Master and Scholar etc. etc. By E. H. Plumptre: Second edition with notes |
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SATURNALIA. |
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 | Master and Scholar |  |
III. SATURNALIA.
1.
Thick lies the snow upon the Alban height;
The wind sweeps fierce and cold;
And where the summer waters gleaming bright,
Rushed headlong, fold on fold,
The wind sweeps fierce and cold;
And where the summer waters gleaming bright,
Rushed headlong, fold on fold,
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Now on the slopes of Tibur hangs the moss,
All crystal clear with rime,
And spreading elms their vine-clad branches toss
To greet the winter time.
All crystal clear with rime,
And spreading elms their vine-clad branches toss
To greet the winter time.
To Rome they hasten—prætor, poet, sage—
All but the peasant churl,
And wearied sailors, as the storm-blasts rage,
Their vessel's white sails furl.
All but the peasant churl,
And wearied sailors, as the storm-blasts rage,
Their vessel's white sails furl.
Bronzed legions bring their spoils from furthest East,
And joy to rest at home;
From wearied months of toil and march released,
With quickening step they come.
And joy to rest at home;
From wearied months of toil and march released,
With quickening step they come.
'Tis time to pile the pine-log on the fire,
To broach the fragrant cask,
While maid and mother join with son and sire
To finish all their task.
To broach the fragrant cask,
While maid and mother join with son and sire
To finish all their task.
Then come the days our fathers kept of old,
When winter snows lay deep,
To great Saturnus in the age of gold,
Which we will also keep.
When winter snows lay deep,
To great Saturnus in the age of gold,
Which we will also keep.
And slaves, who toil and moil the whole year round,
Now for short space are free;
All hearts are glad, and all good things abound,
And children shout for glee.
Now for short space are free;
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And children shout for glee.
Old jests revive, and ancient songs are sung,
The peasant's homely mirth;
Men claim their rights, nor spares the railing tongue
Pomp, wealth, or pride of birth.
The peasant's homely mirth;
Men claim their rights, nor spares the railing tongue
Pomp, wealth, or pride of birth.
Short gleam of sunshine in the winter cold,
Bright pause in dreary life;
Hailed by the young, more welcome to the old,
Shedding o'er brawls and strife
Bright pause in dreary life;
Hailed by the young, more welcome to the old,
Shedding o'er brawls and strife
The freshness and the joy of boyhood's days,
When skies were bright and clear,
And mirthful voices sang the Gods' high praise,
Rejoicing year by year.
When skies were bright and clear,
And mirthful voices sang the Gods' high praise,
Rejoicing year by year.
2.
Come, then, be merry one and all,
Where shines the blaze on hearth and hall,
And household Gods receive the prayer
That floats on incense-cloud through air,
And homage rises, full and strong,
As when, through all the wondering throng,
The victor climbs the heights above,
The hill of Capitolian Jove.
Spare not the sharp and pointed line,
The license of the Fescennine:
The year is ended—let it go;
We cannot check Time's onward flow.
We watched the earliest spring-tide bloom
Start from the dusk of winter's tomb;
We saw the lily and the rose
Unfold their rubies and their snows;
We saw the green corn in the ear
Give promise of the fruitful year,
The golden grain that Ceres gives
As staff of life for all that lives;
And there, where greenest tendrils clasp
The bridegroom elm with bride-like grasp,
And purple clusters hang like gems,
The spoil of Eastern diadems,
We heard the vintage song of joy,
The full-voiced glee of laughing boy,
The home-born drama, rugged rhyme,
True offspring of that golden time.
Then came the huntsman's woodland toil,
The nets, the chase, the savoury spoil,
Laconian hounds, Gætulian spear,
The foaming boar, the dappled deer,
Where groves of oak, and beech, and pine,
Fling darkness o'er the Apennine.
