The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

“NAM QUID ALIUD FECERUNT MULTI BONI FIDELES NOSTRI? NONNE ASPICIMUS QUANTO AURO ET ARGENTO ET VESTE SUFFARCINATUS EXIERIT DE ÆGYPTO CYPRIANUS, DOCTOR SUAVISSIMUS ET MARTYR BEATISSIMUS? QUANTO LACTANTIUS? QUANTO VICTORINUS, OPTATUS, HILARIUS, UT DE VIVIS TACEAM? QUANTO INNUMERABILES GRÆCI? QUOD PRIOR IPSE FIDELISSIMUS DEI FAMULUS MOYSES FECERAT, DE QUO SCRIPTUM EST QUOD ERUDITUS FUERIT OMNI SAPIENTIA ÆGYPTIORUM.” S. Aug. De doc. Chr., 1. ii. 61.

231

LUCRETIUS.

I.

Stretching unfathomably at boundless thought
Intensest visions were before him brought,
Unreal shadows; yet his spirit stern
Did still unconscious for that Presence yearn,
Which clothes Itself with circum-ambient day,
Swifter than solar beams or lightning ray.
Grasping infinity, he nothing found,
Then shrunk from vacuum that yawn'd around;
Spread like the blind his hands, therein to clasp
Annihilation in his feeble grasp;
As if some fiend that mock'd him in its place
Left but a shadow in his void embrace.
And thus he fail'd that mystery to scan
The greatness and the littleness of man.

Before him Nature's volume was unroll'd
Sublime, unmeasured, strange, and manifold,
Expatiating there with eager view;
The Ocean, and the vast resplendent Blue,
The Elements, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars
Were but the breathing mighty characters

232

Whereby he read vast Nature, to his soul
Presenting visions of th' unbounded Whole.
With awful horror blends delight divine,
Where bodies traverse depth and height, and shine
Wandering like sheep amid the infinite,
And feed on fields of the ethereal light .

The sounds his burning fancy did rehearse
Were but the songs of the vast Universe,
We hear—and listen to the impassion'd theme,
And catch strange truths in his bewilder'd dream.

Flammea per cœlum pascentes corpora passim.”

Lib. v. 525

233

II. VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE.

Φωναντα συνετοισιν.

[_]

B iii. 907-931.

“Thy joyful home shall welcome thee no more,
“Nor wife, nor children sweet as heretofore
“Snatch the fond kiss, and to thy bosom press'd
“With an unutter'd sweetness fill thy breast.
“To aid thyself and thine no more thy power!
“‘Poor man!’ they say, ‘poor man! one evil hour
“Hath all life's blessings swept from thee away.’
“But thus bewailing they omit to say
“That no desires of these with thee remain;
“Which could their hearts perceive, their words attain,
“From anguish and despair would set them free.
“Thou in thy death for all eternity
“From human griefs and sickness art relieved.
“We by thy dismal tomb, of thee bereaved,
“Weep on insatiably, and left forlorn
“For ever think on thee, for ever mourn. . .

“Thus too when men the festive board around,
“Lifting their cups, with flowery chaplets crown'd,

234

“Say from the heart, ‘Short these enjoyments last
“To feeble man; 'tis soon among the past,
“And then for ever and for ever gone!’
“As if the dead hereafter would bemoan
“Such loss, when all such longings have an end,
“Or thirst for wine would after death attend.”

[_]

Ibid. 1058—1098.

“But wilt thou doubt, and think it hard to die
“Whose life is but a death with wakeful eye?
“The greater part of life in sleep to lie,
“And through the day no less, as one asleep,
“In an unreal dream to laugh and weep:
“Thy mind oppress'd with apprehensions vain,
“Unable oft to find what gives thee pain:
“On all sides, like a drunken man , distress'd,
“In vague uncertainty of thine unrest.

“Thus heavily doth on men's spirits dwell
“A weight of which they seem thus sensible;
“But could they once of this the sources find,
“From whence so great a burden weighs the mind,
“And knew the cause of their own misery,
“They could not spend their lives as now we see,
“Each knowing not, yet seeking still to know
“What he would wish,—fast hurrying to and fro,

235

“As if to throw aside some load of pain,
“To change each place, yet no where to remain

“From a great house one issues forth, o'ercome
“And sated with his home,—then back to home
“As suddenly returns; for he can find
“Abroad nought better than he left behind.
“With headlong haste one to his villa drives,
“As if his walls were burning; there arrives,
“And stands upon the threshold, in disdain
“And hesitation;—should he there remain,
“He sleeps and in oblivion settles down,
“Or starts again and hurries to the town.

“Thus each man from himself attempts to flee,
“But bears within him that same enemy
“From which he would escape, that frets the more,
“Nor doth of his disease the cause explore;
“Which did he well discern he soon would cast
“All other things aside, and to the last
“The nature of man's being strive to know:
“For 'tis not one short hour for weal or woe
“That is at stake,—but all eternity,
“All after death—the life that is to be.”

See Job xii. 25; Ps. cvii. 27.

See Dr. Pusey's Advent Sermons, S. VIII. p. 110.—“Where well-nigh all countenances or motions are full of eagerness, anxiety; all bent on something, seeking, but finding not, because they are seeking all things out of God, all but Himself, except when, here and there, they at last become very emptiness, because they know no more what to seek or find, but have lost themselves.”

236

III. EFFECTS OF SIN IRREMEDIABLE.

[_]

B. iii. 1. 991-1036.

“The things they tell of Acheron profound—
“These are but states we see in life around.
“No wretched Tantalus fears o'er his head
“The o'erhanging stone, trembling with empty dread ;
“But fears of wrath Divine hold man in thrall,
“Lest some impending ill should on him fall.

“There are no birds that feed in Acheron
“On Tityus' breast, nor could they find whereon
“For everlasting ages there to prey,
“Though not on acres nine his huge trunk lay
“But on the whole vast world; nor could he so
“Afford them food for his own endless woe.
“But Tityus is seen among mankind,
“When anxious cares, like vultures of the mind,
“Eat out the vitals, and the heart consume,
“That prostrate lies in love or passion's gloom.

“Sisyphus lives reveal'd before our eyes,
“When the ambitious man for Honour plies
“His heavy wearying task, in deep turmoil,
“Seeking State-power with long-enduring toil,

237

“Then frustrated falls back, and cannot rest.
“This it is up the mountain's adverse breast
“To heave the stone, which from the height again
“Rolls down all hurriedly, and seeks the plain.

“Again;—man's thankless soul to feed and fill
“With good, yet ne'er to satisfy; while still
“The beauteous Seasons, in their annual round,
“Return, with varied fruits and graces crown'd;
“While we throughout unsatisfied remain.
“'Tis this, methinks, the legend will explain
“Of youthful-blooming Maidens, which in vain
“Into the leaky urn the waters pour,
“Yet can in no way fill it evermore.

“Cerberus, Furies, and Tartarean night
“Vomiting horrid steams and void of light,—
“Such things as these there are not, nor can be;—
“But fear in life of some dread penalty
“Atoning dreadful crimes;—the Dungeon-hold,
“Tarpeian rock, Stocks, Tortures manifold,
“Stripes, Executioners, Pitch, Torch, and Lead;
“And e'en if these were wanting, yet the dread
“Of Conscience, with remorseful bodings stern,
“Applies the secret goad and stripes that burn.
“For she in apprehension sees no end
“Of punishments like these, but doth portend
“That they in death grow deeper, and thereon
“Builds the fond tales of fabled Acheron.”

238

The Voice of God spake in the multitude,
The poet heard it not, nor understood;
For man's divining soul foreboded well
Of an Hereafter and of Heaven and Hell:
Though unreveal'd without, yet from within,
In after-fruits of unatoned sin,
Links and beginnings of a chain they saw,
Iron developments and things of awe,
And thence inferred the adamantine law;—
That guilty sufferings, (should no Power forefend,)
Which here begin, pass on, and without end
Or intermission after death attend.
This they perceived, perceiving represent
In subterranean forms of punishment.
The mighty Truth which lay itself behind
Threw forth those legends for the vulgar mind,
Like giant shapes the Magic Lamp pourtrays
On the white wall, where wondering children gaze;
Those lineaments without but manifest
Reasonings that lay within, though unexpress'd;—
Truths which in secret self the spirit learns,
Where Instinct in the soul celestial burns

“Cassa formidine”. .“metus inanis.” “There were they brought in great fear, even where no fear was.” Ps. xiv. 9; liii. 6.

“For even thereafter as a man feareth, so is Thy displeasure.”Ps. xc. 11.

239

IV. BIRTH AND REARING OF MAN.

[_]

B. v. 1. 223.

“Then, like a mariner by cruel waves
“Cast forth, the new-born babe for pity craves,
“Naked and speechless on the cold ground laid,
“Utterly helpless, needing vital aid.
“Upon the shore of being amidst woes,
“Thrust from its mother's womb with struggling throes,
“He fills the place with melancholy cries,
“As one that's born for so great miseries.
“Then cattle, herds, and beasts that range the wild
“No plaything need, nor nurse, whose accents mild
“And broken prattle moulds the lisping tongue;
“But of themselves grow up the woods among.
“Nor need they varied vests for changeful clime,
“Nor arms of moulded form, nor walls sublime
“Their goods to guard; Nature doth all provide,
“Her varied stores have all their wants supplied.”

Such is the external type of man within,
Into a world of sorrow “born in sin,”

240

And from the nakedness and ills of earth
Lifting his cries for a new better birth,
To be “clothed on from Heaven;” for thus forlorn
Better not born at all unless twice born.
Helpless himself, on others he relies
For saving aid, for without aid he dies.
And if on earth the infant's cry of pain
For food and shelter is not rais'd in vain,
Doubtless in Heaven, beyond our mortal sense,
Those speechless cries have their own eloquence;
Telling alike the greatness of his need,
And such sure aids as shall from God proceed.

