Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 30

Bring here the florid glories of the spring, And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing, Which to your children and the years to come May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb.

While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hea.r.s.e For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.

"Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch goes Of loud and restless Time, takes his repose.

Fame is but noise; all Learning but a thought; Which one admires, another sets at nought, Nature mocks both, and Wit still keeps ado: But Death brings knowledge and a.s.surance too."

_Menalcas._

Cast in your garlands! strew on all the flow'rs, Which May with smiles or April feeds with show'rs, Let this day's rites as steadfast as the sun Keep pace with Time and through all ages run; The public character and famous test Of our long sorrows and his lasting rest.

And when we make procession on the plains, Or yearly keep the holiday of swains, Let Daphnis still be the recorded name, And solemn honour of our feasts and fame.

For though the Isis and the prouder Thames Can show his relics lodg'd hard by their streams: And must for ever to the honour'd name Of n.o.ble Murrey chiefly owe that fame: Yet here his stars first saw him, and when Fate Beckon'd him hence, it knew no other date.

Nor will these vocal woods and valleys fail, Nor Isca's louder streams, this to bewail; But while swains hope, and seasons change, will glide With moving murmurs because Daphnis died.

_Damon._

A fatal sadness, such as still foregoes, Then runs along with public plagues and woes, Lies heavy on us; and the very light, Turn'd mourner too, hath the dull looks of night.

Our vales, like those of death, a darkness show More sad than cypress or the gloomy yew; And on our hills, where health with height complied, Thick drowsy mists hang round, and there reside.

Not one short parcel of the tedious year In its old dress and beauty doth appear.

Flow'rs hate the spring, and with a sullen bend Thrust down their heads, which to the root still tend.

And though the sun, like a cold lover, peeps A little at them, still the day's-eye sleeps.

But when the Crab and Lion with acute And active fires their sluggish heat recruit, Our gra.s.s straight russets, and each scorching day Drinks up our brooks as fast as dew in May; Till the sad herdsman with his cattle faints, And empty channels ring with loud complaints.

_Menalcas._

Heaven's just displeasure, and our unjust ways, Change Nature's course; bring plagues, dearth, and decays.

This turns our lands to dust, the skies to bra.s.s, Makes old kind blessings into curses pa.s.s: And when we learn unknown and foreign crimes, Brings in the vengeance due unto those climes.

The dregs and puddle of all ages now, Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow.

Ah, happy Daphnis! who while yet the streams Ran clear and warm, though but with setting beams, Got through, and saw by that declining light, His toil's and journey's end before the night.

_Damon._

A night, where darkness lays her chains and bars, And feral fires appear instead of stars.

But he, along with the last looks of day, Went hence, and setting--sunlike--pa.s.s'd away.

What future storms our present sins do hatch Some in the dark discern, and others watch; Though foresight makes no hurricane prove mild, Fury that's long fermenting is most wild.

But see, while thus our sorrows we discourse, Ph[oe]bus hath finish'd his diurnal course; The shades prevail: each bush seems bigger grown; Darkness--like State--makes small things swell and frown: The hills and woods with pipes and sonnets round, And bleating sheep our swains drive home, resound.

_Menalcas._

What voice from yonder lawn tends. .h.i.ther? Hark!

'Tis Thyrsis calls! I hear Lycanthe bark!

His flocks left out so late, and weary grown, Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down.

_Damon._

Menalcas, haste to look them out! poor sheep, When day is done, go willingly to sleep: And could bad man his time spend as they do, He might go sleep, or die, as willing too.

_Menalcas._

Farewell! kind Damon! now the shepherd's star With beauteous looks smiles on us, though from far.

All creatures that were favourites of day Are with the sun retir'd and gone away.

While feral birds send forth unpleasant notes, And night--the nurse of thoughts--sad thoughts promotes: But joy will yet come with the morning light, Though sadly now we bid good night!

_Damon._

Good night!

FRAGMENTS AND TRANSLATIONS.

From _Eucharistica Oxoniensia in Caroli Regis nostri e Scotia Reditum Gratulatoria_ (1641).

[TO CHARLES THE FIRST.]

As kings do rule like th' heavens, who dispense To parts remote and near their influence; So doth our Charles move also; while he posts From south to north, and back to southern coasts; Like to the starry orb, which in its round Moves to those very points; but while 'tis bound For north, there is--some guess--a trembling fit And shivering in the part that's opposite.

What were our fears and pantings, what dire fame Heard we of Irish tumults, sword, and flame!

Which now we think but blessings, as being sent Only as matter, whereupon 'twas meant, The British thus united might express, The strength of joined Powers to suppress, Or conquer foes. This is Great Britain's bliss; The island in itself a just world is.

Here no commotion shall we find or fear, But of the Court's removal, no sad tear Or cloudy brow, but when you leave us. Then Discord is loyalty professed, when Nations do strive, which shall the happier be T' enjoy your bounteous rays of majesty Which yet you throw in undivided dart, For things divine allow no share or part.

The same kind virtue doth at once disclose The beauty of their thistle and our rose.

Thus you do mingle souls and firmly knit What were but join'd before; you Scotsmen fit Closely with us, and reuniter prove; You fetch'd the crown before, and now their love.

H. Vaughan, Ies. Col.

From _Of the Benefit we may get by our Enemies_: translated from Plutarch (1651).

1. [HOMER. ILIAD, I. 255-6.]

Sure Priam will to mirth incline, And all that are of Priam's line.

2. [AESCHYLUS. SEPTEM CONTRA THEBES, 600-1.]

Feeding on fruits which in the heavens do grow, Whence all divine and holy counsels flow.

3. [EURIPIDES. ORESTES, 251-2.]

Excel then if thou canst, be not withstood, But strive and overcome the evil with good.