanguine stain suffus'd;
While Numa's name adorn'd a radiant place,
And that of Titus deck'd a milk-white space.
Now, cry'd the Pow'r of Death, survey me well:
Thy shame, remorse, and disappointment tell;
Why dost thou tremble still, and whence thy dread?
Why shake thy lips, and why thy colour fled?
Speak, vassal, recognize thy sov'reign Queen:
Hast thou ne'er seen me? Know'st thou not me, seen?
Thy shame, remorse, and disappointment tell;
Why dost thou tremble still, and whence thy dread?
Why shake thy lips, and why thy colour fled?
97
Hast thou ne'er seen me? Know'st thou not me, seen?
“Liege-mistress, whom the greatest Kings adore,
“I own my homage, and confess thy pow'r.
“Alone, that sov'reignty on earth is thine,
“Which justly proves its claim to right divine:
“Thine is the old hereditary sway,
“Which mortals ought, and mortals must obey.
“But, Empress, thou hast not the form I deem'd:
“Velasquez painted lies, and Camoëns dream'd:
“I thought to meet, [as late as Heav'n might grant!]
“A skeleton, ferocious, tall, and gaunt;
“Whose loose teeth in their naked sockets shook,
“And grinn'd terrific, a Sardonian look .
“I thought, besides, thy right-hand aim'd a dart,
“Resistless, to transpierce the human heart,
“And that thy likeness of a head sustain'd
“A regal crown : But all was false, or feign'd.”
“I own my homage, and confess thy pow'r.
“Alone, that sov'reignty on earth is thine,
“Which justly proves its claim to right divine:
“Thine is the old hereditary sway,
“Which mortals ought, and mortals must obey.
“But, Empress, thou hast not the form I deem'd:
“Velasquez painted lies, and Camoëns dream'd:
“I thought to meet, [as late as Heav'n might grant!]
“A skeleton, ferocious, tall, and gaunt;
“Whose loose teeth in their naked sockets shook,
“And grinn'd terrific, a Sardonian look .
98
“Resistless, to transpierce the human heart,
“And that thy likeness of a head sustain'd
“A regal crown : But all was false, or feign'd.”
“I see thee now, delusive as thou art,
“Without one symbol to alarm the heart:
“Not ev'n upon thy flowing vest is shown
“An emblematic dart, or charnel-bone;
“I rather see it, glorious to behold,
“With rubies edg'd, and purfled o'er with gold:
“Gay annual flow'rs adorn each vacant space,
“Of short-liv'd beauty, and uncertain grace.—
“Artificer of fraud and deep disguise!
“Prompt to perform, ingenious to surprize:
“In ev'ry light [as far as man can see
“By thy consent] supreme Hypocrisy!
“Punish thy hopeless captive if he lies.—
“Instead of a scalp'd skull, and empty eyes,
“Bones without flesh, and [as we all suppose]
“Vacuity of lips, and cheeks, and nose,
“[So dextrous is thy sorcery and care!]
“I see a woman tolerably fair.
“Without one symbol to alarm the heart:
“Not ev'n upon thy flowing vest is shown
“An emblematic dart, or charnel-bone;
“I rather see it, glorious to behold,
“With rubies edg'd, and purfled o'er with gold:
“Gay annual flow'rs adorn each vacant space,
“Of short-liv'd beauty, and uncertain grace.—
“Artificer of fraud and deep disguise!
“Prompt to perform, ingenious to surprize:
“In ev'ry light [as far as man can see
“By thy consent] supreme Hypocrisy!
99
“Instead of a scalp'd skull, and empty eyes,
“Bones without flesh, and [as we all suppose]
“Vacuity of lips, and cheeks, and nose,
“[So dextrous is thy sorcery and care!]
“I see a woman tolerably fair.
“Instead of sable robes and mournful geer,
“Camelion-like, a thousand garbs you wear,
“Nor bear the black and solemn thrice a year;
“Drest in gay robes, whose shifting colours show
“The varying glories of the show'ry bow,
“Glowing with waves of gold; sea-tinctur'd green,
“Rich azure, and the bloomy gridéline .