The cradle left, man's growing wants no less
Not weakness, but a nobler kind express,—
Powers incomplete, sublimer destinies,—
Symbols without, within him mysteries:
Not rear'd as “beasts that perish,” but he still
Needs the formation of a higher Will,
Needs daily new ablutions, growing powers,
Raiment to clothe, and arms, and sheltering towers,
A tongue train'd to new language, ere 'tis given
To have a place amid the ranks of Heaven.

241

V. DREAD OF ANNIHILATION.

[_]

B. iii. 1. 59—81.

“Then Avarice and Ambition, Passions blind,
“Which beyond bounds of Right urge on mankind,
“Associates and ministers of crime,
“To labour nights and days upward to climb.—
“These rankling wounds that tend on mortal breath
“Are but occasion'd by the dread of Death:
“For Shame, Contempt, and Poverty severe
“Apart from sweet and stable life appear,
“Dwelling beside Death's portals. Hence men fear,
“And far, far off to flee them with false dread
“They strive, as from the dwellings of the dead;—
“Inflame sedition, civil wars, and heap
“Wealth upon wealth, slaughter on slaughter, steep
“Their hands in citizens' and kinsmen's blood,
“And find no safety but in solitude.

“'Tis for like cause, the same unconscious dread,
“That Envy pines away and hangs the head,—
“To see another rise before their sight,
“Be gaz'd upon and walk in honour's light,

242

“Themselves in darkness and in dust to lie.
“Others for statues and a name would die:
“Yea, oft so far proceeds this strange dismay,
“To mortal loathing of the light of day,
“Some rather than that misery abide
“From dread of Death by their own hands have died.”

But why this apprehension not to be,
This fear of non-existence, like a sea
Which secretly beneath our nature dwells,
And by some unseen influence heaves and swells;
Oft-times with this tempestuous fury wakes,
And all our being to its centre shakes?
'Tis that God's Breath within us gives to be
Partakers of His own eternity—
For this the unconscious soul toils day and night,
Turns in and out all things of sense and sight,—
For reconciled reunion with its God,—
For this in paths so alien hath it trod,
And through all phases of tumultuous strife
Annihilation flees, and clings to life.
Therefore we thus recoil, and strive to soar
From those sad shapes which sit beside death's door.
Yet but unreal phantoms are they found,
Mists which the vestibule alone surround.

243

For Shame, Contempt, and Poverty severe
With Christ Himself in death's dark shades appear,
And reconciled with them in Him to die
Is to be clothed with His eternity.

244

VI. OCULAR DECEPTIONS.

[_]

B. iv. 388.

“The Ship in which we sail seems at a stand;
“Another seems to pass tho' fix'd to land;
“And hills and plains seem toward the stern to fly,
“While with wing'd sails ourselves are hurrying by.

“The Stars in their ethereal caves above
“Seem motionless, yet doubtless ever move,
“Since they to distant settings, when they rise,
“Haste, with bright bodies measuring out the skies.
“Thus too the Sun and Moon seem fix'd in Heaven,
“While they are on their courses onward driven.

“Mountains amid the sea in distance seen,
“With space for mighty fleets to pass between,
“Appear all one,—one island of firm land
“Together join'd, though far apart they stand.

“Halls seem to turn and columns round to reel
“With boys, when they themselves have ceased to wheel ;

245

“They scarce believe but o'er their heads the hall
“Totters with all its roofs about to fall.

“Her morning beam, trembling with ruddy blaze,
“When Nature o'er the hills begins to raise,
“The Sun upon those hills appears to stand,
“With fervid fires touching them close at hand,
“Scarce twice ten thousand arrow-shots apart
“From us, or scarce five hundred of the dart:—
“Yet 'tween them and the sun huge spaces lie
“Of Ocean, and vast regions of the sky;
“And many thousand climes may intervene
“With varied tribes and forest kinds between.

“Water—a finger's depth—which at our feet
“Stops 'tween the stones within the pavèd street,
“Gives under ground a prospect, vast and deep
“As 'tween the earth and sky the ethereal sweep;
“Clouds down in earth are seen, Heavens as on high,
“And bodies hidden in a wondrous sky.

“In the mid river should our horse stand still,
“We look down on the rapid waters, till
“Borne down athwart on the still horse we seem,
“Labouring confusedly against the stream,
“And, wheresoe'er we look, all we survey,
“Seems flowing down alike, and borne away.

“In porticoes or long arcades that lean
“On pillars of like size, like space between,
“The lengthening vistas seem from end to end
“Contracting, as in distance they extend,

246

“Pavement and roof, right and left sides draw near,
“And darkly in a point at length appear.

“At sea the Sun seems to uplift his fires
“From out the waves, and in the waves retires;
“For nought but sea and sky are seen from thence;
“Nor think this shakes the evidence of sense.

“Shipping in port all maim'd appears to be,
“With rigging broke, and struggling 'gainst the sea;
“Straight seem the oars which o'er the spray appear,
“And straight the helm which rises in the rear;
“While parts that 'neath the fluid glass decline
“Seem chang'd, refracted, upward turn'd supine,
“And floating on the surface of the brine.

“When winds through heaven bear the thin clouds at night,
“The splendid Constellations seem in flight
“To glide against the clouds, and fleet on high
“To other regions of the untravell'd sky.

“If, placed beneath, the hand should press one eye,
“It so may be that objects we descry,
“Themselves unchang'd, are double to behold;
“Fire-flowering candles seem anon twofold;
“All household sights a doubled form retain,
“Men's faces seem twofold, their bodies twain.

“When Sleep the limbs hath in sweet slumber bound,
“And all the body lies in rest profound,

247

“Yet to ourselves awake we seem, aright
“Our limbs to move, in darkness of the night
“The sun itself to view and light of day;—
“Pent in one place abroad we seem to stray,
“Skies, seas, streams, mountains passing on to change,
“And over mighty plains on foot to range;
“In night's stern stillness sounds we hear around,
“And give reply in slumber's silence bound.”

With visible motion her diurnal round!”

Wordsworth, vol. i. 43.

Thus e'en in seeing do our senses fail,
And knowledge on them built is found thus frail,
Although the unconscious mind is present still,
To guide, correct, or frustrate at her will:
Thus God must still be present at our side,
And with His own mysterious language guide,
E'en in this world wherein we walk by sight.
Then how shall feeble man be thought aright
To judge of things which, vast and manifold,
Surround us, and wherein the human mind,
By use distorted and by nature blind,
Puts forth with sightless orbs her hands to reach,—
Till God Himself shall through our spirits teach?

E'en as the sun which nature's face reveals,
While the celestial mansion it conceals;
Thus Sense may things disclose our path around,
But hides the secret Godhead more profound;—

248

Until remov'd from objects of the sense,
Converse we with the hid Magnificence,
And God gives hearing ear and seeing eye.
Then from “the temple” of Philosophy
Are men beheld all wandering forth abroad,
As those that in the dark have lost their road.
That glorious temple in the height serene
Is Christ our Light, in Whom all things are seen,
E'en as they are, and shall be, and have been;
While with our very eyes He doth converse,
And reads to us the speaking universe.

Errare, atque viam palantes quærere vitæ.”

See b. ii. lin. 1 to 16.

249

VII. TRUE PHILOSOPHY.

[_]

B. v. 8, 12; B. iii. 11.

“For if we speak as suits the majesty
“Of so great knowledge, sure a God was he,
“Renown'd Memmius, 'twas a God indeed,
“Whence this life's law call'd Wisdom did proceed.
“From waves and darkness Who this mortal scene
“Hath placed in light so cloudless and serene.”...

“As bees leave nought untouch'd in flower-fraught mead,
“So we on all thy golden words would feed,—
“Thy golden words with life immortal crown'd;
“Since thence hath issued forth their glorious sound,
“The terrors of the mind away have fled,
“The Universe's walls cleave o'er our head,
“Through the whole mighty void in vision clear
“The place of Gods and quiet seats appear.
“Which the winds cannot shake, nor clouds assail,
“Nor snow white-falling, nor the beating hail
“Can violate; but cloudless skies around,
“And light itself diffus'd smiles without bound.
“Where Nature all supplies, nor aught draws near
“To lessen endless peace or cause a fear.

250

“Abodes of Acheron are no where seen,
“Nor Earth to bound their view doth intervene,—
“Depth 'neath their feet extends from boundless height,
“Which the soul views with a divine delight
“And horror, lost at the o'erwhelming sight .”

“They shall fear and tremble for all the goodness and for all the prosperity that I procure unto it.” Jer. xxxiii. 9.

251

VIII. ATHEISM CORRECTED.

[_]

(In imitation of Lucretius.)

If it be so—then this o'er-arching hall,
And Heaven's deep-thundering temples covering all,
On pillars of blue ether, sown with stars,
Where walks the Sun imprison'd in strange bars,—
And Earth, with trees and streams and mountains crown'd,
And girdle of blue waters girding round,—
This scene, o'er which there hangs the clear profound,
Is but a cavern where the soul is pent;
And the blue roofs of this our firmament
Shall tumble in, by ruin dash'd, or fly
Like a white cloud vanish'd from Summer sky.
Then Death is to the soul the dungeon door,
As Eve lets out the sun on twilight's shore.
It follows—this our poor and fretful talk
Of men, and states, and kingdoms, is to walk
With shadows, with the substance at the gate,
And it may be to waken all too late.

For if, from out the star-encircled tent,
To be with us the golden Sun is sent,
To touch with life-giving ethereal touch
The springs of life, it matters surely much

252

Whether we walk in that serener day,
Or turn'd to darkness work our own decay.