Then o'er the Adriatic swept
Fierce Auster, and the wild waves leapt;
And Anio, swoln with autumn rains,
Rushed like a torrent on the plains,
And then the days grew short and cold,
The feeble year was waxing old:
At last the death-knell rang, and now,
The fields all bare, and stript each bough,
We bid the old, dead year Good-bye,
Watch the red streaks in western sky,
And wait the fresh-born sun that brings
The New Year's blessing on its wings.
Where shines the blaze on hearth and hall,
And household Gods receive the prayer
That floats on incense-cloud through air,
And homage rises, full and strong,
As when, through all the wondering throng,
The victor climbs the heights above,
The hill of Capitolian Jove.
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The license of the Fescennine:
The year is ended—let it go;
We cannot check Time's onward flow.
We watched the earliest spring-tide bloom
Start from the dusk of winter's tomb;
We saw the lily and the rose
Unfold their rubies and their snows;
We saw the green corn in the ear
Give promise of the fruitful year,
The golden grain that Ceres gives
As staff of life for all that lives;
And there, where greenest tendrils clasp
The bridegroom elm with bride-like grasp,
And purple clusters hang like gems,
The spoil of Eastern diadems,
We heard the vintage song of joy,
The full-voiced glee of laughing boy,
The home-born drama, rugged rhyme,
True offspring of that golden time.
Then came the huntsman's woodland toil,
The nets, the chase, the savoury spoil,
Laconian hounds, Gætulian spear,
The foaming boar, the dappled deer,
Where groves of oak, and beech, and pine,
Fling darkness o'er the Apennine.
Then o'er the Adriatic swept
Fierce Auster, and the wild waves leapt;
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Rushed like a torrent on the plains,
And then the days grew short and cold,
The feeble year was waxing old:
At last the death-knell rang, and now,
The fields all bare, and stript each bough,
We bid the old, dead year Good-bye,
Watch the red streaks in western sky,
And wait the fresh-born sun that brings
The New Year's blessing on its wings.
Come now, ye lords of high estate,
On worn-out slave and peasant wait,
Let them your goodliest garments don,
The toga, pileus, one by one;
They sit at table, quaff their wine;
And ye, the lords of Fabian line,
Who boast the high Cornelian name,
Or share with Gods Iulian fame,
Stand by, quick-eyed each look to catch,
Each want supply, each gesture watch,
As is the boy from Thrace or Gaul,
Who hastens at his master's call.
Ah, lords of men, in senate met,
So like to Gods, that ye forget
Ye share each weak and varying mood
Of all mankind's vast brotherhood,
Now comes your turn for biting jest,
For weary toil that longs for rest:
These slaves and aliens ye despise,
Have sharpest tongues, and keenest eyes;
That Syrian notes each secret deed,
Your coward sloth, your lust, your greed;
That Gaul was listening at the door
When ye base words of falsehood swore;
And now from lips by wine set free
Their flouting jests stream out on thee;
Thou too art even found as they,
Thy body of the self-same clay.
On worn-out slave and peasant wait,
Let them your goodliest garments don,
The toga, pileus, one by one;
They sit at table, quaff their wine;
And ye, the lords of Fabian line,
Who boast the high Cornelian name,
Or share with Gods Iulian fame,
Stand by, quick-eyed each look to catch,
Each want supply, each gesture watch,
As is the boy from Thrace or Gaul,
Who hastens at his master's call.
Ah, lords of men, in senate met,
So like to Gods, that ye forget
Ye share each weak and varying mood
Of all mankind's vast brotherhood,
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For weary toil that longs for rest:
These slaves and aliens ye despise,
Have sharpest tongues, and keenest eyes;
That Syrian notes each secret deed,
Your coward sloth, your lust, your greed;
That Gaul was listening at the door
When ye base words of falsehood swore;
And now from lips by wine set free
Their flouting jests stream out on thee;
Thou too art even found as they,
Thy body of the self-same clay.
Rise from your tables, lo! he lifts
That oldest slave, great Saturn's gifts,
The waxen tapers clean and white;
Come, quickly take them, seize and light;
From hand to hand the tapers pass,
From man to child, and lad to lass.