“Camelion-like, a thousand garbs you wear,
“Nor bear the black and solemn thrice a year;
“Drest in gay robes, whose shifting colours show
“The varying glories of the show'ry bow,
“Glowing with waves of gold; sea-tinctur'd green,
“Rich azure, and the bloomy gridéline .
“Thus in appearances you cheat us all,
“Plan our disgraces, and contrive our fall;
“Something you show, that ev'ry fool may hit,
“With mirth you treat, and bait that mirth with wit:
“False hopes, the loves and graces of your train,
“[Pimps to the great, th'ambitious, and the vain,]
“Summon your guests, and in attendance wait;
“While You, like eastern queens, conceal'd in state,
“O'erlook the whole; th'audacious jest refine,
“Smile on the feast , and sparkle in the wine.
“Arachne thus in ambush'd covert lies;
“Wits, atheists, jobbers, statesmen, are the flies.
“Doom'd to be lost, they dream of no deceit,
“And, fond of ruin, over-look the cheat;
“Pride stands for joy, and riches for delight:—
“Weak men love weakness, in their own despite;
“And, finding in their native funds no ease,
Assume the garb of fools and hope to please.—
“Wretches when sick of life for rats-bane call:
“'Twere worth our while to give them fool-bane all:
“Since by degrees each mis-conceiving elf
“Is ruin'd, not by nature, but himself.
“Plan our disgraces, and contrive our fall;
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“With mirth you treat, and bait that mirth with wit:
“False hopes, the loves and graces of your train,
“[Pimps to the great, th'ambitious, and the vain,]
“Summon your guests, and in attendance wait;
“While You, like eastern queens, conceal'd in state,
“O'erlook the whole; th'audacious jest refine,
“Smile on the feast , and sparkle in the wine.
“Arachne thus in ambush'd covert lies;
“Wits, atheists, jobbers, statesmen, are the flies.
“Doom'd to be lost, they dream of no deceit,
“And, fond of ruin, over-look the cheat;
“Pride stands for joy, and riches for delight:—
“Weak men love weakness, in their own despite;
“And, finding in their native funds no ease,
Assume the garb of fools and hope to please.—
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“'Twere worth our while to give them fool-bane all:
“Since by degrees each mis-conceiving elf
“Is ruin'd, not by nature, but himself.
“Too late I see thy fraudful face entire:
“One Half half-mimics health; half-means desire;
“And, tho' true youth and nature have no part,
“Yet paint enlivens it, and wiles, and art;
“Colours laid on with a true harlot-grace;
“They only show themselves, and hide the face.
“The other Half is hideous to behold,
“Ugly as grandame-apes, and full as old.
“There time has spent the fury of his course,
“And plough'd and harrow'd with repeated force:
“One blinking eye with scalding rheum suffus'd,
“A leg contracted, and an arm disus'd;
“An half-liv'd emblem, fit for man to see;
“An hemiplegia of deformity!
“One Half half-mimics health; half-means desire;
“And, tho' true youth and nature have no part,
“Yet paint enlivens it, and wiles, and art;
“Colours laid on with a true harlot-grace;
“They only show themselves, and hide the face.
“The other Half is hideous to behold,
“Ugly as grandame-apes, and full as old.
“There time has spent the fury of his course,
“And plough'd and harrow'd with repeated force:
“One blinking eye with scalding rheum suffus'd,
“A leg contracted, and an arm disus'd;
“An half-liv'd emblem, fit for man to see;
“An hemiplegia of deformity!
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“But, Princess, to thy cunning be it known,
“This emblematic side is rarely shown;
“Man would start back if wedded to the crone.
“Side-long it is your custom to advance,
“Show the fair Half, and hide the foul, askance;
“And, like a vet'ran tempter, cast an eye
“Of glancing blandishment in passing by.
“This emblematic side is rarely shown;
“Man would start back if wedded to the crone.
“Side-long it is your custom to advance,
“Show the fair Half, and hide the foul, askance;
“And, like a vet'ran tempter, cast an eye
“Of glancing blandishment in passing by.
“By stealing side-ways with a silent pace
“Man rarely sees the moral of your face:
“And [what's the dang'rous frenzy of the whim]
“Concludes, you've no immediate call for him.
“Adjoin to this, your necromantic pow'r,
“Contracting half an age to half an hour.
