Imatges de pÓgina
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PSALM CXIV.

Ἰσραὴλ ὅτε παῖδες, ὅτ' ἀγλαὸ φῦλ ̓ Ἰακώβου
Αἰγύπτιον λίπε δῆμον, ἀπεχθέα, βαρβαρόφωνον,
Δὴ τότε μοῦνον ἔην ὅσιον γένος υἱες Ἰούδα.
Ἐν δὲ Θεὸς λαοῖσι μέγα κρείων βασίλευεν.
Εἶδε καὶ ἐντροπάδην φύγαδ' ἐῤῥώησε θάλασσα,
Κύματι εἰλυμένη ῥοθίῳ, ὁ δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ἐστυφελίχθη
Ιρὸς Ἰορδάνης ποτὶ ἀργυροειδέα πηγήν.
Ἐκ δ' ὅρεα σκαρθμοῖσιν ἀπειρέσια κλονέοντο,
Ως κριοὶ σφριγόωντες ευτραφερῷ ἐν ἀλωῇ.
Βαιότεραι δ' ἅμα πᾶσαι ἀνασκίρτησαν ἐρίπναι,
Οἷα παραὶ σύριγγι φίλῃ ὑπὸ μητέρι ἄρνες.
Τίπτε σύγ', αἰνὰ θάλασσα, πέλωρ φύγαδ' ἐῤῥώησας
Κύματι εἰλυμένη ῥοθίῳ ; τί δ' ἄρ ἐστυφελίχθης
Ιρὸς Ἰορδάνη ποτὶ ἀργυροειδέα πηγήν ;
Τίπτ' ὄρεα σκαρθμοῖσιν ἀπειρέσια κλονέεσθε,
Ως κριοὶ σφριγόωντες ευτραφερῷ ἐν ἀλωῇ;
Βαιότεραι τί δ' ἄρ' ύμμες ἀνασκιρτήσατ' ἐρίπναι,
Οἷα παραὶ σύριγγι φίλῃ ὑπὸ μητέρι ἄρνες ;
Σείεο γαῖα τρέουσα Θεὸν μεγάλ' ἐκτυπέοντα,
Γαῖα Θεὸν τρείουσ ̓ ὕπατον σέβας Ἰσσακίδαο,
Ος τε καὶ ἐκ σπιλάδων ποταμοὺς χέα μορμύροντας,
Κρήνην τ' ἀέναον πέτρης ἀπὸ δακρυοέσσης.

Philosophus ad Regem quendam, qui eum ignotum et insontem inter reos forte captum inscius damnaverat, τὴν ἐπὶ θανάτῳ πορευόμενος, hac subito misit.

Ὦ ἄνα, εἰ ὀλέσῃς με τὸν ἔννομον, οὐδέ τιν' ἀνδρῶν
Δεινὸν ὅλως δράσαντα, σοφώτατον ἴσθι κάρηνον
Ρηϊδίως ἀφέλοιο, τὸ δ ̓ ὕστερον αὖθι νοήσεις,
Μαψιδίως δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ἔπειτα τεὸν πρὸς θυμὸν ὀδύρῃ,
Τοιόνδ' ἐκ πόλιος περιώνυμον ἄλκαρ ὀλέσσας.

In effigiei ejus sculptorem.

Αμαθεί γεγράφθαι χειρὶ τήνδε μὲν εἰκόνα
Φαίης τάχ' ἄν, πρὸς εἶδος αὐτοφυὲς βλέπων.
Τὸν δ ̓ ἐκτυπωτὸν οὐκ ἐπιγνόντες, φίλοι,
Γελᾶτε φαύλου δυσμίμημα ζωγράφου.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF
A COUGH.

Anno ætatis 17.—(1625).

I.

O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,

Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winter's force that made thy blossom dry;
For he, being amorous on that lovely dye

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But killed, alas! and then bewailed his fatal bliss.

II.

For, since grim Aquilo, his charioteer,

By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got,
He thought it touched his deity full near,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away the infamous blot

Of long uncoupled bed and childless eld,

Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III.

So, mounting up in icy-pearlèd car,

Through middle empire of the freezing air

He wandered long, till thee he spied from far;
There ended was his quest, there ceased his care:
Down he descended from his snow-soft chair,

But, all unwares, with his cold-kind embrace,
Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair 'biding-place.

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IV.

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand,
Whilom did slay his dearly-lovèd mate,
Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas' strand,
Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land;
But then transformed him to a purple flower:
Alack, that so to change thee winter had no power!

V.

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,

Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed
Hid from the world in a low-delvèd tomb;
Could Heaven, for pity, thee so strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine.

VI.

Resolve me, then, O soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)!
Tell me, bright spirit, where'er thou hoverest,
Whether above that high first-moving sphere,
Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were),

Oh, say me true if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII.

Wert thou some star, which from the ruined roof,

Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which careful Jove in nature's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did re-install?
Or did of late earth's sons besiege the wall

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled
Among us here below to hide thy nectared head?

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VIII.

Or wert thou that just maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, oh! tell me sooth,
And camest again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet-smiling youth?

Or that crowned matron, sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heavenly brood

Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good?

IX.

Or wert thou of the golden-winged host,
Who, having clad thyself in human weed,
To earth from thy prefixèd seat didst post,
And after short abode fly back with speed,
As if to show what creatures Heaven doth breed ;
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire

To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire?

X.

But oh! why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy Heaven-loved innocence,
To slake His wrath whom sin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,

To stand 'twixt us and our deservèd smart?

But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI.

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Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,
Her false-imagined loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render Him with patience what He lent:
This if thou do, He will an offspring give

That till the world's last end shall make thy name to live.

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