Dost thou lament that life, urg'd-on too quickly,
Rolls round its course in hasting revolution?
Dost blame the thrifty gods, when thou thyself art
Lavish of lifetime?
What thyself wastest, mourn'st thou if it perish?
Dost drive it from thee, but deplore it going?
Is life thy servant? Sooth, a very servant
Turn'd off departeth.
Life's stream is fleeting—I confess it—always;
But once let Pleasure yield an easy incline,
With headlong wave and with more fleeting current
Onward it glideth.
Sleep, the thief, closing drowsy eyelids, snatcheth
One mighty portion; while as large a portion
Pleasure, the robber, carries off unchalleng'd—
Time's precious gold-dust.
Thou for thyself a thousand deaths createst;
And the more lifetimes thou dost spend in folly,
So many more in lieu of them demandest;
Wasting and wanting. R. Wi.
DE SANGUINE MARTYRUM.
Felices, properatis io, properatis, et altam
Vicistis gyro sub breviore viam.
Vos per non magnum vestri mare sanguinis illuc
Cymba tulit nimiis non operosa notis,
Quo nos tam lento sub remigio luctantes
Ducit inexhausti vis male fida freti.
Nos mora, nos longi consumit inertia lethi;
In ludum mortis luxuriemque sumus.
Nos aevo et senio et latis permittimur undis;
Spargimur in casus, porrigimur furiis.
Nos miseri sumus ex amplo spatioque perimus;
In nos inquirunt fata, probantque manus;
Ingenium fati sumus, ambitioque malorum.
Conatus mortis consiliumque sumus.
In vitae multo multae patet area mortis[95]
· · · · · · · ·
Non vitam nobis numerant, quot viximus anni:
Vita brevis nostra est; sit licet acta diu.
Vivere non longum est, quod longam ducere vitam:
Res longa in vita saepe peracta brevi est.
Nec vos tam vitae Deus in compendia misit,
Quam vetuit vestrae plus licuisse neci.
Accedit vitae quicquid decerpitur aevo,
Atque illo brevius, quo citius morimur.
TRANSLATION.
MARTYRS.
Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest,
And by a shorter course won heavenly rest;
Over a narrow sea of your own blood
Death's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood:
While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain,
Through boisterous fury of the boundless main.
We waste with lingering, indolent decay;
We are Death's pastime and his wanton play;
O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown,
Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown.
Wretched in full are we, perish at length;
Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength.
We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine,
Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design.
In a long life wide field for Death there lies;
In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96]
By years we live we reckon not our life;
Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife.
To spend long years, let not long life be thought;
A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought.
God not so much contracted your life's space,
As order'd Death the sooner to give place.
What earth's life loses, gains the life on high:
By how much sooner, so much less we die. R. Wi.
SPES.
Spes diva, salve! diva avidam tuo
Necessitatem numine prorogans,
Vindicta fortunae furentis,
Una salus mediis ruinis.
Regina quamvis, tu solium facis
Depressa parvi tecta tugurii;
Surgit jacentes inter; illic
Firma magis tua regna constant.
Cantus catenis, carmina carcere,
Dolore ab ipso gaudiaque exprimis:
Scintilla tu vivis sub imo
Pectoris, haud metuens procellas.
Tu regna servis, copia pauperi,
Victis triumphus, littora naufrago,
Ipsisque damnatis patrona,
Anchora sub medio profundo.
Quin ipse alumnus sum tuus, ubere
Pendens ab isto, et hinc animam traho.
O Diva nutrix, ô foventes
Pande sinus, sitiens laboro.
TRANSLATION.
HOPE.