Anacreon Bion. Moschvs. Kisses, by Secundus. Cvpid crvcified, by Ausonius. Venvs vigils, Incerto Authore [by Thomas Stanley] |
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BION.
Epitaph on Adonis.
Idyll. I.
Adonis
I lament; he's dead! the fair
Adonis dead is! Loves his mourners are;
Venus, no more in Scarlet coverings rest,
Rise cloth'd in Black; & beating thy sad breast,
Adonis dead is, to the World declare;
I wail Adonis, Loves his mourners are.
Adonis dead is! Loves his mourners are;
Venus, no more in Scarlet coverings rest,
Rise cloth'd in Black; & beating thy sad breast,
Adonis dead is, to the World declare;
I wail Adonis, Loves his mourners are.
On barren Mountains doth Adonis ly,
A Boares white tusk hath gor'd his whiter thigh:
His short Pants Venus grieve; black blood distains
His snowy Skin, his Eye no life retains:
The Rose is from his pale Lip fled, with it
Died that dear Kiss which Venus nere will quit:
His liveless kiss to Venus pleasing is,
But dead Adonis not perceiv'd her kiss.
I wail Adonis, Loves his mourners are.
A Boares white tusk hath gor'd his whiter thigh:
His short Pants Venus grieve; black blood distains
His snowy Skin, his Eye no life retains:
The Rose is from his pale Lip fled, with it
Died that dear Kiss which Venus nere will quit:
His liveless kiss to Venus pleasing is,
But dead Adonis not perceiv'd her kiss.
I wail Adonis, Loves his mourners are.
In young Adonis thigh a deep deep wound,
But deeper far in Venus breast is found.
His lov'd Hounds o're the Boy a howling keep,
And all the mountain-Nymphs about him weep;
Venus, with hair disshevel'd, through the groves
Frantick, in loose attire and barefoot roves;
About her legs the blood-stain'd brambles cling,
And the wide valleys with her shrill cries ring,
She calls her Boy, her lov'd Assyrian Spouse,
Whilst bubling gore, sprung from his thigh, oreflows
His breast; the whiteness which so late orespread
His limbs, is now converted into red.
I wail Adonis Loves his, &c.
But deeper far in Venus breast is found.
His lov'd Hounds o're the Boy a howling keep,
And all the mountain-Nymphs about him weep;
Venus, with hair disshevel'd, through the groves
Frantick, in loose attire and barefoot roves;
About her legs the blood-stain'd brambles cling,
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She calls her Boy, her lov'd Assyrian Spouse,
Whilst bubling gore, sprung from his thigh, oreflows
His breast; the whiteness which so late orespread
His limbs, is now converted into red.
I wail Adonis Loves his, &c.
Her beauty with her beauteous Spouse she lost
Whilst her Adonis liv'd Venus could boast
Her form; but that (alas) did with him dy:
Mountains and Oaks, Ah poor Adonis cry;
Rivers Cythera's miseries resent;
And Fountains young Adonis losse lament;
Flowers are with grief turn'd purple; all the Hills
And City with her sad shrieks Venus fills
Whilst her Adonis liv'd Venus could boast
Her form; but that (alas) did with him dy:
Mountains and Oaks, Ah poor Adonis cry;
Rivers Cythera's miseries resent;
And Fountains young Adonis losse lament;
Flowers are with grief turn'd purple; all the Hills
And City with her sad shrieks Venus fills
Poor Venus thy Adonis murther'd lies!
Adonis murther'd lies, Eccho replies.
Thy hapless love tears from all eyes would draw;
Soon as Adonis ghastly wound She saw,
Soon as his thigh which bath'd in black gore lay,
Spreading her arms She cries, Adonis stay,
Hapless Adonis stay but till I twine
Thee in my arms, and mix my lips with thine;
Adonis wake so short a while, to give
A dying kisse but whilst a kisse may live;
Thy fleeting spirit to my breast bequeath,
And I will suck Loves Nectar in thy breath,
Thy love Ile drink, and in Adonis sted
Will keep that kisse when thou unkinde art fled,
Fled far Adonis, gone to Acheron
To the deaf King, and I left all alone
As Goddess am to follow thee denied.
