For I have put beneath my girdle here
A son, whose sire the human mortal sphere
Gives circumscription. But, when first the light
His eyes shall comfort, Nymphs that haunt the height
Of hills, and breasts have of most deep receipt;
Shall be his nurses; who inhabit now
A hill of so vast and divine a brow,
As man nor God can come at their retreats;
Who live long lives, and eat immortal meats,
And with Immortals in the exercise
Of comely dances dare contend, and rise
Into high question which deserves the prize.
The light Sileni mix in love with these,
And, of all Spies the Prince, Argicides;
In well-trimm’d caves their secret meetings made.
And with the lives of these doth life invade
Or odorous fir-trees, or high-foreheaded oaks,
Together taking their begetting strokes,
And have their lives and deaths of equal dates,
Trees bearing lovely and delightsome states,
Whom Earth first feeds, that men initiates.
On her high hills she doth their states sustain,
And they their own heights raise as high again.
Their growths together made, Nymphs call their groves
Vow’d to th’ Immortals services and loves;
Which men’s steels therefore touch not, but let grow.
But when wise Fates times for their fadings know,
The fair trees still before the fair Nymphs die,
The bark about them grown corrupt and dry,
And all their boughs fall’n yield to Earth her right;
And then the Nymphs’ lives leave the lovely night,
“And these Nymphs in their caves shall nurse my son,
Whom (when in him youth’s first grace is begun)
The Nymphs, his nurses, shall present to thee;
And show thee what a birth thou hast by me.
And, sure as now I tell thee all these things,
When Earth hath cloth’d her plants in five fair springs,
Myself will make return to this retreat,
And bring that flow’r of thy enamour’d heat;
Whom when thou then seest, joy shall fire thine eyes;
He shall so well present the Deities.
And then into thine own care take thy son
From his calm seat to windy Ilion,
Where, if strict question be upon the past,
Asking what mother bore beneath her waist
So dear a son, answer, as I afford
Fit admonition, nor forget a word:
They say a Nymph, call’d Calucopides,
That is with others an inhabitress
On this thy wood-crown’d hill, acknowledges
That she his life gave. But, if thou declare
The secret’s truth, and art so mad to dare
(In glory of thy fortunes) to approve
That rich-crown’d Venus mix’d with thee in love,
Jove, fired with my aspersion so dispread,
Will with a wreakful lightning dart thee dead.
“All now is told thee, comprehend it all.
Be master of thyself, and do not call
My name in question; but with reverence vow
To Deities’ angers all the awe ye owe.”
This said, She reach’d heaven, where airs ever flow.
And so, O Goddess, ever honour’d be,
In thy so odorous Cyprian empery!
My Muse, affecting first thy fame to raise,
Shall make transcension now to others’ praise.
THE END OF THE FIRST HYMN TO VENUS
ENDNOTES.
1 ᾿Ακροπόλος. Altissimum habens verticem, cujus summitas ipsum polum attingit.
2 ἄληστος. Cujus memoria erit perpetua.
TO THE SAME
The reverend, rich-crown’d, and fair Queen I sing,
Venus, that owes ill fate the fortressing
Of all maritimal Cyprus; where the force
Of gentle-breathing Zephyr steer’d her course
Along the waves of the resounding sea,
While, yet unborn, in that soft foam she lay
That brought her forth; whom those fair Hours that bear
The golden bridles joyfully stood near,
Took up into their arms, and put on her
Weeds of a never-corruptible wear.
On her immortal head a crown they plac’d,
Elaborate, and with all the beauties grac’d
That gold could give it; of a weight so great,
That, to impose and take off, it had set
Three handles on it, made, for endless hold,
Of shining brass, and all adorn’d with gold.
Her soft neck all with carquenets was grac’d,
That stoop’d, and both her silver breasts embrac’d,
Which even the Hours themselves wear in resort
To Deities’ dances, and her Father’s court.
Grac’d at all parts, they brought to heaven her graces;
Whose first sight seen, all fell into embraces,
Hugg’d her white hands, saluted, wishing all
To wear her maiden flow’r in festival
Of sacred Hymen, and to lead her home;
All, to all admiration, overcome
With Cytherea with the violet crown.
So to the Black-brow’d Sweet-spoke all renown!
Prepare my song, and give me, in the end,
The victory to whose palm all contend!
So shall my Muse for ever honour thee,
And, for thy sake, thy fair posterity.
