The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume II

by Richard Crashaw

CLXXV.

Ego sum Via. Ad Judaeos spretores Christi. Joan. xiv. 6.

O sed nec calcanda tamen: pes improbe, pergis?
Improbe pes, ergo hoc coeli erat ire viam?
Ah pereat, Judaec ferox, pes improbus ille,
Qui coeli tritam sic facit esse viam.

I am the Way. To the Jewish despisers of Christ.

Not to be trampled on, though: vile foot, stay;
Vile foot, is this to tread the heavenly Way?
Let that fierce Jewish foot to death be given,
Which thus wears out the blessèd Way to heaven. R. Wi.

CLXXVI.

In nocturnum et hyemale iter infantis Domini. Matt. ii. 19-21.

Ergo viatores teneros, cum Prole parentem,
Nox habet hos, queis est digna nec ulla dies.
Nam quid ad haec Pueri vel labra genasve parentis?
Heu, quid ad haec facient oscula, nox et hyems!
Lilia ad haec facerent, faceret rosa; quicquid et halat
Aeterna Zephyrus qui tepet in viola.
Hi meruere, quibus vel nox sit nulla; vel ulla
Si sit, eat nostra purius illa die.
Ecce sed hos quoque nox et hyems clausere tenellos:
Et quis scit, quid nox, quid meditetur hyems?
Ah, ne quid meditetur hyems saevire per Austros,
Quaeque solet nigros nox mala ferre metus!
Ah, ne noctis eat currus non mollibus Euris,
Aspera ne tetricos nuntiet aura Notos!
Heu, quot habent tenebrae, quot vera pericula secum,
Quot noctem dominam quantaque monstra colunt!
Quot vaga quae falsis veniunt ludibria formis!
Trux oculus, Stygio concolor ala Deo!
Seu veris ea, sive vagis stant monstra figuris;
Virginei satis est hinc, satis inde metus.
Ergo veni; totoque veni resonantior arcu,
Cynthia, praegnantem clange procul pharetram.
Monstra vel ista vel illa, tuis sint meta sagittis:
Nec fratris jaculum certior aura vehat.
Ergo veni, totoque veni, flagrantior ore,
Dignaque Apollineas sustinuisse vices.
Scis bene quid deceat Phoebi lucere sororem:
Ex his, si nescis, Cynthia, disce genis.
O tua, in his, quanto lampas formosior iret!
Nox suam, ab his, quanto malit habere diem!
Quantum ageret tacitos haec luna modestior ignes,
Atque verecundis sobria staret equis!
Luna, tuae non est rosa tam pudibunda diei,
Nec tam Virgineo fax tua flore tremit.
Ergo veni; sed et astra, tuas age, Cynthia, turmas:
Illa oculos pueri, quos imitentur, habent.
Hinc oculo, hinc astro: at parili face nictat utrumque;
Aetheris os, atque os aethereum Pueri.
Aspice, quam bene res utriusque deceret utrumque!
Quam bene in alternas mutua regna manus!
Ille oculus coeli hoc si staret in aethere frontis;
Sive astrum hoc Pueri fronte sub aetherea.
Si Pueri hoc astrum aetherea sub fronte micaret,
Credat et hunc oculum non minus esse suum.
Ille oculus coeli, hoc si staret in aethere frontis,
Non minus in coelis se putet esse suis.
Tam pulchras variare vices cum fronte Puelli,
Cumque Puelli oculis aether et astra queant.
Astra quidem vellent; vellent aeterna pacisci
Foedera mutatae sedis inire vicem.
Aether et ipse, licet numero tam dispare, vellet
Mutatis oculis tam bona pacta dari.
Quippe iret coelum quanto melioribus astris,
Astra sua hos oculos si modo habere queat!
Quippe astra in coelo quantum meliore micarent,
Si frontem hanc possint coelum habuisse suum.
Aether et astra velint: frustra velit aether et astra:
Ecce negat Pueri frons, oculique negant.
Ah, neget illa, negent illi: nam quem aethera mallent
Isti oculi? aut frons haec quae magis astra velit?
Quid si aliquod blanda face lene renideat astrum?
Lactea si coeli terque quaterque via est?
Blandior hic oculus, roseo hoc qui ridet in ore;
Lactea frons haec est terque quaterque magis.
Ergo negent, coelumque suum sua sidera servent:
Sidera de coelis non bene danda suis.
Ergo negant: seque ecce sua sub nube recondunt,
Sub tenera occidui nube supercilii:
Nec claudi contenta sui munimine coeli,
Quaerunt in gremio matris ubi lateant.
Non nisi sic tactis ubi nix tepet illa pruinis,
Castaque non gelido frigore vernat hyems.
Scilicet iste dies tam pulchro vespere tingi
Dignus; et hos soles sic decet occidere.
Claudat purpureus qui claudit vesper Olympum;
Puniceo placeas tu tibi, Phoebe, toro;
Dum tibi lascivam Thetis auget adultera noctem,
Pone per Hesperias strata pudenda rosas.
Illas nempe rosas, quas conscia purpura pinxit;
Culpa pudorque suus queis dedit esse rosas.
Hos soles, niveae noctes, castumque cubile,
Quod purum sternet per mare virgo Thetis;
Hos, sancti flores; hos, tam sincera decebant
Lilia; quaeque sibi non rubuere rosae.
Hos, decuit sinus hic; ubi toto sidere proni
Ecce lavant sese lacteo in oceano.
Atque lavent: tandemque suo se mane resolvant,
Ipsa dies ex hoc ut bibat ore diem.