Like cause doth like effect in like produce,
In all but man; the Elements let loose
Range o'er the earth, yet bear a hidden rein;
Each doth his given work in given chain,—
Traceable by eye of reason though unseen.
Two roses nurtured 'neath one canopy,
Together rise and bloom, together die;
Two elms coeval in harmonious strife
Throw round their green arms, and drink equal life;
Two streams together haste to Ocean's hall;
Two upward flames together mount or fall .
Not so in man, himself creates the cause
Of his own acts; he moves by self-framed laws,
Self-framed each hour, while on the verge that lies
'Tween good and evil stern Probation tries;
And all he does is seed to something still
Beyond, more strong in grace or prone to ill.
Two mortals by the water side of life
Spring from one root, yet gradual prove they rife
With different natures, this with healing dight
And gladness, that with deadly aconite;
E'en as the Will within her secret shrines
Gathers the heavenly influence or declines;

253

'Tis not our own, it cometh down from high,
And therefore 'tis that Virtue cannot die,
Since not of birth terrestrial, born of light
That comes beyond the ebon house of night.
To choose or shun the path to good or ill,
Severing each moment, this doth form the Will;
Thus they who 'mid the varied things of sense
Trace out the maze of cause and consequence;—
Nor own 'mid mighty waters calm and deep
His footsteps;—on they dream—till in their sleep
Hearing His Voice they hear not, nor detect
In His own house the glorious Architect.

The golden Sun perchance is on the Sea,
Listening to Hymns of Evening's harmony,
So sweet,—Silence herself is audible
With the Creator's praise,—from hill or dell
Sound birds and lowing herds, till o'er the close
Darkness lets fall her mantle of repose,
And Night adoring climbs with silent urn,
To light the lamps that round His temple burn.
Or when the Morn sends forth her harbinger,
Which with her coming doth all nature stir,
And noisy crow on wing, and thrush on bough,
Give signals of the twilight on Night's brow
Appearing, strains prelusive of the choir,
Which soon shall burst from Nature's morning lyre,
Woke by the Sun unto Creation's King;
All to new life arise and stir and sing.

254

Mean while the Sage, in Wisdom's tower sublime,
Sees the small atom from his unseen clime,
Posting before the Sunbeam—as most fit
Marshal his troops, or in sage council sit,
Life to create and order, into light
Come from beyond the regions of the sight,
And hurry on his mantle, red, blue, green ,
T' invest creation, paint and deck the scene.

As if the Echo to its green retreats
He had pursued, unfolding its wild seats,
Till he, 'mid rocks grotesque, and tangled wood,
Forgot the Voice itself from which it flow'd.
As if the glorious thought and golden strain,
So wondrous bound in the melodious chain
Of some great Pindar, were but sounds that broke
Responsive, by some gale Eolian woke,
Dying upon it; or as if the rays
Of some lov'd countenance on which we gaze,
Were lit up by no unseen light behind;
So dark a cloud the faithless eye doth blind!

This comes of seeing and of tracing on
Cause after cause,—in wondrous union
Concentrating, combining to a whole,—
And owning not the Maker. For the Soul

255

At every step when she around her cell
Sees yet adores not the Adorable,
More faint and faint the gleams, which with Him dwell,
Break out on her, more feebly His dear voice,
That which alone bids nature to rejoice,
More faint and faint she hears; till all alone
From scene to scene of doubt she wanders on
Along a dreary waste, starless and long,
Starless and sad a dreary waste along,
Uncheer'd—unsatisfied—for evermore,
Companionless, and fatherless, and poor.

Enough is given that they who would adore
Might find their Maker; ever more and more
Himself disclosing to the pure in heart,
He leads them in Himself to have a part.
Else it were sad indeed through things of sense,
Or sweet scenes form'd by sportive elements,
To range on sick at heart; for sad and lone
Was Youth in all its freshness, though when gone
So seeming fair; beneath a vernal sky,
'Mid flowers and singing birds it heaved the sigh;
But as it flew, it turn'd, and cast behind
Longing, regretful looks, and seem'd most kind
When lost for ever,—from the things of sight
A bird of golden wing hath ta'en his flight,
And left us desolate: o'er gathering years
Silent and cold Winter her head uprears.

256

Far otherwise when hopes of better Love
Fill all with sacred breath,—rays from above
Light up the cloud—then toilsome nights and days,
To rise, to sleep , to live o'er weary ways
In loneliness, to wed with solitude,
To go out, and return, and find no good ,
These all are by a Holy Presence warm.
In each dark shade there stands a living Form,
By the wayside, by lonely shore, in feast
Else wearisome,—beside the well , nor least
In holy Temples doth that Form abide,
Who ne'er from them that sought Him turn'd aside.
His sheltering mantle rests upon the Earth,
'Neath whose bright folds we have our second birth;
Be we content awhile therein to lie,
Until the storm and whirlwind have past by.

'Tis better that thus dimly we should scan
His steps, disclos'd as meet for sinful man;
For but suppose that Heaven's familiar door
O'erarching, and the star-indented floor
Flew open, and disclos'd the towers afar ;
As fishes ranging 'neath their watery bar
Know nought of tower or city, grove or glen,
Green mantled earth, and singing bird, and men,
So rove we in this vapoury prison pent,—
Emerging in ethereal element

257

We should see that which would our hearts appa.
With wonder, more than all this varied ball,
Yea, more than blind men dream of untried light.
But in th' amazement of th' o'erwhelming sight
How should we love Him? rather for awhile
Let us with prayer this winding cave beguile,
And lowlier thoughts more meet for earthly bond,
For fearfully the Glory shines beyond
This twilight—rapidly 'tis onward borne,
And we have much to do, and much to mourn.

In these I linger not, for thus to dream,
And meditate, and choose the learned theme,
For these we have no leisure—bound for far
We loiter, while we talk the leading star
Is setting, yonder breaks on distant lawn
The skirt of Day—the trees are in the dawn.

See the Christian Year for St. Luke's day, also Aristotle's Ethics b. iii. c. ii.

See Lucretius, b. ii. that the motion of these atoms is more rapid than that of light, that they are of themselves colourless, but assume colour in their combinations.

See p. 234.

See p. 235.

See p. 233.

S. John iv. 6.

See p. 249.

258

CATULLUS.

I. THE PINNACE.

[_]

Car. iv.

“Guests, this pinnace which ye see,
“Swiftest of the swift was he,
“There was not a swimming raft,
“None, says he, of all the craft,
“But alike, although he try
“Oars or sail, I pass him by.
“Not unknown to me, I trow,
“Is old Adria's threatening brow;
“Nor the flowing of the seas
“Round the island Cyclades;
“Noble Rhodes, nor horrid Thrace,
“Nor Propontis; or thy base,
“Pontus, with its savage shore.
“Pontus, where in times of yore
“He that's now a sea-worn skiff
“Waved his branches on thy cliff.

259

“There upon Cytorus high
“Once his whispering boughs would sigh.
“Amastris, thou Pontic town,
“Box-bearing Cytorus, known
“Unto thee from first to last
“Is, he says, his story past.
“How at first a leafy wood
“On thine highest top he stood;
“In thy bay then dipped his oar;
“Thence on seas from shore to shore
“Bore his master, if the gale
“Right or left hath woo'd his sail;
“Or with full-sail'd power to move
“Favouring came the breathing Jove.
“Ne'er had he for dangers o'er
“Vows to pay to Gods on shore,
“Till, his wanderings o'er, at last
“To this limpid lake he pass'd.

“These are things which erst have been;
“Castor, with thy brother twin,
“Here he in tranquillity
“Dedicates his age to thee.”

Tranquil lake, calm halcyon nest,
Tutelary Gods of rest,—
Stars, whose gentler light is shed,
When the storm is gone and fled,—

260

Welcome quiet which ye bring,
After life of suffering!
Blessed calm of peaceful age
After toilsome pilgrimage,
Harbour'd in the lake at even
Which reflects the eye of Heaven,
And the star above the hill
In its mirror clear and still.

261

II. HOME.

[_]

Car. xxxi.

“Brightest Eye of Islets fair,
“Or peninsulas most rare,
“Which in watery friths around,
“Or in either sea are found;—
“Sirmio, with what delight
“Do I see thee safe again,
“And can scarce believe me quite
“'Scaped from the Bithynian plain!

“Oh, how blessed thus to cease
“From all cares, and find release,
“When the mind throws off her load
“After wanderings long abroad,
“Wearied out with toils to come
“And to be again at home,—
“There resign ourselves oppress'd
“On the accustom'd bed at rest;—
“Moment long'd for;—this at last—
“This repays all labours past.

“Sirmio, hail, my pleasant Isle,
“Greet thy master! gently smile,
“Lydian lake! About me come,
“All ye laughs that haunt my home.”

262

Foxes have holes, the bird a nest,
The last wish to a human breast:
Yes, sweetest spot to them that roam,
It is a little quiet home:
Yet 'twas a Christian's wish to die
With none, or none but strangers, nigh,
At a lone inn: that thought express'd
A fear on earth to find its rest:
'Twas this of old the pilgrim led
To have no place to lay his head,—
No spot on earth to call his own,
Except a grave in lands unknown.
Foxes have holes, the bird a nest,
Man hath on earth no place of rest.

Abp. Leighton.

263

III. THE FADED FLOWER.

[_]

Car. lxii. lin. 39.

“In shelter'd gardens hid the flower is born,
“Known to no cattle, by no plough-share torn,
“Rear'd by soft airs, warm suns, and genial shower,
“And many youths and maidens love that flower.
“Should some rude hand but nip the bloom in twain,
“No youths nor maidens love that flower again:
“E'en thus the spotless virgin doth appear,
“Cherish'd by kindred, to companions dear;
“But if once stain'd, that loveliness is o'er,
“By youths and maidens is she prized no more.”

'Tis so among mankind, there is no power
Of restoration for a wither'd flower,
Therefore 'tis cast away; but angels know
No joy in all the things that bloom below,
Till they are taken from that parent stem,
And grafted in the new Jerusalem.
So when a flower on earth may seem half-dead,
And sever'd and despised to hang its head,
Yet in the “inclosed garden ” God may give,
It may be yet transferr'd new life to live.

264

When men despair, blest angels may rejoice
Hearing from out the dust a suppliant voice,
And thence convey it where it yet may bloom,
Water'd with blood;—and in the tearful gloom
Foster'd awhile, till it can bear bright skies,
Sun, air, and shower in that new Paradise;—
Unharm'd by herd or plough or spoiler rude,
Safe in that Gardener's keeping, Who once stood
In dawn of Resurrection; and is seen
There lifting up the drooping Magdalene.

