Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
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| VIII. | VIII. |
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| XIV. |
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39
VIII.
O that my Head were Waters, and mine Eyes a Fountain of Tears, that I might weep day and night!
Jer. ix. 1.
Oh! that my Head were one vast source of tears,
With bubling Streams as num'rous as my Hairs!
My Face a Plain, which briny Floods should drown,
And scorning Banks, come proudly rolling down.
That Grief with inexhaustible supplies,
Wou'd fill the Cisterns of my flowing Eyes!
Till the fierce Torrents which those Springs impart
Flow down my Breast, and stagnate round my Heart.
With bubling Streams as num'rous as my Hairs!
My Face a Plain, which briny Floods should drown,
And scorning Banks, come proudly rolling down.
That Grief with inexhaustible supplies,
Wou'd fill the Cisterns of my flowing Eyes!
Till the fierce Torrents which those Springs impart
Flow down my Breast, and stagnate round my Heart.
Not all the Tears the Royal Psalmist shed,
With which his Couch was wash'd, himself was fed;
Nor those which once the weeping Mary pour'd,
On the dear Feet of her forgiving Lord;
Nor those which drown'd the great Apostle's Breast,
Whose boasted Zeal shrunk at th'affrighting Test;
Nor these, nor more than these, can e'er suffice,
To cleanse the stains of my Impieties.
Give me the undiscover'd Source of Nile,
That with sev'n Streams o'erflows the Egyptian Soil;
Or, Noah! Let thy Deluge be renew'd.
Till I am drown'd in the impetuous Flood;
Till Tow'rs, and Trees, and Hills appear no more;
All one vast Desart Sea, without a Shore.
With which his Couch was wash'd, himself was fed;
Nor those which once the weeping Mary pour'd,
On the dear Feet of her forgiving Lord;
Nor those which drown'd the great Apostle's Breast,
Whose boasted Zeal shrunk at th'affrighting Test;
Nor these, nor more than these, can e'er suffice,
To cleanse the stains of my Impieties.
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That with sev'n Streams o'erflows the Egyptian Soil;
Or, Noah! Let thy Deluge be renew'd.
Till I am drown'd in the impetuous Flood;
Till Tow'rs, and Trees, and Hills appear no more;
All one vast Desart Sea, without a Shore.
O that these Fountains wou'd their Course begin
And flow as fast as I made haste to sin!
The weeping Limbecks never shou'd give o're,
Till their last drop had emptied all their Store.
Happy ye Fountains which for ever flow,
Whose endless Streams no Drowth or Summer know,
O that my Eyes had all the Drops which fell
From this fair Spring, or that eternal Well!
How do I grudge the Clouds their envy'd Rain!
How wish the boundless Treasures of the Main!
Then shou'd my Tears, like that, just motion keep,
And I shou'd take a strange delight to weep.
Nor the swift current of my Grief forbid,
Till in the Waves this little World were hid;
Hid, as the neighb'ring Valleys are o'respread,
When the warm Sun melts Pindus snowy head.
The great Assyrian, found in Jordan's Seas,
A happy Med'cine for his foul Disease;
But what kind Torrent will my Cure begin,
And cleanse my filthier Leprosie of Sin?
And flow as fast as I made haste to sin!
The weeping Limbecks never shou'd give o're,
Till their last drop had emptied all their Store.
Happy ye Fountains which for ever flow,
Whose endless Streams no Drowth or Summer know,
O that my Eyes had all the Drops which fell
From this fair Spring, or that eternal Well!
How do I grudge the Clouds their envy'd Rain!
How wish the boundless Treasures of the Main!
Then shou'd my Tears, like that, just motion keep,
And I shou'd take a strange delight to weep.
Nor the swift current of my Grief forbid,
Till in the Waves this little World were hid;
Hid, as the neighb'ring Valleys are o'respread,
When the warm Sun melts Pindus snowy head.
The great Assyrian, found in Jordan's Seas,
A happy Med'cine for his foul Disease;
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And cleanse my filthier Leprosie of Sin?
See! from my Saviour's side a stream of Blood!
I'll bath my self in that Redeeming Flood:
That healing Torrent was on purpose spilt,
To wash my Stains, and expiate all my Guilt.
That ever-flowing Ocean will suffice
For the defect of my exhausted Eyes.
I'll bath my self in that Redeeming Flood:
That healing Torrent was on purpose spilt,
To wash my Stains, and expiate all my Guilt.
That ever-flowing Ocean will suffice
For the defect of my exhausted Eyes.
If I were all dissolv'd to Tears, and those not only some few drops, but an Ocean or a Deluge, I should never weep enough.
Hieron. in Jerem. cap. 9.
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