Stat sacra senectae Numine.
Hos, precor, hos saltem steriles mihi linqve recessus;
Laedere fagineas, rustice, parce comas.
Flore licet nunqvam tenerave arriserit herba
Frigida qvae nostris frondibus horret humus;
Nec roseo ridens luxu croceive coloris
Roscidus aestivo fragret odore calyx;
Si neqve sub foliis anno fugiente relictis
Edita de tenero germine poma rubent,
Nec mea mussanti promittunt bracchia turbae
Nectareas, cellis qvae cumulentur, opes:
Hos tamen, hos saltem steriles mihi linqve recessus;
Laedere fagineas, rustice, parce comas.
Iam deciens senos video redeunte per annos
Sole nitere polum, fronde virere nemus,
Innumerasqve hiemis vento bacchante procellas
Floribus et fructu despoliata fero,
Ex qvo prima mea lusit sub fronde iuventus,
Struxit et innocuos parvula turba choros,
Umbraqve dilecta puerum cum virgine texit
Mutua qvi laeta pignora mente darent,
Et memori interdum trunco servanda notarent
Nomina, qvae longo iam periere die.
O ego blanda precor per te suspiria et omnes,
Conscia queis fuerunt haec loca sancta, sonos,
Vota per hic laetis totiens audita puellis,
Qvaeqve susurravit verba fidelis amor,
precor ut sanctam venerere Cupidinis aram;
Laedere fagineas, rustice, parce comas.
Non bibis aetherio diam de nectare tu vim;
Aetherium nectar vis tibi dia dedit.
Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid!
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To war and arms I flie.
True, a new mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore:
I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Loved I not honoure more.
Whence comes my love, O hearte, disclose!
'Twas from her cheekes that shame the rose;
From lyppes that spoyle the rubie's prayse;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes my woe, as freely owne:
Ah me! 'twas from a hearte lyke stone.
The blushynge cheeke speakes modest mynde,
The lyppes befittinge wordes most kynde;
The eye does tempte to love's desyre,
And seemes to say, 'tis Cupid's fire:
Yet all so faire but speake my moane,
Syth noughte dothe saye the hearte of stone.
Why thus, my love, so kyndely speake
Sweet lyppe, sweet eye, sweet blushynge cheeke,
Yet not a hearte to save my paine?
O Venus! take thy giftes again;
Make not so faire to cause our moane,
Or make a hearte that's like our owne.
Qui bello est habilis, Veneri qvoqve convenit. Qvod fera tam castis mutare recessibus arma Cogimur, eqve tuo longius ire sinu,
Parce, precor, verbis nimium indulgere severis:
Non adeo tuus est, lux mea, durus amans.
Etsi, acie primum qvemcumqve offendimus hostem,
Est novus a nobis iste petendus amor,
Si clipeo potius, si basia iungimus ensi,
Ardentiqve magis corde perimus eqvum;
Attamen et tibi se mea vita probaverit ipsi;
Nec nihil haec levitas qvo capiaris habet;
Nam tu, crede mihi, non tam dilecta fuisses,
Ni tibi decressem praeposuisse decus.
Stat tibi in corde Lapis.
Fons et causa mei, dic, mens mea, qvid sit amoris :
Ille Neae roseo vernus in ore color;
Mollia curalii laudem rapientia labra,
Lumina non flammis victa, pyrope, tuis.
Causa mei luctus qvae sit neu parce fateri;
Mens rigida saxis aemula duritie.
Illa pudicitiam monstrat rosa verna genarum;
Aptaqve sunt teneris mollia verba labris:
Provocat ille oculi tam lucidus ardor amorem ;
Ipse Cupidineo scilicet igne calet.
Sed mihi, qvidqvid ibi pulcri est, habet omne dolorem,
Cum taceat mentis saxea durities.
Cur oculi mihi, cara, tui tam suave loqvuntur,
Labraqve blanditiis plena, genaeqve rosis,
Nec tamen est in te nostri mens parca doloris ?
Splendida pro nimium dona resume, Venus;
Materiamqve mei luctus vel tolle decorem,
Vel cor, qvale meum est, da qvoqve tale Neae.
The lake has burst! the lake has burst!
Down through the chasms the wild waves flee;
They gallop along,
With a roaring song,
Away to the eager awaiting sea!
Down through the valleys, and over the rocks,
And over the forests, the flood runs free;
And wherever it dashes,
The oaks and the ashes
Shrink, drop, and are borne to the hungry sea!
The cottage of reeds and the tower of stone,
Both shaken to ruin, at last agree;
And the slave and his master,
In one wide disaster,
Are hurried, like weeds, to the scornful sea!
The sea-beast he tosseth his foaming mane,
He bellows aloud to the misty sky;
And the sleep-buried Thunder
Awakens in wonder,
And the Lightning opens her piercing eye!
There is death above, there is death around,
There is death wherever the waters be;
There is nothing now doing
Save terror and ruin,
In earth, and in air, and the stormy sea!
In holy slumber here reposing lies
Timocritus: ne'er say the good man dies.
Fera Diluvies.
Fugere ruptis obiicibus lacus
Fugere lymphae: per cava litorum
Exsultim et immissis habenis
Agmine prono eqvitant liqvores,
Bacchantium cum murmure fluctuum,
Dudum vocantem visere Nerea.
Per saxa depressasqve valles,
Per siluas furit expedito
Umore torrens amnis: et impetus
Tumultuantem qva tulit, ilices
A stirpe convulsas et ornos
Traxit ad oceanum voracem:
Regumqve turres tectaqve pauperum
Tandem ruinae conciliant pares;
Fatoqve consortes eodem
Cum famulis domini per unam
Stragem in superbos, ceu stipulae leves,
Volvuntur aestus. Vorticibus furit
Neptunus, et cristas comantes
Fluctibus aeriasqve torqvens
Spumas opacum nubibus ad polum
Immugit omnis: qvo fremitu Pater
Erectus excusso sopore
Fulminat et iaculatur ignes:
Supraqve circumqve exitium ingruit,
Qvocumqve cursum praecipitant aqvae;
Tellusqve caelumqve et tremendas
Ira maris glomerat ruinas.
Hic fruitur sacro per saecla perennia somno
Timocritus: ne quis credat obire bonos.
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