[_]

“Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: cause me to hear it.”—Cant. viii. 13.

Cant. iv. 12.

John xx. 15.

265

IV. A BROTHER'S DEATH.

TO HORTALUS.
[_]

Car. lxv.

“Though, Hortalus, unceasing sore distress
From the Aonian maids withdraws my mind,
For how can it the Muses' theme express,
Which toss'd by its own woes no rest can find?

“For lately hath my brother cross'd the strand
Where Lethe's wave flows by his pallid feet;
He on the Rhetian shore in Trojan land
Lies buried, and mine eyes no more shall meet.

“No more to speak to thee! no more to hear!
No more to see thee! from my bosom torn
My brother! unto me than life more dear!
Still will I ever love thee, ever mourn;—

“As in the thickest shades the Nightingale
Sings sad, of her lost Itys to complain.
Yet 'mid these woes, my friend, I do not fail
To send Battiades,—the promised strain;

266

“Nor think thy words are from my bosom driven
By sad distress; the pledge I now recall;
As when an apple by her lover given
Should from the virgin's bosom chance to fall;—

“Hid in her dress forgotten there it lay,
Till at her mother's entrance with a start
It falls down on the ground, and rolls away;
The conscious blush betrays her grieving heart.”

TO MANLIUS.
[_]

Car. lxviii. lin. 13.

“From me whom floods of sorrow drown
Seek not such happy gifts again.
Since first I took my manhood's gown,—
A flowery spring my life was then,—

“Much have I played,—the Goddess knows
Who blends with love sweet misery;
A brother's death now all o'erthrows,
O brother snatch'd from wretched me!

“My comforts now with thee have perish'd;
With thee our house doth buried lie;
And all the joys thy sweet love cherish'd,
Liv'd in thy life and with thee die.”

267

OFFERINGS AT A BROTHER'S GRAVE.
[_]

Car. ci.

“Through many nations and through many seas,
“Brother, I come to thy sad obsequies,
“To bear thee these last gifts, by sorrow led,
“And to address in vain the silent dead.
“Since my sad lot hath me bereft of thee,
“Alas, dear brother, gone from wretched me!
“This one sad consolation now remains,
“Receive these gifts as ancient rite ordains,
“Gifts with a brother's tears all dripping o'er,
“And now, farewell, my brother, evermore.”

ON THE FOREGOING PASSAGES.

Sweetest of poets, one spot good and pure
'Mid all thy bosom stains could still endure,—
'Neath thy deep breast wherein far ruder things
Folded too oft their pestilential wings,—
The love of a lost brother;—as hope died
To nobler duties rais'd and sanctified.
As if thy tender spirit in its woes
Could in that pure affection find repose,
Like evening gleams which light surrounding gloom,—
The love of thy lost brother and thy home.
Yet could that grief most sad, most sweet, most calm,
Have met our Christian Gilead, breathing balm,

268

Then quieted in faith thy ruffled breast,
Finding upon the ground a tranquil nest,
Might thence have soar'd unto diviner things,
And shed a holier music from thy wings.

269

V. TO HIMSELF.

[_]

Car. lxxvi.

“If good deeds past bring to mankind delight,
In pious memories if aught is sweet,
Ne'er to have broken faith, forsworn the right,
Or call'd on God with purpose of deceit—

“Catullus, many joys in life's review
'Neath this ungrateful love are yet in store;
For of things kind that men can say or do,
All have been said and done by thee of yore.

“Though these be lost on an ungracious soul,
Yet why thyself torment, to sorrow given?
Strengthen thy mind, draw thence in self-control;
Cease by thy griefs to struggle thus with Heaven.

“'Tis hard at once to yield love cherish'd long;—
'Tis hard, yet safety lies in this alone;
Thou must, by mastering self, subdue the wrong;
Canst thou, or canst thou not, it must be done.

270

“O Gods, if ye are pitiful, if e'en
On verge of death ye e'er have brought relief,
Look on my woe; if pure my life hath been,
Remove this plague, this pestilential grief;—

“It creeps like poisonous torpor through each vein,
And every sense of joy drives from my breast;
I ask not that her love I may regain,
And with restor'd fidelity be blest.

“It is for mine own health is all my prayer,
For power to cast aside this foul disease.
O Gods, in my life past if pious care
Hath aught of you deserv'd, grant me release.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

'Tis so with every passion of the breast,
Ambition, covetousness, or love of praise;
Though men awhile, by vain success caress'd,
Know not the weight which on the heart it lays.

Yet if the soul thwarted and check'd should turn
Upon itself, it feels the deadly chain,
Nor seeks whereby that flame may stronger burn,
But knows no freedom while it doth remain.

271

The covetous would oft give worlds away,
Could he but 'scape the thirst within his breast;
Love, scared by disappointment, in dismay
Yearns from itself to flee, and so to rest.

Then oh, how vain is every heart's desire,
Enslaved the more the more that it hath won!
It is the kindling of a deathless fire
In souls that find their rest in God alone.

272

VIRGIL.

I. FIRST ECLOGUE.

What is there in these strains unearthly sweet
That charm'd our boyhood once, our manhood greet
With untired freshness,—scenes of pastoral love,
Fill'd with the poet's breath that live and move;
While exile o'er them casts a shade of fear,
And makes their image rise more sadly dear;
With shifting landscapes such as Poussin drew,
Or Claude Lorraine; while evening's radiant hue
Comes forth and with it blends her sabler suit?
For with the Arcadian scene and pastoral lute
Mingles the sense of our lost Paradise;
Which deep beneath our ruin'd nature lies,
And wakes 'mid vernal earth or summer sky,—
That image which within us ne'er can die.
Like gales of youth our senses they beguile,
Yet only as in sleep and for awhile,

273

A visionary covering of our care;
For evil and the curse are hidden there.
Some secret spring within it seems to press,
Which overflows with a deep tenderness,
As sense of that sad time awakes anew
When erst we unto Eden bid adieu.

Yea, with thee, Melibæus, would I go
To exile 'neath the mantle of thy woe,
Yet let not thy sweet sadness soothe my mind
To cast thy loving, lingering look behind;—
But rather as old Patriarchs in the skies
May we behold a better Paradise.
'Mid pastoral homes and herds and gifts divine,
Mounts, springs, and shades of their own Palestine,
Still upward with departing eyes they turn'd,
To hopes more fair than evening skies that burn'd,
Where they might hide and lose themselves in God;
And here their way as exile pilgrims trod.

274

II. THE GEORGICS.

So great and silent was thy love
For Nature's children, thence to prove
A power within thee to make wise
In all their ways and sympathies;—
With inmates of stream, vale, and wood,
E'en like a sacred brotherhood;
Looking on their things with their sense,
Nay rather with intelligence
Investing them, and thought and eye
Of reflective humanity.
Till lifeless things begin to breathe,
Things animate their ways inwreathe
With intellect and human thought;
So Passion is with all inwrought;
For parts of her own self she makes,
For sympathizing spirits takes:—
With playfulness , as one that smiled
Still inwardly, and so beguiled
The thoughts that on his bosom press
From burden of some home-distress,
Or sense of mortal nothingness.

275

For love without will shadows find
Of what lies in the feeling mind.

Thus Eden's curse and Eden's woes
Seem reconcil'd in that repose
Of spirit, which divinely still
Breath'd of high virtue, thought, and will,
Judgment, and souls to good allied,
Thus exercised and purified.

We the same phases still explore
On Nature's face with him of yore—
Features the same that grow not old
With their expression manifold;—
See the same moon and stars and sky
Woods, streams, and Nature's progeny,
So multiform, yet still they rise
The same in their varieties.
But unto us to free from harm
There rests a new and holy charm,
All things are to the Cross allied,
And by Its shadow sanctified.

At Nature's shrines all seem'd to be
To him replete with deity,
All living things with power indued,
Like children of his solitude.
Hence with instinctive Godhead wise,
And eloquent with auguries,—
Interpreters that are from high,
And messengers of destiny.

276

Creatures of God that meet our eyes,
They are like living mysteries;
And unto us they are made known
As children of the Holy One,
That teach a Father's care and love;
But how far of the things above
The varied semblance they may bear,
To things eternal minister,
No lights their airy paths illume,
'Tis hid in shadows of the tomb.
They share our woes, and speak the wrath
That is upon our mortal path,
Defy our knowledge, leave behind
Our vain enquiries on the wind.

------“Molle atque facetum
Virgilio annuerunt gaudentes rure Camœnæ.”

277

III. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.

[_]

Georg. b. iv.

“All chances 'scaped, from shades below
“He back retraced his steps, and now
“He near'd the realms of light, and she,
“The lost and loved Eurydice,
“Follow'd his upward steps behind,
“So Proserpine's stern law assign'd.
“Day's threshold now was scarcely won,
“When, ah, unmindful and undone,
“He stood, and with love-trancèd eye
“Look'd back on his Eurydice!
“Then all was lost, the word was spoken—
“His treaty with the dead was broken,
“For ever! thrice with crash profound
“The Avernian lakes gave back the sound.
“‘Orpheus,’ she cried, ‘O misery!
“Who hath destroyed both me and thee?
“What madness! cruel fates advance
“O'er me again, and death's dark trance.
“Fare thee—farewell—borne from thy sight,
“Surrounded by the mighty night,
“I stretch to thee from death's dark shore
“These powerless hands—but thine no more.’”

278

He in whose soul is born from high
The music of Heaven's harmony,—
Which soothes dark passions into peace,
And from their kingdoms gives release;—
He with him draws to realms above
The objects of his earthly love,
And leads them onward, while his face
Is upward turn'd:—with faltering pace
Should he on them turn back and gaze,
He then lets go the harmonious maze;
The music of that love divine,
That bears all heavenward, must decline.
The backward tide no power can stem:
He loses both himself and them.

279

IV. THE ÆNEID.

“Sum pius Æneas.”

