Dramatic Scenes With Other Poems, Now First Printed. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter]. Illustrated |
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PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. |
 | Dramatic Scenes |  |
298
PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY.
How often deep wisdom, my Cosimo,
Lurks in a phrase,
Or a proverb,—you hear it and hoard it
To the end of your days.
Lurks in a phrase,
Or a proverb,—you hear it and hoard it
To the end of your days.
I wish I could pour out my proverbs,
Like wine from a cask,
Such as Audit vocatus Apollo—
(Why it comes, as I ask!)
Like wine from a cask,
Such as Audit vocatus Apollo—
(Why it comes, as I ask!)
Let me try.—Do not smile, tho' I borrow
From Pagan or Turk:
'Tis the end (Finis opus coronat)
That crowneth the work.
From Pagan or Turk:
'Tis the end (Finis opus coronat)
That crowneth the work.
Even though in my course I should stumble,
Remember the text,
Aliquando dormitat Homerus,
And do not be vexed.
Remember the text,
Aliquando dormitat Homerus,
And do not be vexed.
299
Were I young I might haply do better,
Do well; but alack!
Vestigia nulla retrorsum;
There's no going back.
Do well; but alack!
Vestigia nulla retrorsum;
There's no going back.
I see now the rocks and the shallows,
And what to avoid;
Vitanda est improba Siren;
But the young are decoyed
And what to avoid;
Vitanda est improba Siren;
But the young are decoyed
By idleness; gentle and simple,
They bend to the rule;
Super et Garamantos et Indos,
Each playeth the fool;
They bend to the rule;
Super et Garamantos et Indos,
Each playeth the fool;
He who labours when others are sporting
Is scorned by the rest,
Nigroque simillima cygno,
Thrust out from the nest;
Is scorned by the rest,
Nigroque simillima cygno,
Thrust out from the nest;
So I sank, overborne by my fellows;
Yet wherefore complain?
Quis tulerit Gracchos querentes?
—I cried, but in vain,
Yet wherefore complain?
Quis tulerit Gracchos querentes?
—I cried, but in vain,
Manus hæc inimica tyrannis!
When a blow on the head
Brought me down. It was thus my ambition
Was conquered, and fled.
When a blow on the head
Brought me down. It was thus my ambition
Was conquered, and fled.
300
And now, as you see, in my verses
Few thoughts are afloat,
Rari nantes in gurgite vasto:
Yet men of some note,
Few thoughts are afloat,
Rari nantes in gurgite vasto:
Yet men of some note,
Keep me sometimes in countenance, kindly,
With impotent rhymes.
(Indocti poemata scribent,
Is a phrase of old times.)
With impotent rhymes.
(Indocti poemata scribent,
Is a phrase of old times.)
Well, well! He who spatters the absent
Deserves not a friend;
Semel his insanivimus omnes:
And so there's an end.
Deserves not a friend;
Semel his insanivimus omnes:
And so there's an end.
I said that I loved the wise proverb,
Brief, simple, and deep.
For it I'd exchange the great poem
That sends us to sleep.
Brief, simple, and deep.
For it I'd exchange the great poem
That sends us to sleep.
I'd part with the talk of my neighbour,
That wearies the brain,
Like the Rondo that reaches an end, and
Beginneth again.
That wearies the brain,
Like the Rondo that reaches an end, and
Beginneth again.
What books we might spare, my dear Cosimo,
Paper and print!
That volume, for instance, with nothing save
Sentences in 't;
Paper and print!
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Sentences in 't;
No meaning, no story, no sentiment;
All is a blank,
Save the title-page, showing 'twas writ by
“A person of rank.”
All is a blank,
Save the title-page, showing 'twas writ by
“A person of rank.”
We might spare the too deep dissertations
Which nobody reads,
The Essays (on something or nothing,)
Which nobody needs.
Which nobody reads,
The Essays (on something or nothing,)
Which nobody needs.
We might spare,—ah, perhaps, our own volumes,—
The bookseller's grief,
Had we courage to spring from the limbo,
And dare to be brief.
The bookseller's grief,
Had we courage to spring from the limbo,
And dare to be brief.
| Dramatic Scenes | |