“Just so the cyphers from the unit fled,
“When Malicorn the demon's contract read .
“The unit in the fore-most column stood,
“And the two cyphers were obscur'd with blood .
“Man rarely sees the moral of your face:
“And [what's the dang'rous frenzy of the whim]
“Concludes, you've no immediate call for him.
“Adjoin to this, your necromantic pow'r,
“Contracting half an age to half an hour.
“Just so the cyphers from the unit fled,
“When Malicorn the demon's contract read .
“The unit in the fore-most column stood,
“And the two cyphers were obscur'd with blood .
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“Two other mistress-arts You make your own;
“To Circe and Urganda arts unknown:
“When men look on you, and your steps survey,
“You seem to glide a slant another way:
“But the first moment they withdraw their eye
“Swift you take wing, and like a vulture fly,
“Which snuffs the distant quarry in the wind,
“And marks the carcass she is sure to find.—
“The next deception is more wond'rous still;
“O grand artificer of fraud and ill!
“When the sick man up-lifts the sash t'inhale
“Th'enlivening breezes of the western gale,
“To snatch one glympse of ease from flow'ry fields,
“And [fancying] taste the joy which nature yields;
“Far as the landscape's verge admits his view,
“He sees a phantom, and concludes it you.
“A gleam of courage then relieves his breast,
“Be calm my soul, he cries, and take thy rest :
“When at that moment, dreadful to relate,
“[For all but he that ought observe his fate,]
“The wife, the son, the friend perceive thee stand
“Behind his curtains with up-lifted hand,
“Thee, real Thee! to drive the deadly dart,
“And at one sudden stroke transpierce the heart!”
“To Circe and Urganda arts unknown:
“When men look on you, and your steps survey,
“You seem to glide a slant another way:
“But the first moment they withdraw their eye
“Swift you take wing, and like a vulture fly,
“Which snuffs the distant quarry in the wind,
“And marks the carcass she is sure to find.—
“The next deception is more wond'rous still;
“O grand artificer of fraud and ill!
“When the sick man up-lifts the sash t'inhale
“Th'enlivening breezes of the western gale,
“To snatch one glympse of ease from flow'ry fields,
“And [fancying] taste the joy which nature yields;
104
“He sees a phantom, and concludes it you.
“A gleam of courage then relieves his breast,
“Be calm my soul, he cries, and take thy rest :
“When at that moment, dreadful to relate,
“[For all but he that ought observe his fate,]
“The wife, the son, the friend perceive thee stand
“Behind his curtains with up-lifted hand,
“Thee, real Thee! to drive the deadly dart,
“And at one sudden stroke transpierce the heart!”
Culprit, thou hast thy piteous story told,
As trite as Priam's tale, and twice as old,
Reply'd the Queen: Painters and bards, 'tis true,
Have neither sung me right, nor justly drew:
I am not the gaunt spectre they devize
With chap-fall'n mouth, and with extinguish'd eyes.—
Whether enlighten'd with an heav'nly ray,
Or whether thou hast better guess'd than they,
I say not; yet thus much I must confess,
Thy knowledge is superior, or thy guess.
I own the feign'd retreat, th'oblique advance,
The flight I take unseen, th'illusive glance,
The blandishments of artificial grace,
The sound, the palsy'd limbs, and double face.
All I contend for, [there the question lies,]
Is this; Let men but look thro' wisdom's eyes,
And death ne'er takes them by a false surprize.
As trite as Priam's tale, and twice as old,
Reply'd the Queen: Painters and bards, 'tis true,
Have neither sung me right, nor justly drew:
I am not the gaunt spectre they devize
With chap-fall'n mouth, and with extinguish'd eyes.—
Whether enlighten'd with an heav'nly ray,
Or whether thou hast better guess'd than they,
105
Thy knowledge is superior, or thy guess.
I own the feign'd retreat, th'oblique advance,
The flight I take unseen, th'illusive glance,
The blandishments of artificial grace,
The sound, the palsy'd limbs, and double face.
All I contend for, [there the question lies,]
Is this; Let men but look thro' wisdom's eyes,
And death ne'er takes them by a false surprize.
Did not thy MAKER, when he gave thee birth,
Create thee out of perishable earth?