Could we but dive into the Poet's soul,
And see the embryo stirrings of his thought,
Before itself it glasses forth in words,
Or is embodied in some moving tale,
We should there read more deep philosophy
Than in the starry countenance of Heaven.
For in the soul of man there seems to sleep
An image of the boundless Universe,
Ebbing and flowing with its restless tides,
Breathed forth unconscious oft in feigning tales;
As in the shell the echo of the seas
Indwells, and giveth forth its soul in sounds,
So strangely heaving from its winding folds.

On this the sweet creation of thy brain,
O Mantuan Swain, thou hast a halo set,
And crown'd him with a name and character—
But not from prowess, nor stern fortitude,
Nor kingly dignity, nor wisdom known
In council, nor endurance,—but the name
Of Piety; thine own mysterious soul
Betraying, which could find no genial rest

280

In aught but aspirations after God.

It is a beauteous picture, from the walls
Of burning Troy seen in the glaring blaze,
'Tween mountains and the sea in hurried flight,
His aged Sire upon his shoulders borne,
His household Gods, and with unequal steps
The boy Iulus holding firm his hand.

And well, great Poet, did thy heart divine
Of messages from Heaven, with trails of light
Dropp'd down to earth—and calling—at whose voice
Conjugal tenderness and home-repose
Are to be cast behind; and yet thy hand
Could not pourtray therein thy better thought,
But falter'd, when the victim's funeral pile
Sheds on the parting ships its lurid glare.
And thou thyself, O sacred bard, must sure
Have turn'd away with heavy cold disdain
From this thine own creation, poor and frail,—
Like thine own Dido who in shades below
With cold averted brow in silence turn'd.
A hero, yet no hero; half a God,
Yet less than man!

For all unequal were the Heathens' thoughts
To that mysterious truth they fain would grasp,
Or to pourtray the veiled lineaments
Of that immortal Face, which should arise

281

In genial lumination on mankind.
And hence on this imagin'd type of good
A dreamy indistinctness seems to rest;
No strong ideal of a breathing soul,
No featured countenance of speaking mould
That clings to thought and memory, but this
Like some unreal phantom of a man,
The shadow of a shade in realms beneath,
Or dream that issues from the ivory gate.
Achilles' wrath was stamp'd like fallen man,
Noble in falling and in ruin great;
Great is Ulysses roving seas and lands.
But when the Latian would his pencil dip
In hues of Heaven, beneath his hand came forth
This image, as in water, weak and wan.
It was not found in man to deem aright
Or by his words pourtray lost Eden's Lord,
A form of piety and meet for Heaven,
Unequal by his deeds such form to frame.
When more than that Ideal man would raise,
The Truth and Archetype was given from Heaven,
His Countenance was marr'd beyond all men,
Known for no form or comeliness, but One
Who had no beauty as desired of men,
And clothed with shame and suffering. For to err
Is human, but to suffer is Divine.

Howbeit this the “pious” conqueror

282

We honour less e'en than his conquer'd foe.
A conquer'd side lay near the poet's soul;
And secret love will its own impress find,
And gleam through the disguise of outward veils.
As from the head of one, whose bold proud heart
Was smitten with successful wickedness,
Satan all-arm'd came forth, defying Heaven
With nobleness and grandeur, as might suit
A rebel chieftain;—of far other form
Than evil spirits found in hallowed lore.

This Mantuan—this our Daphnis—must we love,
Daphnis, who Pollio sung, the Mincian Swan,
Who sung the birth of Christ in Latian plains;
As if he had o'er-heard the angelic song;
So near hath he approach'd the eternal doors,
Daphnis , in shining white he walks on high,
Wondering at thresholds of the unwonted Heaven,
And 'neath his feet beholds the clouds and stars.

Pollio, Ecl. iv., as in Pope's Messiah.

Sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera Daphnis.”

283

V. THE SHADES BELOW.

[_]

Æn. vi.

Then Plato's high philosophy,
Of things that after death shall be,
Was shadow'd in that vision deep,
Which pass'd the ivory gate of sleep.
Lo, where the golden branch displayed
Shone 'mid the green embowering shade;
The wingèd pair that led them on
From step to step, alight thereon,
His Mother's doves, there sitting by
In beautiful sweet augury.
Thence in the darkling solitude,
As through the obscure of some deep wood,
When the pale moon half hides her light,
Through realms of subterranean night;—
Hush'd, lest they do the silence wrong
Which doth to things of death belong;—
With multitudinous ghosts around,
As birds that throng the Autumnal ground.
Then gloomily they pass the bound
Of houses for eternity,
With adamant wall'd to the sky:

284

Their varied place of woe assign'd
To every crime wrought 'mong mankind,
Their penal sufferings manifold
By eye unseen, by tongue untold.
And there to pious souls is given
Elysian realms of nether Heaven:
Another sun and firmament,
And other stars, and o'er them bent
Purple serene, ethereal light,
With gifts beyond our mortal sight.

Sweet teacher of our early youth!
The ancient Keeper of Christ's truth
Hath hail'd and own'd thee most of all
On whom the heathen shadows fall.
For pure thy page and undefiled,
Not unmeet for a Christian child .
Till poets down all Christendom
Thy gentle genius did illume.
Tasso hath lit his lamp by thine;
No other guide the Florentine
Sought in the penal shades below,
And regions of eternal woe.

“Poeta nobilissimus.” Aug. Civ. Dei, iv. xi.

285

VI. ÆNEAS AND DIDO.

[_]

From S. Augustine's Confessions, b. i. 21.

“Alas, my God, while yet a boy
Æneas would my thoughts employ;
To me his wanderings were all known,
While I in his forgot mine own!
O'er dying Dido too I grieved,
Who slew herself by love bereaved.
Yet I in all these things was dead,
But o'er myself no tear I shed.
Apart from God myself could die
Yet tearless was my heart and eye.

Yet what more pitiable could be
Than not to know one's misery;—
To others feel compassionate,
Yet pity not one's own estate.—
That Dido's death my tears could move
Self-slain for lost Æneas' love;
Yet I for want of love could die,
And bear that death with tearless eye?

Light of mine heart, Bread of my soul,
Spouse of my being, my life's Whole,

286

I lov'd Thee not; unfaithful rov'd
From Thee, the adulterous world approv'd,
And sounded in my ears, Well done!
Well done, re-echoed on and on,
And I was sham'd to stand alone.

These things I wept not, yet could moan
For Dido's sorrows and her death,
Mine own was worse than parting breath;
And when forbid that tale of woe
I griev'd that sorrow to forego.”

287

HORACE.

I. LUCRETIUS AND HORACE COMPARED.

“Nec tamen explemur vitai fructibus unquam.” Luc.

“Nimium breves
Flores amœnæ ferre jube rosæ.”
Hor

Like awful tones from Nature's mouldering shrine,
Or voices from the Dead, almost divine,
Two bards of Epicurus seem to preach,
Speaking as from their tombs with wondrous speech.

The one—how poor life's pleasures are and vain,
And cannot satisfy while they remain;
The other with what fleetness they are fled,
When Death amidst them lifts his pallid head.

Such was man's Nature in its fairest show;
She loath'd the roses withering on her brow,
Which as they wither'd left a thorny crown
With blood upon the temples trickling down.

289

II. THE WORLD RENOUNCED.

[_]

Paraphrase.

What youth now courts, with sweets bedew'd,
The World so seeming fair,
Where in some cave with roses strew'd
She binds her golden hair,

Now plain and guileless? he full soon
The fatal change shall weep,
And see aghast the coming on
Of black and stormy deep.

All gold, fond youth, he hopes her now,
And thinks that ne'er will fail
The heart at ease and lovely brow;
Nor knows the treacherous gale.

Ah, hapless they who deem her fair!
Sav'd from a watery grave,
I vow me in His house of prayer
To Him that walk'd the wave.

291

III. ECCLESIA LABORANS.

[_]

Paraphrase.

O ship! shall waves bear thee away
Again to sea? oh, why delay?
Thine harbour seize;—for see how torn
Thy side, of tackle shorn!

Thy mast is marr'd by Afric's gale,
Thy sail-yards groan, thy cables fail,
Thy tottering keel can scarcely brave
The too imperious wave.

Thou hast not left one untorn sail:—
How can thy prayers again avail?
Though noblest daughter of the grove,
The Wood of God's dear love .

Will birth and name avail thee now?
Can sailors trust a painted prow?
Take heed lest sport of every wind
Thou leav'st a wreck behind.

293

Of late my anxious weary care,
Now object of my hope and prayer,
Mayst thou escape the sea that smiles
'Mid fair and shining Isles.

“This Wood in which our weakness is carried is the Cross of the Lord, by which we are delivered from the dangerous tempests of this world.”Aug. Ser. xxv.

295

IV. ECCLESIA MIGRATURA.

[_]

Paraphrase.

Hence with unmanly plaint, and weak dismay!
Fleet by th' ill-fated shores, ye that are found
Still faithful, us vast Ocean calls away,
Flowing blest isles and happy fields around!

Earth's doom of toil ne'er reach'd that peaceful shore;
There the true Vine needs not the Pruner's care!
Nor His own Olive can deceive Him more ;
Nor fig-tree ever found unfruitful there .

But streams of honey flow, which cannot cloy:
From th' everlasting hills the living well
Springs forth afresh; and flocks, without annoy,
By waters still with their own Shepherd dwell.

No evening foe can prowl that fold around
With watchful circuitings,—nor faithless prove
With hidden vipers the o'er-teeming ground:
More shall we there admire, admiring love,—

297

For ever happy—how no watery wind
Can come our better hopes and us between;
Nor sun to grain it foster'd prove unkind;
But all is temper'd to a glad serene.

By the King's countenance. No armed band
Hath e'er come near to vex that quiet shore,
Nor aught polluted ever touch'd the strand:
No toil of restless man could e'er explore

Aught of that bliss, not Thought on venturous sail.
There ne'er been heard poor Nature's suffering cry
From flocks contagion-struck, or 'neath hot gale
And starry influence breathing piteously.

