THE WOUNDED CUPID.
CUPID, as he lay among
Roses, by a bee was stung.
Whereupon, in anger flying
To his mother, said thus, crying,
Help, O help, your boy's a dying!
And why, my pretty lad? said she.
Then, blubbering, replied he,
A winged snake has bitten me,
Which country people call a bee.
At which she smil'd; then with her hairs
And kisses drying up his tears,
Alas, said she, my wag! if this
Such a pernicious torment is;
Come tell me then, how great's the smart
Of those thou woundest with thy dart?
SITTING alone, as one forsook,
Close by a silver-shedding brook,
With hands held up to Love, I wept;
And, after sorrows spent, I slept:
Then in a vision I did see
A glorious form appear to me ;
A virgin's face she had; her dress
POEM XLV.] We have here another very elegant trans
Ερως ποτ ̓ ἑν ῥοδοισι, &c.
Was like a sprightly Spartaness;
A silver bow, with green silk strung,
Down from her comely shoulders hung;
And, as she stood, the wanton air
Dandled the ringlets of her hair ;
Her legs were such Diana shews,
When, tuck'd up, she a hunting goes,
With buskins shorten'd to descry
The happy dawning of her thigh;
Which when I saw, I made access
To kiss that tempting nakedness;
But she forbad me with a wand
Of myrtle she had in her hand;
And, chiding me, said: "Hence, remove,
"Herrick!
Thou art too coarse to love,”
DISSUASIONS FROM IDLENESS.
CYNTHIUS, pluck ye by the ear;
That ye may good doctrine hear.
Play not with the maiden hair,
For each ringlet there's a snare :
Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin,
These are traps to take fools in;
Arms, and hands, and all parts else,
Are but toils, or manacles,
Set on purpose to inthrall
Men, but slothfuls most of all.
Live employ'd, and so live free
From these fetters; like to me,
Who have found, and still can prove,
*The lazy man the most doth love.
Thus the great master of love's art:
Cedit amor rebus; res age, tutus eris.
OVID. Remed. Amor. v, 151.
TO SIR THOMAS SOUTHWELL AND HIS LADY.
Now, now's the time, so oft by truth
Promis'd should come to crown your youth.
Then, fair ones, do not wrong
Your joys by staying long,
Or let love's fire go out
By ling'ring thus in doubt;
But learn, that time once lost
Is ne'er redeem'd by cost.
Then away come, Hymen; guide
To the bed the bashful bride!
These precious, pearly, purling tears
But spring from ceremonious fears;
And 'tis but native shame,
That hides the loving flame
And may awhile controul
The soft and am'rous soul;
But yet love's fire will waste
Such bashfulness at last.
Then away come, Hymen; guide
To the bed the bashful bride!
POEM XLVIII. To point out to the classic reader how, and where the spirit of Catullus, Secundus, and Bonefonius is transfused into this little poem, would be needless. The gentleman who is the subject of it I cannot conjecture; he was perhaps of no great publicity, some rural retired knight; as I do not meet with any such person recorded in books, or otherwise distinguished, about Herrick's period.
On, on devoutly; make no stay,
While Domiduca* leads the way;
And Genius, who attends
The bed for lucky ends:
With Juno go the Hours,
And Graces strewing flow'rs;
And the boys with sweet tunes sing,
Hymen, O Hymen bring
Home the turtles; Hymen guide
To the bed the bashful bride!
Behold, how Hymen's taper light
Shews you how much is spent of night.
See, see the bridegroom's torch
Half wasted in the porch;
And now those tapers five,
That shew the womb shall thrive,
Their silv'ry flames advance,
To tell, all prosp❜rous chance
Still shall crown the happy life
Of the good man, and the wife!
Move forward then your rosy feet,
And make whate'er they touch turn sweet.
May all like flow'ry meads
Smell, where your soft foot treads;
And ev'ry thing assume
To it the like perfume;
As Zephirus, when he spires
Through woodbines and sweetbriars.
Then away come, Hymen; guide
To the bed the bashful bride!
* A coined word, I presume, for the paranympha, pro. nuba, or bridemaid attending the bride.
And now the yellow veil at last
Over her fragrant cheek is cast;
Now seems she to express
A bashful willingness,*
Shewing a heart consenting,
As with a will repenting :
Then gently lead her on
With wise suspicion ;
For that, matrons say, a measure
Of that passion sweetens pleasure.
You, you that be her nearest kin,
+Now o'er the threshold force her in.
But, to avert the worst,
Let her her fillets first
Knit to the posts; this point
Rememb'ring, to anoint
The sides; for 'tis a charm
Strong against future harm,
And the evil deeds, the which
There was hidden by the witch.
No fatal owl the bedstead keeps
With direful notes to fright your sleeps ;
No Furies hereabout
To put the tapers out
*Tardet ingenuus pudor.
CATULLUS. Epithal. Juliæ & Manlii.
Transfer omine cum bono
Limen aureolos pedes.
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