The Odes of Casimire Part 11

The bright Sun darting through th'enlightned Ayre His beames, doth guild the Moutaines cleare, The houres drive on heav'ns torch, that shine so bright, And _Phbus_ father of the light-- With a peculiar influence bedewes The Hills all o're, when night ensues.

The warme _Favonian_ winds with whistling gale Doe merrily the boughs a.s.saile, And with their temperate breath, and gentle noise, Sweet pleasing slumbers softly raise.

At non loquaces interim nidi tacent, Matresque nidorum vagae.

Sed aut maritis turtur in ramis gemit, Et saxa rumpit questibus, Aut laeta late cantibus mulcet loca Famosa pellex Thraciae.

Silvisq; coram plorat, & crudelibus Accusat agris Terea: Quaec.u.mque msta vocibus dic.u.n.t aves, Respondet argutum nemus, Affatur alnum quercus, ornum populus, Affatur ilex ilicem, Et se vicissim collocuta redditis Arbusta solantur sonis.

The prateling Nests meane while no silence keep, Their wandring guests ne're sleep.

To's mate, the Turtle 'mong'st the branches grones, And with complaints breakes hardest stones, The Nightingale, the pleasant Groves about Refresheth, with her warbling note, Bewayles her losse to th'woods, i'th' cruell fields 'Gainst _Tereus_ her cryes shee yeilds: And what the mournfull birds doe so complaine, The shrill woods answer back againe.

The Oke, the Alder tells; the Poplar tree The Ash; and that, the Elme stands by.

The Groves rejoyce with th'Eccho they afford And tell them backe--ev'n word for word.

Huc o Quiritum ductor, huc Oenotriae O magne regnator plagae _Jordane_, tandem plenus urbis & fori, Rerumque magnarum satur, Sepone curis temet, & domesticis Furare pectus otiis.

Hic vel tuarum lene tranabis vadum Opacus umbris arborum, Tuosque colleis inter, & tuas procul Perambulabis ilices:

_Jorda.n.u.s_ here, hither thy selfe command, Great Ruler of th'_Oenotrian_ land.

Withdraw thy selfe from cares, from all resort So cloy'd with' Citie, and with Court, So full of great affaires, at length thy breast Convey to thy domestick rest.

Here thou may'st pa.s.se thy Foord, in gloomy shade, On each side, by thine owne trees made, And here between thy Mounts, with tall Okes set, A large walke thou shalt get:

Vel c.u.m Decembri campus, & prima nive Vicina canescent juga; Nunc impeditas mollibus plagis feras, Silvamq; praecinges metu: Nunc incitato capream rumpes equo, Teloque deprendes aprum; Jactoq; cervos collocabis spiculo, Furesq; terrebis lupos.

Quid si Latinae laus _Alexander_ plagae, Sacraeque sidus purpurae, Tec.u.m paterno feriabitur solo, Seseq; curis eximet; Tuique cives, hospitesq; civium Toto fruemur gaudio.

Or in _December_, when the fields looke white, And th'Hills, with the earlyest snow doth light; Sometime th'entangled game, with twining nett I'th' wood, with feare thou shalt besett: Sometimes with courser fleet, pursue full sore, The Buck thou mayst, sometimes the Bore; With thy thrown dart the red Deer thou shalt stick.

And th'frighted ravenous Wolves shalt strick, And if that Starre o'th' sacred dignity The glory of all _Italy_, Will also from his cares, himselfe make free, And keepe his Festivals with thee; Each Citizen of thine, and every guest With the compleatest joy is blest.

_Ad fontem Sonam._

In patrio fundo, dum Roma rediisset.

Ode 2. Lib. Epod.

Fons innocenti lucidus magis vitro Puraque purior nive, Pagi voluptas, una Nympharum sitis, Ocelle natalis soli.

Longis viarum languidus laboribus Et mole curarum gravis Thuscis ab usque gentibus redux, tibi Accline prosterno latus: Permitte siccus, qua potes, premi; cava Permitte libari manu.