Such seats the Father laid up for the good,
What time the golden bloom, which had its part
In blissful Eden, turn'd to hardihood
Of brazen front, and thence to iron heart,

Of these our latter days, most sad of all,
Spurning a better love! Oh, strange to see,
And yet foretold of yore ! my warning call
Hear ye, and to the Ark of Refuge flee!

Rom. xi.

St. Matt. xxi. 19.

St. Matt. xxiv. 37.

298

V. PROTECTING PROVIDENCE.

[_]

Lib. iii. Od. iv. l. 5.

“Hark, lovely phrensy charms my ear,
“Or sounds unearthly do I hear?
“I seem to walk the hallow'd grove,
“Where pleasant winds and waters rove.
“On Vultur, the Apulian steep,
“Once when a child I lay asleep,
“Wearied with play, and there was found
“Far from my home Apulia's bound,
“Where fabled wood-doves, strange to tell,
“With the fresh leaf had veil'd me well.
“And long there liv'd the wondrous tale
“'Mid Bantia's groves, the hilly crest
“Of Acherontia's mountain nest,
“And rich Ferentum's lowly vale.
“That safe from bears and snakes that creep
“My infant limbs unharm'd should sleep,
“With bay and myrtle o'er me pil'd,
“Not without guardian Gods a fearless child.”

A heathen child, yet without fear
Because he felt his Gods were near,
Instinctive felt and own'd their care;
That child amid the fields of air

299

May look surprise at our unrest,
Who are by angel-guardians blest.

In bulrush ark when Moses lay
Monsters of Nile around him play;
For there is One that cannot sleep
Who rocks his cradle on the deep;
And to th' Egyptian maid his cry
Is full of highest destiny.

And with Elijah in the wild,
Like Angels tending on a child,
Sustaining ravens o'er him borne
Descending wheel each eve and morn;
Wing'd pursuivants, they hear God's voice
And wait on children of His choice.

Then shall one born a child of Heaven
Be bow'd to earth, to sorrow given?

300

VI. THE SICILIAN FEAST.

“Districtus ensis cui super impiâ
Cervice pendet, non Siculæ dapes
Dulcem elaborabunt saporem;
Non avium citharæve cantus
Somnum reducent.”
Lib. iii. Od. i. l. 17.

The sword of dread eternity
Had we but faith to see,—
Hung o'er our heads by one weak thread
Between us and the dead,—
We ne'er could dare with curious eye
At the World's feast to lie.
No viands which her skill bestows
To work desired repose;
No birds that sing in rural grove,
When all the earth is love;
Nor harps that sound in princely hall
To poet's madrigal,
Could lull us in the spirit's sleep,
When bid our watch to keep.
Yet by a thread o'er old and young
The endless change is hung;
And truth itself is not less true
Though hid from human view.

301

VII. MEN DEIFIED.

“Sive mutatâ juvenem figurâ
Ales in terris imitaris, almæ
Filius Maiæ.”
Lib. i. Od. ii. 41.

“Deus nobis hæc otia fecit,
Namque erit ille mihi semper Deus; illius aram
Sæpe tener nostris ab ovilibus imbuet agnus.”
Virgil's Ecl i.

“They lifted up their voices, saying in the speech of Lycaonia, The Gods are come down to us in the likeness of men.” Acts xiv. 11.

When God in Canaan spake with men,
By tree or mount or glen,
Then erst in Homer's early song
Gods walk'd mankind among;
And worship mix'd with Gods on high
The heroes as they die.
But what time on this world of woes
The Sun of glory rose,
Then kings on earth in their own pride
Themselves were deified;
And the prerogatives of Heaven
To earth and ashes given.

302

As if in souls with flesh inwreath'd
A sense was stilly breath'd
Of God Himself invisible
Come down in flesh to dwell;
Or evil spirits at the time
O'er-heard th' angelic chime
Of truth emerging,—at the birth
Of God Himself on earth.
Thence in men's souls the unconscious news
With poison they infuse,
And blend with their idolatries
The secrets of the skies.

303

TIBULLUS.

[_]

(Left sick at Corcyra by the army of Messala.)

[_]

Lib. i. Eleg. iii. 35.

“How blest they lived in that Saturnian reign,
Ere through long roads the earth was open laid,
Ere yet the pine-tree mock'd the dark blue main,
And its full bosom to the winds display'd.

“To distant shores no wandering mariner
With foreign freight loaded th' adventurous keel;
Beneath the yoke there groan'd no sturdy steer;
No steed champ'd in his mouth the mast'ring steel.

“No house had doors, no limit in the field
Or stony witness did its bounds divide;
Oaks of their own accord sweet honey yield;
And sheep to men at ease their milk supplied.

“No battle-line, no wrath, no warlike sound,
No cruel smith the unpitying sword to mould;
Now 'neath Jove's reign slaughters and wounds abound,
The sea, and ways of death a thousand fold.

304

“Spare, Father, for I have no conscious fears
For perjured oaths or words of blasphemy;
But if I have fulfill'd my destin'd years,
Let these words mark the grave wherein I lie,

“Here lies Tibullus, seized by death's could hand,
Following Messala over sea and land.

“But me, so pliant found to tender Love,
Into Elysian bowers shall Venus bring,
Where choirs and dances bloom, and as they rove
Melodious birds for ever sweetly sing.

“Wild shrubs sweet cassia bear, through all the leas
With fragrant roses teems the genial ground,
Boys intermix'd with maidens sport at ease,
And no contentions but of love are found.

“There is the lover whom death snatch'd away,
The myrtle wreaths his honour'd locks adorn;
But guilty seats, in night profound, from day
Lie hid, black sounding streams around them borne.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

The sensual mind, as pleasures fleet away,
Looks back and longs again to be a boy,
Thence pictures the world's childhood and first day,
Where it might drink delights without annoy.

305

And when it hears of an Elysian youth
Something within acknowledges the theme,
It catches at the shadow of high truth,
Itself delighting in the golden dream.

For deeper than it knew the soul within
Found the great witness of that ancient tale,
Of happy days ere yet the world knew sin,
Which yet shall be restor'd and never fail,—

But that this mingled web of good and ill
Must be unravell'd first, the light and shade
Be parted, which together travail, till
That final separation shall be made.

And this too well they deem'd, that nought but Love
Can lay its hand upon the golden key,
Which shall admit her to those realms above,
And lead her to those bowers which Sorrows flee.

Yet not that Love which is allied to sense
Which fain would bribe e'en Conscience on its throne,
But Love whose light burns pure with innocence,
And binds to God in endless union.

306

“Love hath the keys of Heaven, and Love of Hell,”
So Orpheus spake of old, who all things drew
By his sweet music;—these words ponder well,
And think which Love thine own thoughts now pursue.

307

OVID.

I. THE METAMORPHOSIS.

1.

When in our world, where all was strange and new,
The morn of life first kindling burn'd,
All things it touch'd with golden alchemy.
Then sights and sounds at length familiar grew;
We felt the cold bounds of reality,
And gathering wings o'er-leap'd them all, and turn'd
To other worlds than those we see,
Delighting in wild fancy's realms to range,
While shapes and sights of transformation strange
The bosom fill;
For Childhood with her talisman had arm'd,
'Mid Pleasure's tainted scenes to rove unharm'd,
Yet innocent and ignorant of ill.

2.

What purple-vision'd memories seem to rest
Upon those wild Arabian tales of old,

308

When young Imagination was the guest
Of Caliphs, and of Viziers, dress'd in gold,
Haron Alraschid's court and Bagdad's magic sound.—
Thence issuing forth with wand of ease
Into Aladdin's palaces,
Enchantments o'er and under ground,
Or marble cities 'neath blue Ocean halls,
Pearl-glittering corridors and jewell'd walls;
Or Wonder sail'd with Sinbad on the seas;
Or heard of souls that pined in speechless animals.

3.

Then, older grown, the Classic tale prolong'd
Those fabling sweet delusions of the child,
With things all new and wild,
Which on the wonder-page of Ovid throng'd.
The cradle of Creation as it sprung
From Chaos, when the stars around it sung;
And forms in “golden age” of Paradise
Walking the threshold of the opening skies.
Then burning-bright the Palace of the Sun ,
Harmonious with its silent orison,
Burning yet unconsumed, empyreal proof;
Pillars of carbuncle and ivory roof
And silver doors; there duly-ranged aloof

309

Days, Months, and Years, and Ages glide and stir,
And Seasons, each of varied character.
Where first Aurora, with her veil half-drawn,
Opens the purple portals of the dawn,
And rose-besprinkled halls;
Stars, and horn'd Moon before her flee; the Hours
Harness the steeds from their ambrosial stalls;
Then the full flood of Day-light pours.

4.

Then Souls imprison'd in the living cage
Of Creatures multiform that fill the earth,
Or seas or stream or skies,—run, swim, or fly,
Or branch from rooted trees of leafy birth,
There shrined for periods of long pilgrimage.
Sweet Echo, vocal Maid, that melts to air
In rock-embowering cave or wood unseen;
Or mirror'd in the stream Narcissus flowering fair.
All new, grotesque, and uncouth images,
Beauteous withal as sights in summer seas.

5.

Of such that Seer of Seers in Samian cell
Would speak in transmigration strange to tell;
Thence for the harmless creatures did he plead,
That men no more on blood of life should feed,

310

Like ravening beasts that in the forest dwell:
But on the stores and fruitage manifold
Which nature's teeming bosom freely yields,
In forest, shore, or fields,
E'en as mankind amid that age of gold.

6.

He saw and mourn'd o'er nature's laws,
Which for the slaughtering knife had sanction won,
But knew not the primeval cause;
Nor those remedial ways, in silence seal'd,
How the true Lamb of God, the Holy One,
Upon Whose Blood alone souls feed and live,
Doth hallowed and mysterious sanction give,
Yet Sacramental silence hangs thereon.
O wondrous type, yet unreveal'd,
Whereby the creatures of the field and flood,
That we may live, yield up their innocent blood!
We who the family of Pain let in
Behold them share our woes, but not our sin.

7.

