Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 15

This soul, sometimes wont to survey The spangled Zodiac's fiery way, Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd, With the cool moon's unstable crest, And whatsoever wanton star, In various courses near or far, Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well Track all her journey, and would tell Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall, By curious calculation all.

Of sudden winds the hidden cause, And why the calm sea's quiet face With impetuous waves is curl'd, What spirit wheels th' harmonious world, Or why a star dropp'd in the west Is seen to rise again by east, Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours, Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs, Or how it comes--for man's recruit-- That Autumn yields both grape and fruit, With many other secrets, he Could show the cause and mystery.

But now that light is almost out, And the brave soul lies chain'd about With outward cares, whose pensive weight Sinks down her eyes from their first height.

And clean contrary to her birth Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.

METRUM IV.

Whose calm soul in a settled state Kicks under foot the frowns of Fate, And in his fortunes, bad or good, Keeps the same temper in his blood; Not him the flaming clouds above, Nor aetna's fiery tempests move; No fretting seas from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Boiling with indignation o'er, Nor burning thunderbolt that can A mountain shake, can stir this man.

Dull cowards then! why should we start To see these tyrants act their part?

Nor hope, nor fear what may befall, And you disarm their malice all.

But who doth faintly fear or wish, And sets no law to what is his, Hath lost the buckler, and--poor elf!-- Makes up a chain to bind himself.

METRUM V.

O Thou great builder of this starry frame, Who fix'd in Thy eternal throne doth tame The rapid spheres, and lest they jar Hast giv'n a law to ev'ry star.

Thou art the cause that now the moon With fall orb dulls the stars, and soon Again grows dark, her light being done, The nearer still she's to the sun.

Thou in the early hours of night Mak'st the cool evening-star shine bright, And at sun-rising--'cause the least-- Look pale and sleepy in the east.

Thou, when the leaves in winter stray, Appoint'st the sun a shorter way, And in the pleasant summer light, With nimble hours dost wing the night.

Thy hand the various year quite through Discreetly tempers, that what now The north-wind tears from ev'ry tree In spring again restor'd we see.

Then what the winter stars between The furrows in mere seed have seen, The dog-star since--grown up and born-- Hath burnt in stately, full-ear'd corn.

Thus by creation's law controll'd All things their proper stations hold, Observing--as Thou didst intend-- Why they were made, and for what end.

Only human actions Thou Hast no care of, but to the flow And ebb of Fortune leav'st them all.

Hence th' innocent endures that thrall Due to the wicked; whilst alone They sit possessors of his throne.

The just are kill'd, and virtue lies Buried in obscurities; And--which of all things is most sad-- The good man suffers by the bad.

No perjuries, nor d.a.m.n'd pretence Colour'd with holy, lying sense Can them annoy, but when they mind To try their force, which most men find, They from the highest sway of things Can pull down great and pious kings.

O then at length, thus loosely hurl'd, Look on this miserable world, Whoe'er Thou art, that from above Dost in such order all things move!

And let not man--of divine art Not the least, nor vilest part-- By casual evils thus bandied, be The sport of Fate's obliquity.

But with that faith Thou guid'st the heaven Settle this earth, and make them even.

METRUM VI.

When the Crab's fierce constellation Burns with the beams of the bright sun, Then he that will go out to sow, Shall never reap, where he did plough, But instead of corn may rather The old world's diet, acorns, gather.

Who the violet doth love, Must seek her in the flow'ry grove, But never when the North's cold wind The russet fields with frost doth bind.

If in the spring-time--to no end-- The tender vine for grapes we bend, We shall find none, for only--still-- Autumn doth the wine-press fill.

Thus for all things--in the world's prime-- The wise G.o.d seal'd their proper time, Nor will permit those seasons, He Ordain'd by turns, should mingled be; Then whose wild actions out of season Cross to Nature, and her reason, Would by new ways old orders rend, Shall never find a happy end.

METRUM VII.

Curtain'd with clouds in a dark night, The stars cannot send forth their light.

And if a sudden southern blast The sea in rolling waves doth cast, That angry element doth boil, And from the deep with stormy coil Spews up the sands, which in short s.p.a.ce Scatter, and puddle his curl'd face.

Then those calm waters, which but now Stood clear as heaven's unclouded brow, And like transparent gla.s.s did lie Open to ev'ry searcher's eye, Look foully stirr'd and--though desir'd-- Resist the sight, because bemir'd.

So often from a high hill's brow Some pilgrim-spring is seen to flow, And in a straight line keep her course, 'Till from a rock with headlong force Some broken piece blocks up the way, And forceth all her streams astray.

Then thou that with enlighten'd rays Wouldst see the truth, and in her ways Keep without error; neither fear The future, nor too much give ear To present joys; and give no scope To grief, nor much to flatt'ring hope.

For when these rebels reign, the mind Is both a pris'ner, and stark blind.

LIB. II. METRUM I.

Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils The state of things, and in tempestuous foils Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down With headlong force the highest monarch's crown, And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch: So jests at tears and miseries, is proud, And laughs to hear her va.s.sals groan aloud.

These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive, And plagues man with her blind prerogative; Nor is't a favour of inferior strain, If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.

METRUM II.

If with an open, bounteous hand --Wholly left at man's command-- Fortune should in one rich flow As many heaps on him bestow Of ma.s.sy gold, as there be sands Toss'd by the waves and winds rude bands, Or bright stars in a winter night Decking their silent orbs with light; Yet would his l.u.s.t know no restraints, Nor cease to weep in sad complaints.

Though Heaven should his vows regard, And in a prodigal reward Return him all he could implore, Adding new honours to his store, Yet all were nothing. Goods in sight Are scorn'd, and l.u.s.t in greedy flight Lays out for more; what measure then Can tame these wild desires of men?

Since all we give both last and first Doth but inflame, and feed their thirst.

For how can he be rich, who 'midst his store Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.

METRUM III.

When the sun from his rosy bed The dawning light begins to shed, The drowsy sky uncurtains round, And the--but now bright--stars all drown'd In one great light look dull and tame, And homage his victorious flame.

Thus, when the warm Etesian wind The Earth's seal'd bosom doth unbind, Straight she her various store discloses, And purples every grove with roses; But if the South's tempestuous breath Breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.

Oft in a quiet sky the deep With unmov'd waves seems fast asleep, And oft again the bl.u.s.t'ring North In angry heaps provokes them forth.

If then this world, which holds all nations, Suffers itself such alterations, That not this mighty ma.s.sy frame, Nor any part of it can claim One certain course, why should man prate, Or censure the designs of Fate?

Why from frail honours, and goods lent Should he expect things permanent?

Since 'tis enacted by Divine decree That nothing mortal shall eternal be.

METRUM IV.