Where hot, and cold, the rough, and lenient fight,
The hard, and soft, the heavy, and the light:
Whilst ev'ry atom fretted to decay
The heterogeneous lump of jarring clay?—
Was not just death entail'd on thee and all,
[Such the decree of Heav'n] in Adam's Fall?
The parent-plant receiv'd a taint at root,
Hence the weak branches, hence the sickly fruit.
Create thee out of perishable earth?
Where hot, and cold, the rough, and lenient fight,
The hard, and soft, the heavy, and the light:
Whilst ev'ry atom fretted to decay
The heterogeneous lump of jarring clay?—
Was not just death entail'd on thee and all,
[Such the decree of Heav'n] in Adam's Fall?
106
Hence the weak branches, hence the sickly fruit.
Thus with spring's genial balm and sun-shine fed
The annual flouret lifts its tender head,
In summer blooming, and at winter dead;
Nay, if by chance a lasting plant be found,
Whose roots pierce deep th'inhospitable ground;
Whose verdant leaves, [life's common autumn past]
Bid fair t'out-live the bitter wintry blast,
And green old-age predicts a vernal shoot;—
I lend my hand to pluck both branch and root.—
Man is no more perennial than a flow'r;
Some may live years, some months, and some an hour.
The annual flouret lifts its tender head,
In summer blooming, and at winter dead;
Nay, if by chance a lasting plant be found,
Whose roots pierce deep th'inhospitable ground;
Whose verdant leaves, [life's common autumn past]
Bid fair t'out-live the bitter wintry blast,
And green old-age predicts a vernal shoot;—
I lend my hand to pluck both branch and root.—
Man is no more perennial than a flow'r;
Some may live years, some months, and some an hour.
When first thou gav'st the promise of a man,
When th'embryon-speck of entity began,
Was not the plastic atom at a strife,
'Twixt death ambiguous and a twilight life,
Struggling with dubious shade and dubious light
Like the moon's orb; whilst nations in affright
Hope for new day, but fear eternal night?
When th'embryon-speck of entity began,
Was not the plastic atom at a strife,
'Twixt death ambiguous and a twilight life,
107
Like the moon's orb; whilst nations in affright
Hope for new day, but fear eternal night?
When motionless the half-form'd Fœtus lay,
And doubtful life just gleam'd a glimm'ring ray,
When nature bade the vital tide to roul,
I cloath'd with crust of flesh that gem the soul;
My mortal dart th'immortal stream defil'd,
And the sire's frailties flow'd into the child.
The very milk his pious mother gave
Turn'd poison, and but nurs'd him for the grave .
In ev'ry atom that his frame compos'd
I weak to strong, unsound to sound oppos'd.
Cruel, and proud of a deputed reign,
I ting'd the limpid stream with gloomy pain;
Nor yet contented, in the current threw
Discolour'd sickness of each dismal hue.
Thus from the source which first life's waters gave,
Till their last final home, the ocean-grave,
Infection blends itself in ev'ry wave:
Marasmus, atrophy, the gout, and stone;
Fruits of our parents' folly and our own!
And doubtful life just gleam'd a glimm'ring ray,
When nature bade the vital tide to roul,
I cloath'd with crust of flesh that gem the soul;
My mortal dart th'immortal stream defil'd,
And the sire's frailties flow'd into the child.
The very milk his pious mother gave
Turn'd poison, and but nurs'd him for the grave .
In ev'ry atom that his frame compos'd
I weak to strong, unsound to sound oppos'd.
Cruel, and proud of a deputed reign,
I ting'd the limpid stream with gloomy pain;
108
Discolour'd sickness of each dismal hue.
Thus from the source which first life's waters gave,
Till their last final home, the ocean-grave,
Infection blends itself in ev'ry wave:
Marasmus, atrophy, the gout, and stone;
Fruits of our parents' folly and our own!
To live in health and ease you idly feign;
Man's sprightliest days are intermitting pain.
Changing for worse, and never warn'd by ill,
Still the same bait, the same deception still!
Youth has new times for change, and may command;
Age ventures all upon a losing hand.