Take my Spouse Proserpine, thy power's more wide
Then mine; to thee and Pluto all that's fair
Devolves; unhappy Me lost in despair,
Jealous of thee for my Adonis dead!
He's dead, and like a dream our loves are fled.
Venus a widow, Loves are Orphans now,
My Cestus lost with Thee: why huntedst thou?
To cope with beasts thy softness was not made:
Thus Venus mourns whilst Loves her sorrows aid.
Adonis murther'd lies, Eccho replies.
Thy hapless love tears from all eyes would draw;
Soon as Adonis ghastly wound She saw,
Soon as his thigh which bath'd in black gore lay,
Spreading her arms She cries, Adonis stay,
Hapless Adonis stay but till I twine
Thee in my arms, and mix my lips with thine;
Adonis wake so short a while, to give
A dying kisse but whilst a kisse may live;
Thy fleeting spirit to my breast bequeath,
And I will suck Loves Nectar in thy breath,
Thy love Ile drink, and in Adonis sted
Will keep that kisse when thou unkinde art fled,
Fled far Adonis, gone to Acheron
To the deaf King, and I left all alone
As Goddess am to follow thee denied.
Take my Spouse Proserpine, thy power's more wide
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Devolves; unhappy Me lost in despair,
Jealous of thee for my Adonis dead!
He's dead, and like a dream our loves are fled.
Venus a widow, Loves are Orphans now,
My Cestus lost with Thee: why huntedst thou?
To cope with beasts thy softness was not made:
Thus Venus mourns whilst Loves her sorrows aid.
Poor Venus thy Adonis murder'd lies!
For every drop of blood he shed, her eyes
Let fall a tear, which earth in flowers bestows,
Tears rais'd th'Anemony and Blood the Rose.
For every drop of blood he shed, her eyes
Let fall a tear, which earth in flowers bestows,
Tears rais'd th'Anemony and Blood the Rose.
Adonis, dead Adonis I deplore;
Venus thy husband wail in woods no more;
A bed, a bed is for Adonis made;
On thy bed Venus is Adonis layd;
Lovely in death, dead lovely as in sleep;
Down gently lay him, in soft coverings keep
His body, wrapt in which he slept with thee
On a guilt bed; unhappy though he be
Neglect him not; 'mongst wreaths let him be laid,
Not any flower but with his life did fade:
In sweet Myrrhe-water wash each softer limb,
The sweetness of all waters dy with him!
In purple winding clothes Adonis lies,
Whilst loves about him weep his obsequies,
And strew him with their hair; His Bow one kicks,
His Shafts another; This his Quiver breaks;
His shooe another looses; That stands by
With a gold Bason, whilst this bathes his thigh;
One sits behind, and fans him with his wings:
Loves weep for Cytherea's sufferings.
The wedding garment Hymen in the porch
Cast quite away, and quench the genial torch:
To Elegies our Hymenæals turn,
We for Adonis, we for Hymen mourn:
The Graces (griev'd for Cynara's fair son)
Adonis, to each other say, is gone:
Lowder then thine (Dione) are their cries;
Adonis, in their songs the destinies
Call back Adonis, but their lure disdain'd
He never minds, by Proserpine detain'd.
Dry thy eyes Venus for to day, and keep
Some tears in store, for thou next yeer must weep.
Venus thy husband wail in woods no more;
A bed, a bed is for Adonis made;
On thy bed Venus is Adonis layd;
Lovely in death, dead lovely as in sleep;
Down gently lay him, in soft coverings keep
His body, wrapt in which he slept with thee
On a guilt bed; unhappy though he be
Neglect him not; 'mongst wreaths let him be laid,
Not any flower but with his life did fade:
In sweet Myrrhe-water wash each softer limb,
The sweetness of all waters dy with him!