Sic te quietum nulla perturbet pecus, Ramusve lapsus arbore: Sic dum loquaci prata garritu secas, Et laetus audiri salis; a.s.sibilantes populetorum comae Ingrata ponant murmura Tibi, lyraeq; Vatis: haud frustra sacer Nam si quid _Urba.n.u.s_ probat, Olim fluenti leue Blandusiae nihil Aut Sirmioni debeas.

To the Fountaine Sona,

_When hee returned._

_Ode 2. Lib. Epod._

O Fount more cleare then spotlesse gla.s.se, More pure, then purest snow e're was, The Nymphs desire, and Countries grace, Thou joy of this my Native place.

Tyr'd with a tedious journey, I, And press'd with cares that grievous lye, From the farre _Tuscan_ Land made free Thus low I bow my selfe to thee: Oh, if thou canst, vouchsafe to bee Press'd, and with hollow palme drawne dry.

So let thy peace no wandring beast Disturb, no broken bough, thy rest: So when thou cutt'st with prattling noise The Meads, and leap'st, men heare thy voice; May th'whistling leaves of Poplar trees With their unwelcome murmurs cease-- To thee, and thy Priests Lute: if nought _Urban_ approves, in vaine is thought T'_Blandusia_ thou canst nothing owe; Nor to milde flowing _Sirmio_.

Palinodia Ad secundam libri Epodon Odam _Q. Horatii Flacci_.

_Laus otii Religiosi._

_Ode 3. Lib. Epod._

A Palinode To the second Ode of the booke of Epodes of _Q. H. Flaccus_.

_The praise of a Religious Recreation._

_Ode 3. Lib. Epod._

At ille, _Flacce_, nunc erit beatior Qui mole curarum procul Paterna liquit rura, litigantium Solutus omni jurgio; Nec solis aestum frugibus timet suis, Nec sidus hiberni Jovis, Rixasq; vitat, & scelesta curiae Rapacioris limina.

Ergo aut profanis hactenus negotiis Amissa plorat sidera; Aut in reducta sede dispersum gregem Errantis animi colligit, Postquam beatae lucra conscientiae Quadrante libravit suo.

But, _Flaccus_, now more happy he appeares, Who, with the burthen of his cares, Farre off hath left his father's ground, set free From the fierce wrangling Lawyer's fee; No scorching heat, nor blasts of Winter _Jove_, Doth hurt his fruit, or him can move: Hee shuns all strifes, and never doth resort The sinfull gates o'th' greedy Court.

But either doth bewayle those dayes and nights, Lost by him in prophane delights; Or else retyr'd, strives to collect and find The dispers'd flock of's wandring mind; Having first fairly pois'd the recompence And gaines of a good conscience.

Idem, propinqua nocte, stellatas vigil c.u.m vesper accendit faces, Ut gaudet immortale mirari jubar, Terraque majores globos, Et per cadenteis intueri lacrymas Rimosa lucis atria, Quae Christe tec.u.m, virgo quae tec.u.m colat Perennis haeres saeculi!

Volvuntur aureis interim stellaae rotis, Pigrumque linquunt exulem, Per ora cujus uberes eunt aquae, Somnos quod avertat graveis.

At evening, when the harbinger of night The torches of the sky doth light, How he admires th'immortall rayes breake forth, And their bright Orbes, more large then earth; How through his trickling teares, he heips his fight, Unto the open Courts of light, Which with thy selfe, o Christ, thy selfe in pray'r He' Adores, t'Eternall life an heire!