That Sage would bind us in strange brotherhood
With beasts beneath us, as with forms endued
With spirits, upon one alternate road.
Such spells we need not; better Love shall make
All things anew, for His sake render dear
The objects of Creation which appear,

311

Around, above, below our daily path,
Created by our Father for our sake,
And for our sake suffering beneath His wrath.

8.

And haply something too of wisdom lies
In fabling tales of those strange deities,
Assuming every creature's guise around,
Thus multiplying near unearthly eyes.
Or some inverted truth may there be found;
As Satan thus transform'd hath trail'd the ground:
For great the secrets are which our frail knowledge bound.

9.

Beautiful visions, gilt with Childhood's rays,
I watch you, one by one, thus fade and die,
Like sparks as an extinguish'd fire decays;
Or, one by one, passes each lingering star
From the nocturnal sky,
When the Sun lifts his purple beams afar;
Or Morning's roses in the orient halls,
As to the ground each fades and falls,
Then fail and vanish as the sun mounts high.
Be it so.—In that Childhood from above
Realities are fairer than your dreams;—

312

Wonderful changes that await the soul;
And strange and new creations shall unrol
Around her upward path, like clouded gleams,
And there disclose unveil'd a Father's love.
On other worlds, greater than now beseems,
Imagination pours forth golden youth,
Lighting her torch at the eternal truth.

B. ii.

Pythagoras, b. xiv.

313

II. OVID'S EPISTLES.

I loved the Ovidian turn and skill-wrought line,
Well suited to the boyish mind and ear;—
In such good Herman Hugo could insphere
His Angels, and with wisdom most divine
In guise of wingèd Childhood intertwine
Thoughts worthy for Angelic ears to hear
Yet growing sense in Boyhood, while yet clear
From sins that darken spirit, would repine
O'er those impassion'd lays of Heathen love,
In sorrow and surprise, as fain to ask
The wisdom of Instructors, Why this task
So redolent of evil? lights they wake
Are more like gleams upon a Stygian lake,
Than of that innocence which dwells above.

His “Pia Desideria,” a collection of Latin Poems, in very elegant Ovidian lines; the illustrations of which introduce guardian Angels as little children, in a manner well suited to the character of the verse.

314

III. OVID'S TRISTIA, OR LAMENTATIONS.

Yet moving was that exile and distress
Which sought in such sweet strains to find relief,
Fair as the hues on the decaying leaf;
Such pitiful, such touching tenderness,
Yet so unmann'd, so hopeless, spiritless;
These are the fruits of Passion, which so brief
In its enjoyments leaves an after-grief,
A loneliness of spirit, on which press
Life's accidents, with such a piercing gale
Of sorrow; that though blending thoughts of good,
And soothed awhile with its own plaintive tale,
Yet lies an undersound in that deep wail,
As of a soul which, by herself subdued,
Hath lost the inner Friend of solitude.

315

JUVENAL.

I. GUILT THE SELF-AVENGER.

[_]

Sat. xiii. 180.

“But then revenge more pleasant is than life,
“So say the unwise, whose bosoms fraught with strife
“On every trivial cause with anger burn;
“Whate'er the occasion, it will serve the turn.
“Chrysippus and mild Thales say not so,
“Nor the old man of sweet Hymettus, who
“With his accuser in his chains denied
“The poison'd cup to share of which he died.
“Wisdom first teaches right, and gathering strength
“All errors and much vice weeds out at length.
“For aught of pleasure in revenge to find
“Indicates an infirm and little mind:
“Which hence thou mayst infer—for note aright,
“That women in revenge most take delight.
“But think not he escapes thee, though he flies,
“Whom conscious guilt still holds and terrifies

316

“With lash that sounds not, and the scourge of fear,
“The mind itself its executioner.
“Worse pain than can Cæditius here bestow,
“Or Rhadamanthus in the shades below;—
“By night and day, with ceaseless watch oppress'd,
“To bear his own accuser in his breast.

“A Spartan was once answer'd by the shrine
“That he should suffer for his ill design;—
“For he enquired should he a pledge retain,
“And by a perjured oath the fraud sustain;
“If such the Pythian deity would speed,
“And if Apollo would persuade the deed.—
“And so from fear, not conscience, he restor'd,
“A terrible example to afford,
“Well worthy of the shrine and prophet's word,
“Himself cut off, his kindred, and his home,
“Extinguish'd utterly in fearful doom.

“Such punishment awaits the wish to sin,
“For he who meditates a crime within
“Is guilty of the deed; but if the crime
“Itself he perpetrate, for after time
“Endless anxiety will on him lie,
“Nor at the table cease, his throat is dry,
“He cannot the chew'd morsel swallow down,
“From choicest wines he turns with sickly frown . . .
“At night should care allow him brief repose,
“His limbs at length find rest, his eye-lids close,

317

“He sees, all trembling, the Avenger's rod,—
“The temple, and the altar, and the God,
“And thee thyself. With sacred terrors fraught,
“Greater than human, is thine image brought
“Before him, and in slumber's empty dread
“Constrains him to confess the guilty deed.

“Such men at lightnings tremble and turn pale,
“Half-dead at the first murmuring thunder-gale,
“As if not clouds by chance together driven,
“But vengeance had brought down the fire from Heaven.
“When pass'd, then of the next they are afraid,
“Lest Judgment by this calm be but delayed.
“Should side-felt pains and fever hold awake,
“They feel the offended God; and all things take
“As weapons hurl'd by angry deities.
“They cannot sacrifice; what can appease?
“What hope when guilty men in sickness lie?
“What victim not less worthy far to die?

“Though sin be in its nature mutable,
“Yet once admitted, stedfastness in ill
“Remains: when crime is finish'd, men begin
“To ope their eyes to goodness and to sin;
“Yet nature, once perverted, will recur
“To self-condemning ways, nor from them stir,
“Fix'd and unchangeable: when once let in,
“Who to himself can set the bounds of sin?

318

“When modesty is worn out from the brow
“What ever hath restor'd its virgin glow?
“Whom hast thou seen contented with one crime,
“And then to cease from ill? Wait but the time,
“And this our, now successful, criminal
“Will in the nets of sin his steps enthrall.”

THE SAME ILLUSTRATED BY REVELATION.

That calm Philosophy hath music's charms,
And of revenge the soul of man disarms,
'Till neath the angry storms of Passion wild,
By honeyed sweet Hymettus, Wisdom's child
Is gentle as a sleeping infant's breast,
Or the calm sea that heaves and is at rest.—

That ill intention in the All-seeing Eyes
Is guilty, though withinthe heart it dies;—
That there is something in the sinful soul
Which points in fear to some more fearful goal;
And sees in all around the shafts of God,
While that within bids to expect His rod.—
At the first sin that scales fall from the eyes,
Knowledge of good and evil open lies;—
That thence the power of the perverted Will,
Half-lost, is onward borne, till it fulfil
The cup of evil, which itself must drain,
In some intolerable weight of pain—

319

These things stand written in the Gentile's scroll,
All full of mourning, like the Prophet's roll.

What then hath Revelation brought from high,
Which sheds its light on immortality?

All there is life;—of sin the Heathen feels,
But God's own Word the living scene reveals;
Things into fearful form and being strive,
And characters come forth, and burn, and live.

All there is life;—with ways unspeakable
In man's own soul doth the Great Witness dwell.
Before us our Example living stands,
God—Man, our Life, and scattering live commands.
Where is revenge, and thoughts to it allied?
They are all buried with the Crucified.
All things there point to Judgment at the last,
Each thunder-storm a warning of that blast,—
All speak the Accuser who our ways doth scan,
And of a Judge which is the Son of Man.

All there is life;—'tis not the law of sin
But the live Tempter who hath power within;
And if to the first sin he can surprise
Then open to that knowledge leaves the eyes.
With Adam's children who accept his chain
The scene of Paradise he acts again;
Leads to false shades to hide their misery—
To hide from God, and loving life to die.

320

And what is this, when guilt doth once begin,
The fix'd immutability of sin?
'Tis that the evil one in ambush waits
Till he return, and watching at the gates
Enters with seven worse spirits to remain;
Such is the moulding of the sinner's chain.

All there is life;—a seven-fold Spirit still
May aid with His omnipotence the will.
Shall we then circumscribe the power of Heaven,
And cannot e'en at last such chains be riven?
Fearful the struggle, hazardous the strife,
For immortality of death or life.
And awfully the contest is pourtrayed,
Where Heathen wisdom darkens every shade;
Unless the light from Christian Heavens may blend,
Its strength e'en adamantine fetters rend.

All there is life;—can nought then lift the head
Of soul-struck sinners on the dying bed?
No slaughter'd victims can the Conscience ease,
Nor aught those angry deities appease:
No beasts which more unworthy are to die
The sinful soul itself can satisfy.
But yet That Living Sacrifice of Love
May to the sin-sick heart atoning prove:
Yea, though neglected long, and greater grace
Be griev'd, yet not quite hidden is His Face;

321

And pitying still, betwixt us and the skies,
Our living Intercessor never dies.

All there is life; in this our mortal state
Innumerable eyes upon us wait:
Dead bones of Heathen Sages at That Breath
Clothe them with flesh and sinew; they from death
Wake and arise, in stillness most profound;
And stand like living Witnesses around.

322

II. RURAL IMAGES IN THE SATIRIST.

Like pearls upon an Æthiop's arm.

[_]

Sat. iii 17.

“Ægeria's grot—how fairer far
That Goddess with her haunted cave,
Did Nature's stone no marbles mar,
But grassy banks enclose the wave.”

[_]

Sat. iii. 174

“The village Stage of turf is piled,
The well-known Play again appears,
Scared by the mask the rustic child
Hides in its mother's breast its fears.”

[_]

Sat. iii. 286.

“To me—when issuing forth at night
Sole guidance doth the moon bestow;
Or some frail lamp, whose fitful light
I tend and temper as I go.”

[_]

Sat. x. 21

“Thou tremblest, if a reed but wave
And to the moon its shadow stir;
Before the robber, free and brave,
Will sing the empty traveller.”

