The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose Now First Collected with a Prefatory Memoir by his Nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere |
 | I. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| 23. |
|
| I. |
|
|
|
| IV. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. |
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
| XCVI. |
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| CI. |
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
| CV. |
| CVI. |
| CVII. |
| CVIII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
|
|
|
TRANSLATION FROM PROSPER AQUITANUS. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XLV. |
| LXVIII. |
| XC. |
 | The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose |  |
TRANSLATION FROM PROSPER AQUITANUS.
“Hinc arbitrium per devia lapsum
Claudiat, &c.”
v. 586.
The bewildered will,
Wanders in ways uncouth and stumbles still,
Never at rest, but ever in the wrong,
Yet eager, indefatigable, strong;
Within the Labyrinthine circle bound,
In every path of error pacing round,
Vain hope, illusive confidence attend,
And guide the victim to his destined end,—
Frantic he rushes on forbidden ground,
Falls in a snare and rises with a wound.
Nay, more to the distracted fallen will,
The grace that saves and heals appears to kill,
Suspending life and motion if applied.
No wonder—if a madman in his pride
Chases the kind physician from his side,
Loath to relinquish what his fever'd brain
Suggests of rank and power, to sink again
In weakness, want, and salutary pain.
Wanders in ways uncouth and stumbles still,
Never at rest, but ever in the wrong,
Yet eager, indefatigable, strong;
Within the Labyrinthine circle bound,
In every path of error pacing round,
Vain hope, illusive confidence attend,
And guide the victim to his destined end,—
Frantic he rushes on forbidden ground,
Falls in a snare and rises with a wound.
Nay, more to the distracted fallen will,
The grace that saves and heals appears to kill,
Suspending life and motion if applied.
No wonder—if a madman in his pride
Chases the kind physician from his side,
Loath to relinquish what his fever'd brain
Suggests of rank and power, to sink again
In weakness, want, and salutary pain.
See the primæval artifice renew'd,
The very fraud of Eden which imbued
The streams of life with poison. Oh, beware,
Heed not the subtle snake—avoid the snare,
Let not the flattering whisper tempt you now,
To feed on venom from the faded bough,—
Faded and broken, blighted at the fall,
Think not the evil diet will recall,
And nourish the Divine similitude,
The angelic form. So pestilent and crude,
It feeds their angry tumour, throbbing rife
In the proud flesh, and from the fruits of life
Drives them with loathing horror—forth they flee,
And with a rabid instinct shun the Tree.
The very fraud of Eden which imbued
476
Heed not the subtle snake—avoid the snare,
Let not the flattering whisper tempt you now,
To feed on venom from the faded bough,—
Faded and broken, blighted at the fall,
Think not the evil diet will recall,
And nourish the Divine similitude,
The angelic form. So pestilent and crude,
It feeds their angry tumour, throbbing rife
In the proud flesh, and from the fruits of life
Drives them with loathing horror—forth they flee,
And with a rabid instinct shun the Tree.
Pieta, Nov. 1821.
| The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose | |