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 |
 |
|
| 1. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 2. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 3. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | Pia Desideria |  |
187
VII.
Wo is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech, and to have my Habitation among the Tents of Kedar!
Psal. cxx. 4.
Still does the Sun with usual Motion steer
The Revolutions of the circling Year?
Or Gibeon's wondrous Solstice is renew'd,
When at the mighty Joshua's Beck he stood?
Or is his Motion now grown Retrograde,
As when he turn'd the Hebrew Dial's shade?
Why else shou'd I, who now am past the Age
Allow'd to tread this World's unhappy Stage?
Why shou'd I be deny'd an Exit, now
I've play'd my part, and have no more to do?
Is there on Earth a Blessing to repair
Th'injurious force of my Detainer there?
How wou'd I welcom any fav'ring Death,
To ease me of the burthen of my Breath?
By one sure stroke, kind Fate, my Soul reprieve!
For 'tis continual Dying here to Live.
Here our chief Bliss is an uncertain Joy,
Which swift vicissitudes of Ill destroy:
Just as the Sun, who rising bright and gay,
In Clouds and Show'rs concludes the weeping Day.
So boist'rous Gusts oft tender Flow'rs invade,
By tempting Winds too soon abroad betray'd.
The Revolutions of the circling Year?
Or Gibeon's wondrous Solstice is renew'd,
When at the mighty Joshua's Beck he stood?
Or is his Motion now grown Retrograde,
As when he turn'd the Hebrew Dial's shade?
Why else shou'd I, who now am past the Age
Allow'd to tread this World's unhappy Stage?
Why shou'd I be deny'd an Exit, now
I've play'd my part, and have no more to do?
Is there on Earth a Blessing to repair
Th'injurious force of my Detainer there?
How wou'd I welcom any fav'ring Death,
To ease me of the burthen of my Breath?
By one sure stroke, kind Fate, my Soul reprieve!
For 'tis continual Dying here to Live.
188
Which swift vicissitudes of Ill destroy:
Just as the Sun, who rising bright and gay,
In Clouds and Show'rs concludes the weeping Day.
So boist'rous Gusts oft tender Flow'rs invade,
By tempting Winds too soon abroad betray'd.
Here, envious of each others Settlement,
All Things contend each other to Supplant:
The second Minute drives the first away,
And Night's impatient to succeed the Day:
The eager Summer thinks the Spring too long,
And Autumn frets that Summer is not gone:
But Autumn's self to Winter must give way,
Lest its cold Frosts o'ertake and punish his delay.
All Things contend each other to Supplant:
The second Minute drives the first away,
And Night's impatient to succeed the Day:
The eager Summer thinks the Spring too long,
And Autumn frets that Summer is not gone:
But Autumn's self to Winter must give way,
Lest its cold Frosts o'ertake and punish his delay.
Behold you Sea, how smooth, without a frown?
See, while I speak, how curl'd, how rough 'tis grown?
Look, how serene's the Sky, how calm the Air?
Now, hark, it thunders round the Hemisphere!
This great unconstancy of humane State
Corrupts each Minute of our happy Fate.
But, oh! the worst of Ills is still behind,
The rav'nous Converse with our Beastly kind.
Sure Nature first in Anger did intend
A plague of Monsters o'er the World to send;
Then brought forth her most brutish Off-spring Men,
And turn'd each House into a savage Den.
In this rapacious Species we may find
All that's destructive in the preying kind;
Lion, Woolf, Tyger, Bear, and Crocodile,
Strong to devour, and cunning to beguile:
These Beasts are led to Prey by appetite,
And that once pleas'd, no more in Blood delight;
But Man, like Hell, has an insatiate Thirst,
And still is keenest when so full to burst.
This raises Fraud, makes Treach'ry fine and gay,
While banish'd Justice flies disrob'd away:
This fills the World with loud Allarms of War,
And turns the peaceful Plow-share to a hostile Spear.
Who wou'd be Slave to such a tyrant Life,
That still engages him in Noise and Strife?
Long since, alas! I did my Years compleat,
And serv'd for Freedom, still deny'd by Fate.
When I compute to what a Price amount
My mispent Days, I'm Bankrupt in th'Account.
Oh! what strange Frenzy does those Men possess,
Who rashly deem long Life a Happiness?
They sure are Strangers to the Joys above,
Who more than Home a wretched Exile love.
But Heav'n's remote, and its far-distant Bliss
Appears Minute to our mistaken Eyes.
Ah! why, my Country, art thou plac'd so far,
That I am still a tedious Wanderer?
See, while I speak, how curl'd, how rough 'tis grown?
Look, how serene's the Sky, how calm the Air?
Now, hark, it thunders round the Hemisphere!
This great unconstancy of humane State
Corrupts each Minute of our happy Fate.
But, oh! the worst of Ills is still behind,
The rav'nous Converse with our Beastly kind.
Sure Nature first in Anger did intend
A plague of Monsters o'er the World to send;
189
And turn'd each House into a savage Den.
In this rapacious Species we may find
All that's destructive in the preying kind;
Lion, Woolf, Tyger, Bear, and Crocodile,
Strong to devour, and cunning to beguile:
These Beasts are led to Prey by appetite,
And that once pleas'd, no more in Blood delight;
But Man, like Hell, has an insatiate Thirst,
And still is keenest when so full to burst.
This raises Fraud, makes Treach'ry fine and gay,
While banish'd Justice flies disrob'd away:
This fills the World with loud Allarms of War,
And turns the peaceful Plow-share to a hostile Spear.
Who wou'd be Slave to such a tyrant Life,
That still engages him in Noise and Strife?
Long since, alas! I did my Years compleat,
And serv'd for Freedom, still deny'd by Fate.
When I compute to what a Price amount
My mispent Days, I'm Bankrupt in th'Account.
Oh! what strange Frenzy does those Men possess,
Who rashly deem long Life a Happiness?
They sure are Strangers to the Joys above,
Who more than Home a wretched Exile love.
But Heav'n's remote, and its far-distant Bliss
Appears Minute to our mistaken Eyes.
190
That I am still a tedious Wanderer?
Happier the Exiles of old Heathen Rome,
Whom only Tiber did divide from Home!
While to remoter Banishment design'd,
A vast Abyss 'twixt Heav'n and Me I find.
The Hebrew Slaves were freed i'th' Jubilee;
Unhappier Vassal! I shall ne'er be free.
The swift fore runner of the welcom Spring
Finds after Winter's cold a time to Sing:
She who did long in dark Recesses lie,
Now flies abroad, and re-salutes the Sky.
But still I live excluded from above,
Deny'd the Object of my Bliss and Love.
Haste, haste my God, and take me up to Thee;
There let me live, where I was made to be:
Or if my Body's freedom's not design'd,
So soon, at least, I will be there in Mind.
Whom only Tiber did divide from Home!
While to remoter Banishment design'd,
A vast Abyss 'twixt Heav'n and Me I find.
The Hebrew Slaves were freed i'th' Jubilee;
Unhappier Vassal! I shall ne'er be free.
The swift fore runner of the welcom Spring
Finds after Winter's cold a time to Sing:
She who did long in dark Recesses lie,
Now flies abroad, and re-salutes the Sky.
But still I live excluded from above,
Deny'd the Object of my Bliss and Love.
Haste, haste my God, and take me up to Thee;
There let me live, where I was made to be:
Or if my Body's freedom's not design'd,
So soon, at least, I will be there in Mind.
191
There are two Tormentors of the Soul, which do not torture it together, but by turns; their names are Fear and Grief: When it is well with you, you fear; when ill, you grieve.
Aug. Serm. 43.
| Pia Desideria | |