The liberty you boast of is a cheat:
Licentiousness lurks under the deceit:
Plenty of means you have, and pow'r to chuse;
Yet still you take the bad, the good refuse.
The freedom of the tempests you enjoy,
Born to o'erturn, and breathing to destroy.
These injure not themselves, the reas'ning elf
Injures alike both others and himself.
Sour'd in his liveliest hours, infirm when strong,
Unsure at safest, and but short when long.
Man's sprightliest days are intermitting pain.
Changing for worse, and never warn'd by ill,
Still the same bait, the same deception still!
Youth has new times for change, and may command;
Age ventures all upon a losing hand.
The liberty you boast of is a cheat:
Licentiousness lurks under the deceit:
Plenty of means you have, and pow'r to chuse;
Yet still you take the bad, the good refuse.
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Born to o'erturn, and breathing to destroy.
These injure not themselves, the reas'ning elf
Injures alike both others and himself.
Sour'd in his liveliest hours, infirm when strong,
Unsure at safest, and but short when long.
Hast thou with anxious care and strictest thought
Made that nice estimate of TIME you ought?
TIME, like the precious di'mond, should be weigh'd;
Caracts, not pounds, must in the scale be laid.
Know'st thou the value of a year, a day,
An hour, a moment, idly thrown away?
Then had thy life been blessedly employ'd,
And all thy minutes sensibly enjoy'd!
What are they now, and whither are they flown?
Th'immortal pain subsists, the mortal pleasure's gone!
Can'st thou recall them?—Impotent and vain!
Or have they promis'd to return again?
Call [if thou can'st] the winged arrow back,
Which lately cut thro' air its viewless track;
Or bid the cataract ascend its source,
Which pour'd from Alpine heights its furious course;
Ah no—Time's vanish'd! and you only find
A cold, un-satisfying scent behind!
Made that nice estimate of TIME you ought?
TIME, like the precious di'mond, should be weigh'd;
Caracts, not pounds, must in the scale be laid.
Know'st thou the value of a year, a day,
An hour, a moment, idly thrown away?
Then had thy life been blessedly employ'd,
And all thy minutes sensibly enjoy'd!
What are they now, and whither are they flown?
Th'immortal pain subsists, the mortal pleasure's gone!
Can'st thou recall them?—Impotent and vain!
Or have they promis'd to return again?
110
Which lately cut thro' air its viewless track;
Or bid the cataract ascend its source,
Which pour'd from Alpine heights its furious course;
Ah no—Time's vanish'd! and you only find
A cold, un-satisfying scent behind!
Foe to delays, œconomist of time,
Thrice-happy Titus, virtuous in thy prime!
In whom the noon-day—or the setting sun
Ne'er saw a work of goodness left un-done.—
Old-age compounds, or [more provoking yet]
Sends a small gift, when Heav'n expects the debt.
Bring not the leavings of thy faint desires
To Him who gives the best, and best requires;
Man mocks his Maker, and derides his law:
Satan has the full ears, and God the straw.
Thrice-happy Titus, virtuous in thy prime!
In whom the noon-day—or the setting sun
Ne'er saw a work of goodness left un-done.—
Old-age compounds, or [more provoking yet]
Sends a small gift, when Heav'n expects the debt.
Bring not the leavings of thy faint desires
To Him who gives the best, and best requires;
Man mocks his Maker, and derides his law:
Satan has the full ears, and God the straw.
Behold the wretch, who long has health enjoy'd,
With gold un-sated and with pow'r un-cloy'd;
Salmoneus-like, to fancy'd greatness rais'd,
With slaves surrounded, and by flatt'rers prais'd:
See him against his nature vainly strive,
The busiest, pertest, proudest thing alive!
[As if beyond the patriarchal date
Exceptive mercy had prolong'd his fate.]
When lo, behind the variegated cloud,
Enwrapt in mists, and muffled in a shrowd,
The dissolution of old-age comes on,
Gouts, palsies, asthmas, jaundice, and the stone:
An hungry, merciless, insatiate band,
Eager as Croats for Death's last command!
Which still repeat their mercenary strain,
Lead us, to add the living to the slain.
With gold un-sated and with pow'r un-cloy'd;
111
With slaves surrounded, and by flatt'rers prais'd:
See him against his nature vainly strive,
The busiest, pertest, proudest thing alive!
