The Autumn Garden :: :: University of Virginia Library

Behold me, of the race that rules the sky!
Not Jupiter a verier God than I;
A sparkling star, compact of dew and flame,
I roll, and from the Bear I take my name.
High overhead, a god, I blaze all night—
But spend with mortal men the hours of light.
In this I emulate an endless line
Of deities, immortal and divine;
Since Jove himself paternally decrees
That Gods should wander over lands and seas,
Should put Man's worship to a private test,
And each investigate what each knows best.

Some rogues, litigious without right or cause,
Suborn false witnesses, defy the laws,
Declare themselves in court, devoid of shame,
Brazen; but back to Heaven we bear each name.
From us the Father learns who weeps for rage,
Powerless to grasp the ravished heritage;
Who, crushed and shattered by a lying oath,
Curses the lawyer, or the law, or both.

Back to his house he creeps, and little dreams
Of Jove's deep knowledge of these desperate schemes.

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But still the guilty wonders, twice or thrice
Earning no boon from costly sacrifice;
With clamorous hymns and fat of many a bull,
Men call Jove just and wise and bountiful,
With no suspicion that from me he wins
An open knowledge of their secret sins;
For, taught by us, the Father from the sky
Lets drop no blessing upon perjury.

If ye are humble, poor and weak, but true,
Honour and happiness shall rain on you,
But lies and shameful greed, though loud in prayer,
Shall find no echo in the empty air.
We watch you still; unseen, in street and mart,
We watch you, and we know you, pure in heart.
Stars all night long, at dawn we fade away,
And put on manhood, and are yours all day;
But of these god-stars gliding from the sky,
Most wild and most tempestuous star am I;
Wild am I when I rise, but when I set
More turbulent and more tempestuous yet.

Now listen, for of elfin storms we sing,
Of waves that on the rocks their burdens fling,
Of homes unroofed, of ships that strike and sink,
Of maidens maddening on death's icy brink,
A father to his child restored at last,
And, on the shores of Love, a lover cast.

These things regard; and with your hands applaud
Invincible Arcturus, foe to fraud.

105

Cornelia apud Inferos

Paraphrased out of Propertius

Cease, Paulus, cease to drench my tomb with tears;
Deaf to your woe the ebon gates of Hell!
When death engulfs our tender mortal years,
Behind a wall of adamant we dwell.
Ev'n if a god could hear your cries and moans,
Deep is the stream, and dark, without a ford;
Beneath the sky there yet is hope; but groans
The buried to the living ne'er restored.
The funeral trumpet sealed my fate for aye,
The crawling flame condemned my shrunken dust;
O what is wedlock, Paulus, what the cry
Of charioteers, the pride of badge or bust?
For all her fame, her happiness, her race,
Cornelia now lies lighter than a cloud.
O cursèd Night, my marshy resting-place,
O winding waters and my liquid shroud!

Too early, yet all innocent, I come;
Father of shades, be clement to my shade.
May Æacus, my judge, be mild and dumb,
And due indulgence for my years be made.
O brethren of his dreadful house, be kind!
O hearken for my doom, each griesly Fate!

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O pause, Ixion! Sisyphus, be blind!
O grasp thy river, Tantalus, and wait!
Be merciful, rude Cerberus, to-day,
And drop the rusty links of thy loose chain.
I for myself will plead my cause; and may
The fell urn whelm me, if I plead in vain.

If noble parentage might e'er avail,
My father's names should consecrate my race;
My mother's ancestry no less prevail;
Both strains of blood were blazoned in my face.
When from my brows the virgin mantle fell,
My tresses bore the fillet of a bride,
And, for a moment, dear, I pleased thee well;
My tomb declares I had no love beside.
Ye ancestors, who in your Roman yoke
Dragged Africa in bondage to your knee,
And thou who in the flush of conquest broke
The pride of Perseus, answer then for me.
The censors blamed me not for light attire;
Never I made your reverend shades to blush.
Cornelia flung no cinders on your fire;
She added to your flame a nobler flush.
Changeless and innocent, my years out-roll;
This way or that no fault with me was found;
My virtues were the mirror of my soul,
And not by custom in a circle bound.
Whatever fate or fame may urge of me,
No matron shrank to seat her at my side,
Not even that rarest maid of Cybele,
Claudia, whom chastity hath deified;

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Nor she, the guardian-priest of Vesta's flame,
Who saw her veil blaze on the living coal;
And thou, Scribonia, from whose race I came,
Only by dying have I grieved thy soul.

A mother's tears, a country's sorrow, these
Have been my glory; Cæsar deigns to mourn;
A sister's daughter in my shade he sees,
And weeps my ashes, tho' a God, forlorn.

Yet have I known love's full beatitude;
Fate hath not torn me from a barren bed;
O Lepidus, O Paulus, tender brood,
From your warm arms, I, lingering, turned and fled.

Twice have I seen high on the curule chair
My brother, consul at the hour I died.
Daughter, be worthy of the name you bear;
Be my ensample at your father's side.
Live as I lived. But, as for me, adieu!
To quit a life so drear, I grow resigned.
The loftiest tribute that is woman's due
Is to be lauded for a virtuous mind.

Dearest, to thee our children I commend;
Up through the dark this plaintive prayer I fling!
Father, a mother's blessing I shall send,
When round thy neck their little fingers cling.

Our kisses on their lips shall be combined;
But though thy heart be breaking, none the less,
Dry those sad eyes, and let our children find
No salt upon the smiling mouth they press.

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Paulus, tired nights are long enough for tears,
And lonely dreams will draw us face to face;
Then when my breaking voice thy fancy hears,
Speak, speak! I shall be present in that place.

But ah! if other nuptials bid rejoice,
If some fresh wife approach with cautious smile,
Children, approve your father's second choice,
And with caresses that new face beguile;
Nor over-loudly praise your Mother dead,
Lest in such open speech ye seem to blame.
But if long woe circles your Father's head,
And consecrates the memory of my name,
Then from to-day look forward to long years,
Soothed by your love through all their vain despair;
The gods above, in pity of my tears,
Grant you long life to be your Father's care.
Happy I was in death, and void of fears,
With all my lov'd ones clustered round me there.

My cause is ended. Rise, my weeping friends;
Bid my pure soul fulfil the gods' behest;
Heav'n opens for me; and my shade ascends
To join the solemn cohorts of the blest.