BACCHUS, OR THE PIRATES
Of Dionysus, noble Semele’s Son,
I now intend to render mention,
As on a prominent shore his person shone,
Like to a youth whose flow’r was newly blown,
Bright azure tresses play’d about his head,
And on his bright broad shoulders was dispread
A purple mantle. Strait he was descried
By certain manly pirates, that applied
Their utmost speed to prise him, being aboard
A well-built bark, about whose broad sides roar’d
The wine-black Tyrrhene billows; death as black
Brought them upon him in their future wrack.
For, soon as they had purchas’d but his view,
Mutual signs past them, and ashore they flew,
Took him, and brought him instantly aboard,
Soothing their hopes to have obtain’d a hoard
Of riches with him; and a Jove-kept king
To such a flow’r must needs be natural spring.
And therefore straight strong fetters they must fetch,
To make him sure. But no such strength would stretch
To his constrain’d pow’rs. Far flew all their bands
From any least force done his feet or hands.
But he sat casting smiles from his black eyes
At all their worst. At which discoveries
Made by the master, he did thus dehort
All his associates: “Wretches! Of what sort
Hold ye the person ye assay to bind?
Nay, which of all the Pow’r fully-divin’d
Esteem ye him, whose worth yields so much weight
That not our well-built bark will bear his freight?
Or Jove himself he is, or
He that bears
The silver bow, or Neptune. Nor appears
In him the least resemblance of a man,
But of a strain at least Olympian.
Come! Make we quick dismission of his state,
And on the black-soil’d earth exonerate
Our sinking vessel of his deified load,
Nor dare the touch of an intangible God,
Lest winds outrageous, and of wrackful scathe,
And smoking tempests, blow his fiery wrath.”
This well-spoke master the tall captain gave
Hateful and horrible language; call’d him slave,
And bade him mark the prosp’rous gale that blew,
And how their vessel with her mainsail flew;
Bade all take arms, and said, their works requir’d
The cares of men, and not of an inspir’d
Pure zealous master; his firm hopes being fir’d
With this opinion, that they should arrive
In Ægypt straight, or Cyprus, or where live
Men whose brave breaths above the north wind blow;
Yea, and perhaps beyond their region too.
And that he made no doubt but in the end
To make his prisoner tell him every friend
Of all his offspring, brothers, wealth, and all;
Since that prise, certain, must some God let fall.
This said, the mast and mainsail up he drew,
And in the mainsail’s midst a frank gale blew;
When all his ship took arms to brave their prise.
But straight strange works appear’d to all their eyes:
First, sweet wine through their swift-black bark did flow,
Of which the odours did a little blow
Their fiery spirits, making th’ air so fine
That they in flood were there as well as wine.
A mere immortal-making savour rose,
Which on the air the Deity did impose.
The seamen see’ng all, admiration seiz’d;
Yet instantly their wonders were increas’d,
For on the topsail there ran, here and there,
A vine that grapes did in abundance bear,
And in an instant was the ship’s mainmast
With an obscure-green ivy’s arms embrac’d,
That flourish’d straight, and were with berries grac’d;
Of which did garlands circle every brow
Of all the pirates, and no one knew how.
Which when they saw, they made the master steer
Out to the shore; whom Bacchus made forbear,
With showing more wonders. On the hatches He
Appear’d a terrible lion, horribly
Roaring; and in the mid-deck a male bear,
Made with a huge mane; making all, for fear,
Crowd to the stern, about the master there,
Whose mind he still kept dauntless and sincere,
But on the captain rush’d and ramp’d, with force
So rude and sudden, that his main recourse
Was to the main-sea straight: and after him
Leapt all his mates, as trusting to their swim
To fly foul death; but so found what they fled,
Being all to dolphins metamorphosed.
The master he took ruth of, sav’d, and made
The blessed’st man that ever tried his trade,
These few words giving him: “Be confident,
Thou God-inspired pilot, in the bent
Of my affection, ready to requite
Thy late-to-me-intended benefit.
I am the roaring God of spritely wine,
Whom Semele (that did even Jove incline
To amorous mixture, and was Cadmus’ care)
Made issue to the mighty Thunderer.”
And thus, all excellence of grace to thee,
Son of sweet-count’nance-carry’ng Semele.
I must not thee forget in least degree,
But pray thy spirit to render so my song
Sweet, and all ways in order’d fury strong.