[As if beyond the patriarchal date
Exceptive mercy had prolong'd his fate.]
When lo, behind the variegated cloud,
Enwrapt in mists, and muffled in a shrowd,
The dissolution of old-age comes on,
Gouts, palsies, asthmas, jaundice, and the stone:
An hungry, merciless, insatiate band,
Eager as Croats for Death's last command!
Which still repeat their mercenary strain,
Lead us, to add the living to the slain.
Then mark the worldling, and explore him well:
His grief, his shame, and self-conviction tell;
Weak were my joys, he cries, and short their stay:
Pride mark'd the race, and folly pick'd the way.
Can I revoke my mis-directed pow'r?
Where's my lost hope, and where the vanish'd hour?
Curst be that greatness which blind fortune lent;
Curst be that wealth which sprung not from content!
Still, still my conscious memory prevails;
And understanding paints where mem'ry fails!
His grief, his shame, and self-conviction tell;
Weak were my joys, he cries, and short their stay:
Pride mark'd the race, and folly pick'd the way.
112
Where's my lost hope, and where the vanish'd hour?
Curst be that greatness which blind fortune lent;
Curst be that wealth which sprung not from content!
Still, still my conscious memory prevails;
And understanding paints where mem'ry fails!
Allow me next with confidence to say,
[As safely with the strictest truth I may;]
Why dost thou, ideot, senselessly complain,
[Fond of more life, and covetous of pain,]
That I, a tyrant, seize thee by surprize?—
Flames, as she spoke, shot flashing from her eyes,
Dotard! I gave thee warning ev'ry hour;
Announc'd my presence, and proclaim'd my pow'r.
One only bus'ness in the world was thine,
Born but to die! T'exact the payment mine.
If, atheist-like, you blame the just decree,
Attack thy Maker, but exculpate me!
Mortality's coeval with thy breath;
Life is a chain of links which lead to death.
Sleep—wake—run—creep—alike to death you move;
Death's in thy meat, thy wine, thy sleep, thy love.
Know'st thou not me, my warnings, and alarms?
Thou, who so oft hast slumber'd in my arms!
For ever seeing, can'st thou nought descry?
Dead ev'ry night, and yet untaught to die?
[As safely with the strictest truth I may;]
Why dost thou, ideot, senselessly complain,
[Fond of more life, and covetous of pain,]
That I, a tyrant, seize thee by surprize?—
Flames, as she spoke, shot flashing from her eyes,
Dotard! I gave thee warning ev'ry hour;
Announc'd my presence, and proclaim'd my pow'r.
One only bus'ness in the world was thine,
Born but to die! T'exact the payment mine.
If, atheist-like, you blame the just decree,
Attack thy Maker, but exculpate me!
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Life is a chain of links which lead to death.
Sleep—wake—run—creep—alike to death you move;
Death's in thy meat, thy wine, thy sleep, thy love.
Know'st thou not me, my warnings, and alarms?
Thou, who so oft hast slumber'd in my arms!
For ever seeing, can'st thou nought descry?
Dead ev'ry night, and yet untaught to die?
How dar'st thou give thy impious murmurs vent,
Thy self a breathing, speaking monument?
No death is sudden to a wretch like thee,
The emblem of his own mortality!
Above, beneath, within thee, and without,
All things fore-show the stroke, and clear the doubt.
The very apoplex, thy swiftest foe,
Forewarns his coming; and approaches slow;
Sudden confusions interrupt thy brain;
Swift thro' thy temples shoots the previous pain;
Suspicion follows, and mis-giving fear.—
Death always speaks, if man would strive to hear.
Thy self a breathing, speaking monument?
No death is sudden to a wretch like thee,
The emblem of his own mortality!
Above, beneath, within thee, and without,
All things fore-show the stroke, and clear the doubt.
The very apoplex, thy swiftest foe,
Forewarns his coming; and approaches slow;
Sudden confusions interrupt thy brain;
Swift thro' thy temples shoots the previous pain;
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Death always speaks, if man would strive to hear.
Acquit me then of fraudulent surprize:
Leave sophistry to wits; be truly wise;
For, as the cedar falls, it ever lies !