In purple winding clothes Adonis lies,
Whilst loves about him weep his obsequies,
And strew him with their hair; His Bow one kicks,
His Shafts another; This his Quiver breaks;
His shooe another looses; That stands by
With a gold Bason, whilst this bathes his thigh;
One sits behind, and fans him with his wings:
Loves weep for Cytherea's sufferings.
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Cast quite away, and quench the genial torch:
To Elegies our Hymenæals turn,
We for Adonis, we for Hymen mourn:
The Graces (griev'd for Cynara's fair son)
Adonis, to each other say, is gone:
Lowder then thine (Dione) are their cries;
Adonis, in their songs the destinies
Call back Adonis, but their lure disdain'd
He never minds, by Proserpine detain'd.
Dry thy eyes Venus for to day, and keep
Some tears in store, for thou next yeer must weep.
II.
[A youth (a Fowler) in a shady Grove]
A youth (a Fowler) in a shady GroveAs he a birding went spied runaway Love
Sitting upon a Box-tree branch, and glad
(The Bird seem'd fair) that such a prize he had,
His Gins he all in order doth bestow,
Observing Love who skipt from bough to bough:
Angry at last he watch'd so long in vain,
To an old Husbandman who first did train
Him in that Art he goes, and doth relate
His frustrate sport, and shews him where Love sate.
The old Man shook his hoary head and smil'd;
Pursue (saith he) this Bird no longer Child;
Fly, 'tis an evil beast, whom whilst you can
Avoid thou happy art; but once grown Man
He of himself, who now avoids thy search
Will freely come, and on thy head will pearch.
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III.
[In sleep before me Venus seem'd to stand]
In sleep before me Venus seem'd to stand,Holding young Cupid in her whiter hand,
His eyes cast on the ground; lov'd Swain I bring
My son (saith she) to learn of thee to sing;
Then disappeard; I my old pastoral layes
Began, instructing Cupid in their wayes,
How Pan the Pipe, Minerva found the Flute,
Phœbus the Harp, and Mercury the Lute:
He minds not what I sing, but sings agen
His Mothers acts, the loves of Gods and Men:
What I taught Cupid then, I now forget;
But what he then taught me, remember yet.
IV.
[Fierce Love the Muses fear not, but affect]
Fierce Love the Muses fear not, but affect,And gladly by his steps their own direct;
If One whose Genius is not am'rous try
To sing him they, to teach refusing, fly;
But if some Lover his sweet song begin,
To him they joyfully come thronging in;
This witnesse the disorder of my tongue
When God or Man is subject of my song
But Love and Lycidas; what I compose
Of them in streams of verse untroubled flows.
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V.
[If good my verses are, they will augment]
If good my verses are, they will augmentBy fame the life which Fate already lent;
If bad why longer do I toyl in vain?
Could we indeed a double life obtain
Of Jove or his successive Destinie,
That this for pleasure, that for toyl might be,
Then might we reap the Joyes our Labours sow:
But since the Gods Man but one life allow,
And that more short then other things acquire,
Ah why our selves with labour do we tire?
How long to Gain and Arts will we apply
Our studies, and still more, more riches cry?
We have forgot that we all mortal are,
And what a little part of time we share.
Cleodemus, Myrson.
VI.
Cleod.Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, wch delight
Thee most? wch (Myrson) should thy wish invite?
Doth Winter, when the Earth left unmanur'd
Men are by sloth unto the fire allur'd,
Or fairer Spring best please thee? say which fits
Thy choice? our want of businesse talk permits.
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Men must not censure what the Gods create;
Delightful and divine is every state;
But thou shalt know with which I most am won;
Not Summer, for the scorching of the Sun,
Nor Autumn, for th'unwholsomnesse of fruit,
Nor Winter, for its snows with me doth suit.
Lov'd Spring be all the year! when no excesse
Of heat or cold our spirits doth oppresse;
In Spring are all things fruitful, all things sweet,
Then nights and dayes in even measure meet.
| Anacreon | |