323

[_]

Sat. xi. 151.

“A herdsman's son—who thinks with sighs
Of mother now so long unseen,
Of little cot dear in his eyes,
And goats which so well known have been.”

[_]

Sat. xii.80.

‘The broken rafts in Baia's cove
Are moor'd—the sailors safe on shore;
There with their shaven crown they love
To tell their dangers o'er and o'er.”

ON THE FOREGOING PASSAGES.

To gentle pictures such as these
The poet turns, as to illume
With Nature's soothing images
A page with horrors fill'd and gloom.

For dark the page as he explor'd
The murky haunts of sinking Rome,
Of which in Paul's inspired word
Is writ the character and doom.

'Neath some appalling grief or dread,
The heart o'ercharg'd thus turns to greet
Some way-side flower with modest head,
Or playful child about the feet.

324

Thus little nooks of tranquil light
Are given to temper shades of woe,
By Him Who on our path at night
Hath bid the insect's lamp to glow.

Rom. i.

325

PERSIUS.

I. SUFFERINGS OF CONSCIENCE.

[_]

Sat. iii. 35.

“Great Sire of Gods, when thou wouldst vengeance take
“On cruel tyrants, which with murders slake
“Their lust of blood,—there is no punishment
“More dire than this which justice can invent,
“The virtue they have lost, that Good Divine,
“Let them behold, and in beholding pine.
“In bronze Sicilian bulls the dying moan
“Of torture, or the terror-stricken groan
“Of him who, clad in purple, o'er his head
“Saw the suspended sword, are not so dread
“As is his fear who to himself doth own,
“‘We go, are headlong going, hurried down;’
“And inwardly turns pale at miseries
“Hid from the wife which on his bosom lies.”

326

II. THE FAITHFUL INSTRUCTOR.

[_]

Sat. v. 19.

“It is not mine with baubles to inflate
“A pompous page, to smoke imparting weight.
“Secret we speak. With thee my muse makes bold,
“To thee my inmost bosom would unfold.
“To thee, Cornutus, would I fain impart
“How much, sweet friend, thou art of mine own heart.
“Sound me, an unflaw'd vessel thou canst tell,
“Varnish of tongue and paint none know so well.
“For this the hundred voices I would seek,
“Could I, with tongue sincere, but fitly speak
“How thou art would within me, and unseal
“What hidden in the reins no words reveal.
“When ceas'd my guardian purple, and still young
“Childhood's gilt dress I to the Lares hung,
“Flattering companions throng'd, manhood's white gown
“Suffer'd mine eyes to wander through the town;—
“Doubtful the course, when unskill'd in life's way
“Error in branching by-paths leads astray;—
“'Neath thee I placed me then, thou with pure truth
“Hast on Socratic bosom rear'd my youth;

327

“To crooked ways applied stern Wisdom's rule;
“Reason my temper master'd; in her school
“Thine was the Artist's thumb deftly to mould
“The character to form which it must hold.

“Long days have we together spent erewhile,
“Together early nights did we beguile,
“One work, one rest we had in sweet accord,
“And cheer'd our studies at one frugal board.”.....

“The lives of men are of a thousand hues,
“Each hath his bent, his pleasure each pursues.”....
“Then days in mud and darkness spent deplore,
“And groan when all too late that life is o'er.
“But pale at nightly studies grows thy brow
“The young to train, in cleansèd ears to sow
“Wisdom's pure fruits, such as Cleanthes own'd.
“Come, young and old, here shall your wants be crown'd
“By their true end, provision for old age,
“For sad grey hairs and life's last pilgrimage.
“‘To-morrow;—yea, to-morrow it shall be!
“What, is it much one day to ask?’ But see
“When this another day hath now arriv'd,
“We yesterday's to-morrow have out-liv'd.
“And soon another morrow will fulfil
“These years, yet be a little distant still.
“For though so near, bound by one carriage pole,
“In vain wilt thou pursue it, though it roll

328

“So close before thee, with thee intertwined,
“Thou roll'st, the second wheel, on axle-tree behind.”.....

“Live mindful thou of death; the hour flies fast,
“E'en while I speak is part of it—and past.
“What dost thou? hooks in twain thy bosom rend,
“Still doubtful to which master thou wilt bend:
“Then unto each according to thy mood
“Alternate yield'st a doubtful servitude.
“Think not when once a stand is made by thee
“Thou hast thy fetters broken and art free;
“A dog may struggling rend its knot in twain,
“Yet on its neck still drag a length of chain.”

329

LIVY.

I. THE ROMAN CHARACTER.

[_]

From S Augustine's City of God, b. v. ch. 18.

A Brutus steel'd against his own heart's blood,—
Mucius with his right-hand in shrivelling fire,—
Curtius engulph'd in a live sepulchre,—
Regulus dying for his country's good,—
Camillus firm in her ingratitude,—
Poor Cincinnatus Rome's imperial sire;—
These all were types on the world's theatre,
Sons by whose love and suffering hardihood
Rome as the Queen of nations took her stand;
Thus e'en the semblance of true piety
Had length of days from the Almighty's hand.
If for a shadow such their self-command,
How should immortal spirits live and die
For an eternal City in the sky?

330

II. NUMA POMPILIUS.

“Sicut Romulus augurato urbe condenda regnum adeptus est, de se quoque Deos consuli jussit. Inde ab augure deductus in arcem.” Lib. i. cap. 18

Thus Paganism judged aright
That Power comes down from Heaven;—
The shadow of the Kingly might
To the Anointed given.

But there are many now who deem
That Power is from below;
And haply they in this their dream
Are wiser than we know.

Holy and saintly Kings may be,
As erst was Charles, the Good;
But always, Lord, we know from Thee,
That evil is the multitude.

They who their King the People make,
And with the Many side,
They for their God must evil take,
And Satan for their guide.

331

III. THE FAITHLESS GUARDIAN.

[_]

Lib. v. ch. 27.

[_]

“It was the custom of the Falisci to have the same person as master and companion of their children: and as it is at this day the custom in Greece, they had many boys committed to the care of one master. The children of the princes were instructed, as is usually the case, by a person pre-eminent for his learning. This man had during peace adopted the custom of leading out the boys before the city for the sake of play and exercise; this practice being not interrupted by the war, he was used to draw them out from the gate at shorter or longer distances; and by varying their sports and conversation he advanced when an opportunity occurred further than usual, and thus led them on within the stations, and from thence into the Roman camp, and the tent of Camillus the general. There to this act of wickedness he added a still more iniquitous speech; saying, that ‘he delivered Falerii into the hands of the Romans; since he gave into their own power those boys whose parents were the heads of the State.’ On hearing which Camillus replied, ‘Thou hast not come, wicked man, with thy wicked gift to a people and a commander like thyself.’....He then had him stripped of his clothing, and with his hands tied behind his back, delivered him up to the boys, furnishing them with rods, to drive the traitor back into the city.”

Such he, methinks, to whom 'tis given
To rear and mould the sons of Heaven;
(All children they of Royal Blood,
A more than princely brotherhood)

332

Yet turns the task to him assign'd
To vitiate the youthful mind;—
And leaves them with the foe to be
For ever in captivity.

Such he who in the untainted soul
Lets vainly loose the visions foul
Of evil spirits, which abide
In classic beauties, there to hide,
Like spiders when on watch they lie
In their sun-gilded tapestry;
Yea, there have been who gather'd lies
Of all those heathen deities,—
Such fabled legends have inwrought
Through limbec of their own bad thought;
And thence in minds yet free from ill
With all impurities instil.
Haply the ends which such await
Are mirror'd in this traitor's fate.

Ye watch Christ's little ones, oh, see
Ye make not this high ministry
The snare of youth, the woe of age;
For 'tis an Angel's privilege.

University of Virginia Library

LATIN WRITERS.

LUCRETIUS.

I.

II. VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE.

III. EFFECTS OF SIN IRREMEDIABLE.

IV. BIRTH AND REARING OF MAN.

V. DREAD OF ANNIHILATION.

VI. OCULAR DECEPTIONS.

VII. TRUE PHILOSOPHY.

VIII. ATHEISM CORRECTED.

CATULLUS.

I. THE PINNACE.

II. HOME.

III. THE FADED FLOWER.

IV. A BROTHER'S DEATH.

TO HORTALUS. [_] Car. lxv.

TO MANLIUS. [_] Car. lxviii. lin. 13.

OFFERINGS AT A BROTHER'S GRAVE. [_] Car. ci.

ON THE FOREGOING PASSAGES.

V. TO HIMSELF.

ON THE FOREGOING.

VIRGIL.

I. FIRST ECLOGUE.

II. THE GEORGICS.

III. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.

IV. THE ÆNEID.

V. THE SHADES BELOW.

VI. ÆNEAS AND DIDO.

HORACE.

I. LUCRETIUS AND HORACE COMPARED.

II. THE WORLD RENOUNCED.

III. ECCLESIA LABORANS.

IV. ECCLESIA MIGRATURA.

V. PROTECTING PROVIDENCE.

VI. THE SICILIAN FEAST.

VII. MEN DEIFIED.

TIBULLUS.

ON THE FOREGOING.

OVID.

I. THE METAMORPHOSIS.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

II. OVID'S EPISTLES.

III. OVID'S TRISTIA, OR LAMENTATIONS.

JUVENAL.

I. GUILT THE SELF-AVENGER.

THE SAME ILLUSTRATED BY REVELATION.

II. RURAL IMAGES IN THE SATIRIST.

ON THE FOREGOING PASSAGES.

PERSIUS.

I. SUFFERINGS OF CONSCIENCE.

II. THE FAITHFUL INSTRUCTOR.

LIVY.

I. THE ROMAN CHARACTER.

II. NUMA POMPILIUS.

III. THE FAITHLESS GUARDIAN.

TO HORTALUS.
[_]

Car. lxv.

TO MANLIUS.
[_]

Car. lxviii. lin. 13.

OFFERINGS AT A BROTHER'S GRAVE.
[_]

Car. ci.