Start not at what we call our latest breath;
The morning of man's real life is death .
Leave sophistry to wits; be truly wise;
For, as the cedar falls, it ever lies !
Start not at what we call our latest breath;
The morning of man's real life is death .
So spake the POW'R, Who never felt controul.
Fear smote my heart, and conscience stung my soul;
Remorse, vexation, shame, and anger strive.—
I wak'd:—and [to my joy] I wak'd alive.
Never was human transport more sincere;—
And the best men may find instruction here.
Fear smote my heart, and conscience stung my soul;
Remorse, vexation, shame, and anger strive.—
I wak'd:—and [to my joy] I wak'd alive.
Never was human transport more sincere;—
And the best men may find instruction here.
Currit agens mannos ad villam hic præcipitanter,
Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans.
Oscitat extemplò tetigit cum limina villæ,
Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quærit.
Lucret. L. III, v 1076.
Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans.
Oscitat extemplò tetigit cum limina villæ,
Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quærit.
Lucret. L. III, v 1076.
All the verses in this Paragraph marked with inverted commas are imitated from a famous passage in Statius, never yet translated into our language. The original perhaps is as fine a morsel of poetry as antiquity can boast of.
Crimine quo merui juvenis placidissime divum
Quóve errore miser, donis ut solus egerem
Somne tuis? Tacet omne pecus, volucresque, feræque;
Et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos.
Nec trucibus fluviis idem sonus. Occidit horror
Æquoris, & terris maria acclinata quiescunt.
At nunc heus aliquis longa sub nocte puellæ
Brachia nexa tenens, ultro te Somne repellit.
Inde veni. Nec te totas infundere pennas
Luminibus compello meis, [hoc turba precatur
Lætior;] extremo me tange cacumine virgæ,
Sufficit; aut leviter suspenso poplite transi.
Sylv. L. V.
Quóve errore miser, donis ut solus egerem
Somne tuis? Tacet omne pecus, volucresque, feræque;
Et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos.
Nec trucibus fluviis idem sonus. Occidit horror
Æquoris, & terris maria acclinata quiescunt.
At nunc heus aliquis longa sub nocte puellæ
Brachia nexa tenens, ultro te Somne repellit.
Inde veni. Nec te totas infundere pennas
Luminibus compello meis, [hoc turba precatur
Lætior;] extremo me tange cacumine virgæ,
Sufficit; aut leviter suspenso poplite transi.
Alfalsa [from the old Arabian word alfalsafat] Lucerne-Grass. At present the Spaniards call it also Ervayè.
A sort of ever-green laryx: Pinus Cembra. This beautiful tree grows wild on the Spanish Appennines, and is raised by culture in less mountainous places. What name the Natives give it I have forgotten; but the French in the Briançois call it meleze, and the Italians in the bishoprick of Trente, in Fiume, &c. give it the name of cirmoli, not lariché.
St. John's Wort. See Gondibert, L. I, Canto 6. This plant is called by us the herb of war, not merely because its juice is of a bloody colour, but because it is one of the principal vulnerary herbs used in making the famous arquebusade-water.—And again, as its leaves are full of little punctures and holes, it is named by Latin writers Porosa, and Perfoliata: The French call it Mille-Pertuis, and the Italians, Perforata.
According to the antients the Herba Sardoä, or apium risûs, [by some supposed to be the water crow-foot] brought on, after being eaten, such horrid convulsions, that the party died grinning, thro' the extremity of agony.
Dryden's Flower and Leaf. “Bright crimson and pure white, sweetly mixed in waves and melting one into the other, make the colour which our ancient poets called gridéline.”
Malicorn was an astrologer advanced in years, but, being ambitious of making a great figure in this world, made over his soul to Satan, upon condition that he enjoyed earthly grandeur for 100 years more. The contract was written, signed and sealed in due form, when lo, at the expiration of one year the evil spirit entered Malicorn's chamber, preceded by thunder and lightning, and demanded him as his forfeit. The astrologer was exceedingly terrified, and, after making many remonstrances, insisted on seeing the original contract; but the cyphers in number 100 were written with evanescent ink, and the figure I only remained legible. The moral of this fiction is incomparable. See Act V, Sc. 5.
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