WAR IN HEAVEN.
Rev. xii. 7.
To arms, ye starry chieftains all, who lead
The youth of heaven to war—to arms, with speed!
Let each right-hand its untried arrows grasp,
Or its own fiercely-gleaming falchion clasp.
He is all here, and mightier in his wrath,
The Dragon brings all powers the Dragon hath:
Strange forms, curst children of the deepest Night—
What dusky gods he marshals to the fight!
Now he makes ready, fights now, fierce as hell!
Scarce could I say 'He fights,' when, lo, he fell.
Ah, 'twas too much to scar with wrath these faces,
And leave on angel-cheeks such furrow'd traces.
'Tis his grim boast and proudly-swelling fate,
That of a great crime e'en the end was great:
If vanquish'd, that 'twas no mean victory;
Much boltèd thunder there requir'd to be;
That with these words his fiery pains he charms:
'Arms I bore vainly; but I did bear arms.' R. Wi.
NOTE.
See our Essay, as before, for relation of this poem to the Sospetto d' Herode, and others. G.
NON ACCIPIMUS BREVEM VITAM,
SED FACIMUS.
Ergo tu luges nimium citatam
Circulo vitam properante volvi?
Tu Deos parcos gemis, ipse cum sis
Prodigus aevi?
Ipse quod perdis, quereris perire?
Ipse tu pellis, sed et ire ploras?
Vita num servit tibi? servus ipse
Cedet abactus.
Est fugax vitae, fateor, fluentum:
Prona sed clivum modo det voluptas,
Amne proclivi magis, et fugace
Labitur unda.
Fur Sopor magnam hinc, oculos recludens,
Surripit partem, ruit inde partem
Temporis magnam spolium reportans
Latro voluptas.
Tu creas mortes tibi mille, et aeva
Plura quo perdas, tibi plura poscis......
TRANSLATION.
WE DO NOT RECEIVE, BUT MAKE, A SHORT LIFE.