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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| XIV. |
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| XIV. | XIV. |
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 | Pia Desideria |  |
145
XIV.
I sate down under his Shadow (whom I loved) with great Delight,
Cant. iii. 3.
In a long Journey to an unknown Clime,
Much Ground I Travell'd, and consum'd much Time;
Till weary grown, computing in my Mind,
I thought the shortest of my Way behind.
But when I better had survey'd the Race,
I found there still remain'd the greater Space.
Then my faint Limbs grew feeble with Despair,
Discourag'd at a Journey so severe:
With Hands and Eyes erect, I vent my Grief
To Heav'n, in hope from thence to find Relief.
Much Ground I Travell'd, and consum'd much Time;
Till weary grown, computing in my Mind,
I thought the shortest of my Way behind.
But when I better had survey'd the Race,
I found there still remain'd the greater Space.
Then my faint Limbs grew feeble with Despair,
Discourag'd at a Journey so severe:
With Hands and Eyes erect, I vent my Grief
To Heav'n, in hope from thence to find Relief.
Oh! who will shade me from this scorching Heat?
See on my Head how the fierce Sun-beams beat!
While by their Fervor parch'd, the burning Sand
Torments my Feet, and scarce will let me stand.
Then you I praise, dear Groves, and shady Bowers,
Blest with cool Springs, and sweet refreshing Flow'rs.
Then wish th'expanded Poplar wou'd o'erspread,
Or leavy Apple shade my weary Head.
See on my Head how the fierce Sun-beams beat!
While by their Fervor parch'd, the burning Sand
Torments my Feet, and scarce will let me stand.
Then you I praise, dear Groves, and shady Bowers,
Blest with cool Springs, and sweet refreshing Flow'rs.
146
Or leavy Apple shade my weary Head.
The God whose Aid I oft had sought before,
As often found, now adds this Favour more.
Whither your hast Designs, says he, I know;
Know what you want, and how you want it too.
I know you seek Jerusalem above,
Thither your Life and your Endeavours move:
But with the tedious Pilgrimage dismay'd,
Implore Refreshment from the Apple's shade.
See, see, I come to bring your Pains Relief!
Beneath my Shadow ease your weary Grief.
Behold my Arms stretch'd on the fatal Tree!
With these extended Boughs I'll cover Thee:
Behold my bleeding Feet, my gaping Side!
In these free Coverts thou thy Self mayst hide.
This Shade will grant thee thy desir'd Repose,
This Tree alone for that kind Purpose grows.
As often found, now adds this Favour more.
Whither your hast Designs, says he, I know;
Know what you want, and how you want it too.
I know you seek Jerusalem above,
Thither your Life and your Endeavours move:
But with the tedious Pilgrimage dismay'd,
Implore Refreshment from the Apple's shade.
See, see, I come to bring your Pains Relief!
Beneath my Shadow ease your weary Grief.
Behold my Arms stretch'd on the fatal Tree!
With these extended Boughs I'll cover Thee:
Behold my bleeding Feet, my gaping Side!
In these free Coverts thou thy Self mayst hide.
This Shade will grant thee thy desir'd Repose,
This Tree alone for that kind Purpose grows.
Thus spoke the God, whose Favour thus Exprest,
With Strength inspir'd my Limbs, with Hope my Breast.
I rais'd my Eyes, and there my Love I spy'd;
But, oh! my Love, my Love was Crucify'd!
O what a dismal Scene (I all dismaid
Cry'd out) presents me this unnat'ral Shade.
What Comfort can it yield to wretched Me,
While Thou art hung on this accursed Tree?
Curs'd Tree! and more curs'd Hand by which 'twas set!
The bloody Stains are reeking on it yet!
Yet this fair Tree projects its spreading Boughs,
And with kind cooling Shades invites Repose:
But what it offers still it self denies,
And more to Tears than Sleep inclines my Eyes.
With Strength inspir'd my Limbs, with Hope my Breast.
I rais'd my Eyes, and there my Love I spy'd;
But, oh! my Love, my Love was Crucify'd!
O what a dismal Scene (I all dismaid
Cry'd out) presents me this unnat'ral Shade.
147
While Thou art hung on this accursed Tree?
Curs'd Tree! and more curs'd Hand by which 'twas set!
The bloody Stains are reeking on it yet!
Yet this fair Tree projects its spreading Boughs,
And with kind cooling Shades invites Repose:
But what it offers still it self denies,
And more to Tears than Sleep inclines my Eyes.
Blest Tree! and happy Hand that fix'd thee here!
That Hand deserves the Honour of a Star!
Now, now, my Love, I thy Resemblance know,
My cool, kind, shady Residence below.
As the large Apple spreads its loaden Boughs,
From whose rare Fruit a pleasing Liquor flows:
And, more than all its fellows of the Wood,
Allows the weary Rest, the hungry Food:
Thus thou art, Lord, my Covert in the Heat;
My Drink when Thirsty, and when Hungry, Meat.
How oft, my Love, how oft with earnest Pray'r,
Have I invok'd thy Shade, to Rest me there?
There pensive I'll bewail my wretched State,
Like a sad Turtle widow'd of her Mate;
I'll bathe thy pale dead Lips in a warm Flood,
And from thy Locks I'll wash the clotted Blood:
Thy hanging Head my Hands shall gently raise,
And to my Cheek I'll lay thy gory Face;
Thy wounded Side with watry Eyes I'll view,
And as thy Blood, my Tears shall ever flow:
Flow till my Sight, by their kind Flood reliev'd,
With the sad Object be no longer griev'd.
That Hand deserves the Honour of a Star!
Now, now, my Love, I thy Resemblance know,
My cool, kind, shady Residence below.
As the large Apple spreads its loaden Boughs,
From whose rare Fruit a pleasing Liquor flows:
And, more than all its fellows of the Wood,
Allows the weary Rest, the hungry Food:
Thus thou art, Lord, my Covert in the Heat;
My Drink when Thirsty, and when Hungry, Meat.
How oft, my Love, how oft with earnest Pray'r,
Have I invok'd thy Shade, to Rest me there?
There pensive I'll bewail my wretched State,
Like a sad Turtle widow'd of her Mate;
I'll bathe thy pale dead Lips in a warm Flood,
And from thy Locks I'll wash the clotted Blood:
148
And to my Cheek I'll lay thy gory Face;
Thy wounded Side with watry Eyes I'll view,
And as thy Blood, my Tears shall ever flow:
Flow till my Sight, by their kind Flood reliev'd,
With the sad Object be no longer griev'd.
Yet this one Wound in me will many make,
Till Prostrate at thy Feet my Place I take:
Then I'll embrace again the fatal Tree,
And write this sad Inscription under Thee:
Two Lovers see, who their own Deaths conspire!
She drowns in Tears, while He consumes in Fire.
Till Prostrate at thy Feet my Place I take:
Then I'll embrace again the fatal Tree,
And write this sad Inscription under Thee:
Two Lovers see, who their own Deaths conspire!
She drowns in Tears, while He consumes in Fire.
149
A shadow is made of a Body and Light, and is the Traveller's Covert from the Heat, his Protection from the Storm. The Tree of Life, to wit, the Apple-Tree, is the Holy-Cross; its Fruit is Christ, its Shadow the Refreshment and Defence of Mankind,
Honorius in cap. 2. Cant. apud Delr.
| Pia Desideria | |