ANOTHER RENDERING (more freely).
Whoe'er ye be, upgazing here,
Calm, unruffl'd, without tear;
Joyous in your golden prime,
And unwitting of the time
When shall pale Life's glowing sun,
And the web of years be spun;
Thinking not o' the iron night
Where grim Pluto reigns in might;
Thinking not of the nether world,
With its clanking chains;
Whither damnèd souls are hurl'd
When the Judge arraigns;
Seeing old age far away;
Making Life one holiday;—
Here perceive that Grief shall yet
Your ruddy cheeks with sorrow wet;
Here musing upon this poor stone,
Ye may learn prevention.
This Earth, what is it but a home
Fugitive as sea-wave's foam?
Mark where breaks the whit'n'd wave
'Mid the cliffs—an archèd cave;
Light and shadow play within,
Flick'ring o'er its walls;
In the gloom—with Hell akin—
A dull stream slowly crawls.
E'en such is Life, how bright soe'er,
Hope and Joy lure to Despair;
And Life's stream goes plunging down
Into dark drear Acheron;
Youth's bright torch extinguish'd quite;
Golden Day exchang'd for Night:
To long night of changeless woe
Swift the Christless souls shall go.
Shun not therefore in thy prime,
Shun not whilst thou art in Time,
Tears of penitence over sin;
Or bitterly shalt thou rue,
When Death shall fling his javelin,
And Hell's prison thee immew.
Bethink thee in thy golden prime;
Bethink thee whilst thou'rt yet in Time. G.
ELEGIA.[100]
Ite, meae lacrymae, nec enim moror, ite; sed oro
Tantum ne miserae claudite vocis iter.
O liceat querulos verbis animare dolores,
Et saltem 'Ah periit!' dicere noster amor.
Ecce negant tamen; ecce negant, lacrymaeque rebelles
Pergunt indomita praecipitantque via.
Visne, ô care, igitur te nostra silentia dicant?
Vis fleat assiduo murmure mutus amor?
Flebit, et urna suos semper bibet humida rores,
Et fidas semper semper habebit aquas.
Interea, quicunque estis, ne credite mirum
Si verae lacrymae non didicere loqui.
TRANSLATION.
ELEGY.
Flow, flow, my tears; I stay you not; but pray
To my unhappy voice close not the way.
My plaintive griefs with words, O let me move;
To say, 'Alas, he died!' allow my love.
Lo, they say, no—the rebel tears say, no!
And with unconquer'd headlong torrent flow.
Wouldst thou, O dear one, that our silence speak?
Mute love with ceaseless sob moisten our cheek?
It shall; and still thine urn drink its own dews,
And never its own faithful waters lose.
Meanwhile let no one think a wonder wrought,
If real tears to speak could not be taught. R. Wi.
THESAURUS MALORUM FOEMINA.
Quis deus, ô quis erat, qui te, mala foemina, finxit?
Proh, crimen superum, noxa pudenda deum!
Quae divum manus est adeo non dextera mundo?
In nostras clades ingeniosa manus:
Parcite; peccavi: nec enim pia numina possunt
Tam crudele semel vel voluisse nefas.
Vestrum opus est pietas; opus est concordia vestrum;
Vos equidem tales haud reor artifices.
Heus, inferna cohors, foetus cognoscite vestros.
Num pudet hanc vestrum vincere posse scelus?
Plaudite Tartarei proceres Erebique potentes,
Nae mirum est tantum vos potuisse malum;
Jam vestras laudate manus. Si forte tacetis,
Artificum laudes grande loquetur opus.
Quam bene vos omnes speculo contemplor in isto?
Pectus in angustum cogitur omne malum.
Quin dormi, Pluto; rabidas compesce sorores;
Jam non poscit opem nostra ruina tuam.
Haec satis in nostros fabricata est machina muros,
Mortales furias Tartara nostra dabunt.