Good hope for him whose flame keeps clear
Of bright days in the coming year:
Alas! for him whose feeble hand
Is tardiest in that frolic band,
Who lets the flickering light go out
'Mid looks of triumph, mocking shout;
Ill omen, or for work or play,
That quenchèd light on Saturn's day.
The quickest foot, the readiest will,
These still their task-work best fulfil,
These labour more and suffer less,
These know the secret of success.
So as the clear flames come and go,
Some rushing quick, some lingering slow,
That taper race of slave and free
A parable of life may be.
That oldest slave, great Saturn's gifts,
The waxen tapers clean and white;
Come, quickly take them, seize and light;
From hand to hand the tapers pass,
From man to child, and lad to lass.
Good hope for him whose flame keeps clear
Of bright days in the coming year:
Alas! for him whose feeble hand
Is tardiest in that frolic band,
Who lets the flickering light go out
'Mid looks of triumph, mocking shout;
Ill omen, or for work or play,
That quenchèd light on Saturn's day.
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These still their task-work best fulfil,
These labour more and suffer less,
These know the secret of success.
So as the clear flames come and go,
Some rushing quick, some lingering slow,
That taper race of slave and free
A parable of life may be.
3.
And was it nothing more,
That joy and gladness in the heart of man?
The Lord whom we adore,
Hath He not fashioned out life's little span?
That joy and gladness in the heart of man?
The Lord whom we adore,
Hath He not fashioned out life's little span?
Was it then all of earth,
Brute-pleasure of a soul that mates with brutes,
Or did it draw its birth
From Him who gives the seasons and their fruits?
Brute-pleasure of a soul that mates with brutes,
Or did it draw its birth
From Him who gives the seasons and their fruits?
Saturnus, Lord and King,
With whom the old year enters on its rest,—
The offerings that men bring,
Blest in receiving, more in giving blest,—
With whom the old year enters on its rest,—
The offerings that men bring,
Blest in receiving, more in giving blest,—
Oh, tell not these their tale
Of ONE whom men, not knowing Him, adore,
Of ONE who shall not fail,
When harvest, vintage, spring-tide are no more?
Of ONE whom men, not knowing Him, adore,
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When harvest, vintage, spring-tide are no more?
This free and open speech
Where man to man speaks out in truest mood,
Does it not wisdom teach,
The gospel of a human brotherhood?
Where man to man speaks out in truest mood,
Does it not wisdom teach,
The gospel of a human brotherhood?
All names and titles gone,
The master and the slave shall one day stand
Before the great white throne,
And there shall gather all from every land.
The master and the slave shall one day stand
Before the great white throne,
And there shall gather all from every land.
That race of taper-lights,
Like stars on earth fast flitting through the dark,
Illuming winter nights,
While each to each hands on the glimmering spark,—
Like stars on earth fast flitting through the dark,
Illuming winter nights,
While each to each hands on the glimmering spark,—
Does it not witness bear
Of that great race which all that live must run,
And through each circling year
Press onward, upward, till the goal is won?
Of that great race which all that live must run,
And through each circling year
Press onward, upward, till the goal is won?
We too in darkness move,
Bearing our light amid surrounding gloom,
The light of truth and love,
Still waxing brighter as we near the tomb.
Bearing our light amid surrounding gloom,
The light of truth and love,
Still waxing brighter as we near the tomb.
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And then when all is o'er,
The light passed on to other hands than ours,
On that eternal shore
Where groves of peace are bright with amaranth flowers,
The light passed on to other hands than ours,
On that eternal shore
Where groves of peace are bright with amaranth flowers,
We, too, as stars shall shine,
No longer in the darkness of the night,
But round the central shrine,
Where dwells the King Eternal in His might;
And round the throne divine
In order move, a coronal of light.
No longer in the darkness of the night,
But round the central shrine,
Where dwells the King Eternal in His might;
And round the throne divine
In order move, a coronal of light.
| Master and Scholar | |