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Title: De Consolatione. Lib. III. Metrum XII. (translation)
Author: Henry Vaughan [
More Titles by Vaughan]
Happy is he, that with fix'd eyes
The fountain of all goodness spies!
Happy is he that can break through
Those bonds which tie him here below!
The Thracian poet long ago,
Kind Orpheus, full of tears and woe,
Did for his lov'd Eurydice
In such sad numbers mourn, that he
Made the trees run in to his moan,
And streams stand still to hear him groan.
The does came fearless in one throng
With lions to his mournful song,
And charmed by the harmonious sound,
The hare stay'd by the quiet hound.
But when Love height'n'd by despair
And deep reflections on his fair
Had swell'd his heart, and made it rise
And run in tears out at his eyes,
And those sweet airs, which did appease
Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease;
Then, vex'd that so much grief and love
Mov'd not at all the gods above,
With desperate thoughts and bold intent,
Towards the shades below he went;
For thither his fair love was fled,
And he must have her from the dead.
There in such lines, as did well suit
With sad airs and a lover's lute,
And in the richest language dress'd
That could be thought on or express'd,
Did he complain; whatever grief
Or art or love--which is the chief,
And all ennobles--could lay out,
In well-tun'd woes he dealt about.
And humbly bowing to the prince
Of ghosts begg'd some intelligence
Of his Eurydice, and where
His beauteous saint resided there.
Then to his lute's instructed groans
He sigh'd out new melodious moans;
And in a melting, charming strain
Begg'd his dear love to life again.
The music flowing through the shade
And darkness did with ease invade
The silent and attentive ghosts;
And Cerberus, which guards those coasts
With his loud barkings, overcome
By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb.
The Furies, us'd to rave and howl
And prosecute each guilty soul,
Had lost their rage, and in a deep
Transport, did most profusely weep.
Ixion's wheel stopp'd, and the curs'd
Tantalus, almost kill'd with thirst,
Though the streams now did make no haste,
But wait'd for him, none would taste.
That vulture, which fed still upon
Tityus his liver, now was gone
To feed on air, and would not stay,
Though almost famish'd, with her prey.
Won with these wonders, their fierce prince
At last cried out, "We yield! and since
Thy merits claim no less, take hence
Thy consort for thy recompense:
But Orpheus, to this law we bind
Our grant: you must not look behind,
Nor of your fair love have one sight,
Till out of our dominions quite."
Alas! what laws can lovers awe?
Love is itself the greatest law!
Or who can such hard bondage brook
To be in love, and not to look?
Poor Orpheus almost in the light
Lost his dear love for one short sight;
And by those eyes, which Love did guide,
What he most lov'd unkindly died!
This tale of Orpheus and his love
Was meant for you, who ever move
Upwards, and tend into that light,
Which is not seen by mortal sight.
For if, while you strive to ascend,
You droop, and towards Earth once bend
Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall
Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.
LIB. III. METRUM II.
What fix'd affections, and lov'd laws
--Which are the hid, magnetic cause--
Wise Nature governs with, and by
What fast, inviolable tie
The whole creation to her ends
For ever provident she bends:
All this I purpose to rehearse
In the sweet airs of solemn verse.
Although the Libyan lions should
Be bound in chains of purest gold,
And duly fed were taught to know
Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow:
Yet, if they chance to taste of blood,
Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food
In furious roaring will awake,
And fiercely for their freedom make.
No chains nor bars their fury brooks,
But with enrag'd and bloody looks
They will break through, and dull'd with fear
Their keeper all to pieces tear.
The bird, which on the wood's tall boughs
Sings sweetly, if you cage or house,
And out of kindest care should think
To give her honey with her drink,
And get her store of pleasant meat,
Ev'n such as she delights to eat:
Yet, if from her close prison she
The shady groves doth chance to see,
Straightway she loathes her pleasant food,
And with sad looks longs for the wood.
The wood, the wood alone she loves!
And towards it she looks and moves:
And in sweet notes--though distant from--
Sings to her first and happy home!
That plant, which of itself doth grow
Upwards, if forc'd, will downwards bow;
But give it freedom, and it will
Get up, and grow erectly still.
The sun, which by his prone descent
Seems westward in the evening bent,
Doth nightly by an unseen way
Haste to the East, and bring up day.
Thus all things long for their first state,
And gladly to't return, though late.
Nor is there here to anything
A course allow'd, but in a ring:
Which, where it first began, must end,
And to that point directly tend.
LIB. IV. METRUM VI.
Who would unclouded see the laws
Of the supreme, eternal Cause,
Let him with careful thoughts and eyes
Observe the high and spacious skies.