The Starres with golden wheeles, are hurried by, And let their prostrate exile lye, Over whose face, the plenteous teares doe stray, Which chase all drowsie sleepe away;

At quando lotum Gangis aut Indi fretis Jam Phbus attollit caput, Mentis profundus, & sui totus minor Irata flect.i.t numina: Vel c.u.m sereno fulserit dies Jove, Aprilibusque feriis, a.s.sueta caelo lumina, in terras vocat Lateq; prospectum jacit, Camposq; l.u.s.trat, & relucentem sua Miratur in scena _Deum_.

a.s.soone as _Phbus_ head begins t'appeare, Lately in _Indus_ streames made cleare, From depth of soule, lesse then himselfe he lies, And bends the angry pow'rs with cryes: Or when the Sun shines cleare, the aire serene, And _Aprill_ Festivals begin, His eyes, so us'd to Heaven, he downe doth throw, On a large prospect here below: He viewes the fields, and wondring stands to see In's shade the shining Deitie.

En omnis inquit, herba non morantibus In astra luctatur comis: Semota caelo lacrymantur, & piis Liquuntur arva fletibus; Ligustra canis, & rosae rubentibus Repunt in auras brachiis; Astrisque panda nescio quid pallido Loquuntur ore lilia, Et ser blandis ingemunt suspiriis, Et mane rorant lacrymis.

Egone solus, solus in terris piger Tenace figor pondere?

See how (saies he) each herb with restlesse leaves To th' starres doth strive and upward heaves: Remov'd from heaven they weep, the field appeares All o're dissolv'd in pious teares: The white-flowr'd Woodbine, and the blushing Rose Branch into th'aire with twining boughs; The pale-fac'd Lilly on the bending stalke, To th'starres I know not what doth talke; At night with fawning sighes they'expresse their fears And in the morning drop downe teares.

Am I alone, wretch that I am, fast bound And held with heavy weight, to th'ground?

Sic & propinquas allocutus arbores, Et multa coram fontibus Rivisque fatus, quaerit Auctorem _Deum_ Formosa per vestigia.

Quod si levandas mentis in curas vigil Ruris suburbani domus, Quales Lucisci, vel Nemecini Lares, Udumve Besdani nemus Rudeis adornet rustica mensas dape Siccos sub Augusti dies;

Thus spake he to the neighbouring trees, thus he To th'Fountaines talk'd, and streames ran by, And after, seekes the great Creator out By these faire traces of his foot.

But if a lightsome Country house that's free From care, such as _Luciscu's_ bee, Or _Nemicini's,_ if _Besdan_'s fruitfull field Can Grace to his rude table yeild, To his plaine board with country dainties set, In _August_'s dry and parching heat;

Jam tunc sub ipsum limen, aut domestica Lenis sub umbra populi, Expectat omnis hospitem suum penses, Et concha sinceri salis, Pressiq; meta lactis, & purus calix, Et hospitalis amphora, Et fraga, raris verna quae dumis legit, Jucunda panis praemia.

Non me scari tunc, non Lucrinorum gravis Sagina mulorum juvet: Sed cereus palumbus, aut turtur niger; Aut anser amnis accola, Et eruditam quae fugit gulam faba, Laetumque nec simplex olus, Et quae suprema colligitur, ac gravi Patella nil debet foro.

Even at his dore, under a private shade By a thick pleasant Poplar made, Provision of all sorts, expect their guest, A sh.e.l.l with salt, pure and the best, New bread, for which, 'midst the thin bryars, the Mayd Picks Strawberries, and's gladly payd.

Cheese newly press'd, close by, the friendly Cann With Cup cleane wash'd, doth ready stan'.

With me the _Lucrine_ dainties will not downe, The Scare, nor Mullet that's well growne; But the Ring-dove plump, the Turtle dun doth looke, Or Swan, the sojourner o'th' brooke, A messe of Beanes which shuns the curious pallet, The cheerfull and not simple sallet; Cl.u.s.ters of grapes last gathered, that misse And nothing owe to th'weighty presse.

Post haec vel inter laeta quercetis juga, Vel inter amneis juverit Vitare tristeis post meridiem Notos Sub aesculo vel ilice; Nigrumve littus, aut opaca lubricis Tranare stagna lintribus, Jactaque fruge ludibundum ducere Tremente piscem linea.