On the night and winter journey of the Infant Lord.

These tender travellers, feel they Night's dark sway,
Mother and Child, too good for whitest day?
For how will mother's cheeks, or lips of Child,
How kisses fare, from Night and Winter wild?
With lilies these, with roses, should be blest,
Or sweetest breath of violet-perfum'd West.
Such travellers merited to have no night,
Or, if at all, one whiter than our light.
Winter and Night these tender ones enclose,
And what Night plots, or Winter, ah, who knows?
Ah, lest fell Winter with its north-winds rage,
Ill-omen'd Night its wonted fears engage.
Ah, lest rough east-winds should Night's chariot draw,
Or harsh south-winds should shake the heart with awe.
What real perils troop in Darkness' train,
Over what monsters Night extends her reign:
What vagrant phantoms, which in false shapes go,
Stern-ey'd, black-pinion'd, like the gods below!
But standing forth in false forms or in true,
For these, for those, a Virgin's dread is due.
Come then, come, Cynthia, with resounding bow,
And clang thy full-charg'd quiver at the foe.
These monsters, those, thy darts unerring share,
Nor truer aim thy brother's arrows bear:
Come, then, O come, with all thy face a-flame,
Worthy thyself to take Apollo's name.
Thou know'st how Phœbus' sister ought to shine;
If not, learn, Cynthia, from these cheeks divine.
Placed here thy torch more beauty would display,
And Night from hence prefer to draw its day;
Such moon more modest shed its silent beam,
And shamefac'd stay her softly-going team.
O Moon, thy day no rose so chaste resembles,
Thy torch with no such virgin beauty trembles.
Come then, but bring thy troops of stars likewise;
For they can try to shine like the Child's eyes.
An eye, a star, twinkling with equal grace,
The face of heaven and the Child's heavenly face.
How well the charm of each transferr'd would show,
From hand to hand the mutual sceptres go!
Whether heaven's eye should deck His skiey brow,
Or the Child's star adorn heaven's forehead now.
If the Child's star on heaven's forehead shone,
That eye would seem to Him not less His own.
Place on His skiey forehead heaven's eye,
Not less 'twould deem itself in its own sky.
Such interchanges might the stars and skies
Make charmingly with the Child's brow and eyes.
For change of place the stars indeed might like
An everlasting treaty now to strike;
And differing though in numbers, e'en the skies
Might wish to bargain for a change of eyes.
With how much better stars the sky would shine,
If as its stars it had these eyes divine!
The stars would shine in how much better heaven,
If as their sky this brow divine were given!
So sky and stars may choose—in vain they choose;
For the Child's brow and His fair eyes refuse.
Ah, wisely; for these eyes what better heaven
Could wish? what better stars to brow be given?
What though some gentle star more softly gleams?
What if heaven's way thrice, four times, milky seems?
Softer this eye which smiles in ruddy face;
This milk-white brow, thrice, four times is its grace.
To quit their heaven, let then these stars deny;
Stars ought not to be ta'en from their own sky.
They do deny; and soon in cloud are hid,
In tender shadow of the drooping lid.
Nor with their own defence content they rest,
But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast.
Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd,
And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste.
Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink;
Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink.
Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine,
Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine;
While wanton Thetis day too early closes,
Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses;
Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted,
By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted.
Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be,
Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea;
All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate,
Roses with innocent blush upon them wait.
Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night
They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white.
And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise;
And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. Wi.