The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume II

by Richard Crashaw

Come, Muse, at call of thy Academy:
With his own face our Phœbus here we see;
His face his own yet, with its own red dyed,
Which with its whiteness loves to be allied.
O fierce disease, dost thou, with marks profane,
Attempt these cheeks, that countenance, to stain?
Most futile! Dost attempt our Phœbus' face?
Not in our Phœbe her own spots canst trace.
His self-asserting face disdains disease;
'Mid its own rays it sits, O well at ease.
Sure God and heaven and holiest star are here;
Sure 'neath these cheeks smiles Phœbus full and clear.
Our King being safe in face, but touch'd elsewhere,
Proves he was here a god, though a man there. R. Wi.

IN SERENISSIMAE REGINAE

PARTUM HIEMALEM.[123]

Serta, puer; quis nunc flores non præbeat hortus?
Texe mihi facili pollice serta puer.
Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi; stulte, Decembres
Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer.
Nix et hiems? non est nostras quid tale per oras;
Non est, vel si sit, non tamen esse potest.
Ver agitur: quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem,
Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur.
Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis
Prodit, et in sacris quae sedet uva jugis?
Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis?
Quas hiemis pingit purpure tanta genas?
O Maria, ô divum soboles, genitrixque deorum,
Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt?
Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae
Sidera, nil madidos sola morare notos?
Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma,
Atque suas solum lilia nosse nives?
Ergo vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris,
Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis?
O bona turbatrix anni, quae limite noto
Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis;
O pia praedatrix hiemis, quae tristia mundi
Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes;
Perge, precor, nostris vim pulchram ferre calendis;
Perge, precor, menses sic numerare tuos.
Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri;
Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui.
Sit nobis sit saepe hiemes sic cernere nostras
Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis.
Saepe sit has vernas hiemes Maiosque Decembres,
Has per te roseas saepe videre nives.
Altera gens varium per sidera computet annum,
Atque suos ducant per vaga signa dies:
Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis?
Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices?
Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum:
In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos.
Sic tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni:
Tempus et in titulos transeat omne tuos.
Namque alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis?
Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga?
Hanc laurum Janus sibi vertice vellet utroque:
Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Maius emet.
Tota suam, vere expulso, respublica florum
Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam.
O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses
Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

TRANSLATION.

TO HER SERENE MAJESTY, CHILD-BEARING IN WINTER.

Garlands! bring garlands, boy! what garden now
Would not give flowers? with ready hand do thou
Weave garlands. What! December, sayst thou,—snow?
Fool! hold thy blabbing, speak of what we know.
Winter upon our shores, and snow? the thing
Is not, and cannot be. It is the Spring:
Whatever ghost threatens us with the drear
Beatings of wild December, Spring is here.
See'st thou not with what leaves the royal vine
Spreads forth, what clusters on her boughs incline?
Say, when like this was Winter ever seen
To laugh and glow in purple? O great Queen,
Offspring of gods, and mother! do we see
The seasons thus a plaything made for thee?
Thus with thy Spring mayst thou the stars restrain,
That Winter sting not, nor the South bring rain.
And do the lilies by thy grace alone
Spring up, and know no snows except their own?
In spite of all that Winter may oppose,
Are thus our kingdoms blooming with the rose?
O thou most blest disturber of the year,
Who sufferest not the bounded seasons here
To keep i' their own signs! destroyer kind
Of Winter, whose sweet influence can bind
All harsher murmurs of the world, still dare
We pray thee, thus to force our calendar
With thy fair violence; continue still
The months to number at thine own sweet will;
Still thus untimely, still thus burdensome,
Make all things subject to thy royal womb.
So, by thy grace, may it be often ours
To see dethronèd Winter deck'd in flowers;
On snow that falls i' roses still to gaze,
Sweet vernal Winters and December Mays!
Let others by the stars compute their year,
And count their days as wandering signs appear:
Not so we Britons; not for us shall storm
With cruel change our seasons dare deform;
To thee, great Queen, our whole year we resign,
O spend it all i' those rich births of thine!
So the whole year shall own thy womb to be
Its sovereign arbitress of good; in thee
Merge all its titles. Where's the month could bear
A more delicious name, or ever wear
More whiteness? Janus, for his double crown,
Covets this laurel; Maius for his own
Would buy it, though his Chloris were the cost.
Thee or thine infant, now that Spring has lost
His ancient throne, the flow'ry states invite
To take their empire. O blest year, how bright
Thy fortunes, where each month in turn may claim
From Mary or from Charles its mighty name! G.

AD REGINAM

ET SIBI ET ACADEMIAE PARTURIENTEM.[124]

Huc ô sacris circumflua coetibus,
Huc ô frequentem, Musa, choris pedem
Fer, annuo doctum labore
Purpureas agitare cunas.
Foecunditatem provocat, en, tuam
Maria partu nobilis altero,
Prolemque Musarum ministram
Egregius sibi poscit infans.
Nempe illa nunquam pignore simplici
Sibive soli facta puerpera est:
Partu repercusso, vel absens,
Perpetuos procreat gemellos.
Hos ipsa partus scilicet efficit,
Inque ipsa vires carmina suggerit,
Quae spiritum vitamque donat
Principibus simul et Camaenis.
Possit Camaenas, non sine numine,
Lassare nostras diva puerpera,
Et gaudiis siccare totam
Perpetuis Heliconis undam.
Quin experiri pergat, et in vices
Certare sanctis conditionibus:
Lis dulcis est, nec indecoro
Pulvere, sic potuisse vinci.
Alternis Natura diem meditatur et umbras,
Hinc atro, hinc albo pignore facta parens.
Tu melior Natura tuas, dulcissima, servas—
Sed quam dissimili sub ratione!—vices.
Candida tu, et partu semper tibi concolor omni:
Hinc natam, hinc natum das; sed utrinque diem.