TO MARS
Mars, most-strong, gold-helm’d, making chariots crack;
Never without a shield cast on thy back;
Mind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven;
Strong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven;
Father of victory with fair strokes given;
Joint surrogate of justice, lest she fall
In unjust strifes a tyrant; general
Only of just men justly; that dost bear
Fortitude’s sceptre, to heaven’s fiery sphere
Giver of circular motion, between
That and the Pleiads that still wand’ring been,
Where thy still-vehemently-flaming horse
About the third heaven make their fiery course;
Helper of mortals; hear! — As thy fires give
The fair and present boldnesses that strive
In youth for honour, being the sweet-beam’d light
That darts into their lives, from all their height,
The fortitudes and fortunes found in fight;
So would I likewise wish to have the pow’r
To keep off from my head thy bitter hour,
And that false fire, cast from my soul’s low kind,
Stoop to the fit rule of my highest mind,
Controlling that so eager sting of wrath
That stirs me on still to that horrid scathe
Of war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen
(Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men.
But O thou Ever-Blessed! give me still
Presence of mind to put in act my will,
Varied, as fits, to all occasion;
And to live free, unforc’d, unwrought upon,
Beneath those laws of peace that never are
Affected with pollutions popular
Of unjust hurt, or loss to anyone;
And to bear safe the burthen undergone
Of foes inflexive, and inhuman hates,
Secure from violent and harmful fates.
TO DIANA
Diana praise, Muse, that in darts delights,
Lives still a maid, and had nutritial rights
With her born-brother, the far-shooting Sun.
That doth her all-of-gold-made chariot run
In chase of game, from Meles that abounds
In black-brow’d bulrushes, and, where her hounds
She first uncouples, joining there her horse,
Through Smyrna carried in most fiery course
To grape-rich Claros; where (ill his rich home,
And constant expectation She will come)
Sits Phœbus, that the silver bow doth bear,
To meet with Phœbe, that doth darts transfer
As far as He his shafts. As far then be
Thy chaste fame shot, O Queen of archery!
Sacring my song to every Deity.
TO VENUS
To Cyprian Venus still my verses vow,
Who gifts as sweet as honey doth bestow
On all mortality; that ever smiles,
And rules a face that all foes reconciles;
Ever sustaining in her hand a flow’r
That all desire keeps ever in her pow’r.
Hail, then, O Queen of well-built Salamine,
And all the state that Cyprus doth confine,
Inform my song with that celestial fire
That in thy beauties kindles all desire.
So shall my Muse for ever honour thee,
And any other thou commend’st to me.
TO PALLAS
Pallas Minerva only I begin
To give my song; that makes war’s terrible din,
Is patroness of cities, and with Mars
Marshall’d in all the care and cure of wars,
And in everted cities, fights, and cries.
But never doth herself set down or rise
Before a city, but at both times She
All injur’d people sets on foot and free.
Give, with thy war’s force, fortune then to me,
And, with thy wisdom’s force, felicity.
TO JUNO
Saturnia, and her throne of gold, I sing,
That was of Rhea the eternal spring,
And empress of a beauty never yet
Equall’d in height of tincture. Of the great
Saturnius (breaking air in awful noise)
The far-fam’d wife and sister; whom in joys
Of high Olympus all the Blessed love,
And honour equal with unequall’d Jove.
TO CERES
The rich-hair’d Ceres I assay to sing;
A Goddess, in whose grace the natural spring
Of serious majesty itself is seen;
And of the wedded, yet in grace still green,
Proserpina, her daughter, that displays
A beauty casting every way her rays.
All honour to thee, Goddess! Keep this town;
And take thou chief charge of my song’s renown!
TO THE MOTHER OF THE GODS
Mother of all, both Gods and men, commend,
O Muse, whose fair form did from Jove descend;
That doth with cymbal sounds delight her life,
And tremulous divisions of the fife;
Love’s dreadful lions’ roars, and wolves’ hoarse howls,
Sylvan retreats, and hills, whose hollow knolls
Raise repercussive sounds about her ears.
And so may honour ever crown thy years
With all-else Goddesses, and ever be
Exalted in the Muses’ harmony!
TO LION-HEARTED HERCULES
Alcides, forcefullest of all the brood
Of men enforc’d with need of earthy food,
My Muse shall memorise; the son of Jove,
Whom, in fair-seated Thebes (commix’d in love
With great heaven’s sable-cloud-assembling State)
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 173