There in one league of love the stars
Keep their old peace, and show our wars.
The sun, though flaming still and hot,
The cold, pale moon annoyeth not.
Arcturus with his sons--though they
See other stars go a far way,
And out of sight--yet still are found
Near the North Pole, their noted bound.
Bright Hesper--at set times--delights
To usher in the dusky nights:
And in the East again attends
To warn us, when the day ascends.
So alternate Love supplies
Eternal courses still, and vies
Mutual kindness; that no jars
Nor discord can disturb the stars.
The same sweet concord here below
Makes the fierce elements to flow
And circle without quarrel still,
Though temper'd diversely; thus will
The hot assist the cold; the dry
Is a friend to humidity:
And by the law of kindness they
The like relief to them repay.
The fire, which active is and bright,
Tends upward, and from thence gives light.
The earth allows it all that space
And makes choice of the lower place;
For things of weight haste to the centre,
A fall to them is no adventure.
From these kind turns and circulation
Seasons proceed, and generation.
This makes the Spring to yield us flow'rs,
And melts the clouds to gentle show'rs.
The Summer thus matures all seeds
And ripens both the corn and weeds.
This brings on Autumn, which recruits
Our old, spent store, with new fresh fruits.
And the cold Winter's blust'ring season
Hath snow and storms for the same reason.
This temper and wise mixture breed
And bring forth ev'ry living seed.
And when their strength and substance spend
--For while they live, they drive and tend
Still to a change--it takes them hence
And shifts their dress! and to our sense
Their course is over, as their birth:
And hid from us they turn to earth.
But all this while the Prince of life
Sits without loss, or change, or strife:
Holding the reins, by which all move
--And those His wisdom, power, love
And justice are--and still what He
The first life bids, that needs must be,
And live on for a time; that done
He calls it back, merely to shun
The mischief, which His creature might
Run into by a further flight.
For if this dear and tender sense
Of His preventing providence,
Did not restrain and call things back,
Both heav'n and earth would go to rack,
And from their great Preserver part;
As blood let out forsakes the heart
And perisheth, but what returns
With fresh and brighter spirits burns.
This is the cause why ev'ry living
Creature affects an endless being.
A grain of this bright love each thing
Had giv'n at first by their great King;
And still they creep--drawn on by this--
And look back towards their first bliss.
For, otherwise, it is most sure,
Nothing that liveth could endure:
Unless its love turn'd retrograde
Sought that First Life, which all things made.
LIB. IV. METRUM III.
If old tradition hath not fail'd,
Ulysses, when from Troy he sail'd
Was by a tempest forc'd to land
Where beauteous Circe did command.
Circe, the daughter of the sun,
Which had with charms and herbs undone
Many poor strangers, and could then
Turn into beasts the bravest men.
Such magic in her potions lay,
That whosoever passed that way
And drank, his shape was quickly lost.
Some into swine she turn'd, but most
To lions arm'd with teeth and claws;
Others like wolves with open jaws
Did howl; but some--more savage--took
The tiger's dreadful shape and look.
But wise Ulysses, by the aid
Of Hermes, had to him convey'd
A flow'r, whose virtue did suppress
The force of charms, and their success:
While his mates drank so deep, that they
Were turn'd to swine, which fed all day
On mast, and human food had left,
Of shape and voice at once bereft;
Only the mind--above all charms--
Unchang'd did mourn those monstrous harms.
O, worthless herbs, and weaker arts,
To change their limbs, but not their hearts!
Man's life and vigour keep within,
Lodg'd in the centre, not the skin.
Those piercing charms and poisons, which
His inward parts taint and bewitch,
More fatal are, than such, which can
Outwardly only spoil the man.
Those change his shape and make it foul,
But these deform and kill his soul.
LIB. III. METRUM VI.
All sorts of men, that live on Earth,
Have one beginning and one birth.
For all things there is one Father,
Who lays out all, and all doth gather.
He the warm sun with rays adorns,
And fills with brightness the moon's horns.
The azur'd heav'ns with stars He burnish'd,
And the round world with creatures furnish'd.
But men--made to inherit all--
His own sons He was pleas'd to call,
And that they might be so indeed,
He gave them souls of divine seed.
A noble offspring surely then
Without distinction are all men.
O, why so vainly do some boast
Their birth and blood and a great host
Of ancestors, whose coats and crests
Are some rav'nous birds or beasts!
If extraction they look for,
And God, the great Progenitor,
No man, though of the meanest state,
Is base, or can degenerate,
Unless, to vice and lewdness bent,
He leaves and taints his true descent.
[The end]
Henry Vaughan's poem: De Consolatione. Lib. Iii. Metrum Xii. (translation)
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