His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round

about it light; Then took and kiss'd his loving son, and (balanc

ing his weight In dancing him) these loving vows to living Jove he used,

510 And all the other bench of Gods: “O you that

have infused Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on

his star: Let his renown be clear as mine; equal his strength

in war; And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years

to come may yield His facts this fame, when, rich in spoils, he leaves

the conquer'd field Sown with his slaughters: “These high deeds ex

ceed his father's worth.' And let this echo'd praise supply the comforts to

come forth Of his kind mother with my life.” This said, th'

heroic sire Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh

streams of love's salt fire Billow'd on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector's speech,

520 In which his vows comprised the sum of all he

did beseech In her wish'd comfort. So she took into her

odorous breast Her husband's gift; who moved to see her heart

so much oppress'd, He dried her tears, and thus desired: “Afflict me

not, dear wife, With these vain griefs. He doth not live, that can

disjoin my life And this firm bosom, but my fate; and Fate

whose wings can fly? Noble, ignoble, Fate controls. Once born, the

best must die. Go home, and set thy housewifery on these ex

tremes of thought; And drive war from them with thy maids; keep

them from doing nought. These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me,

530 In whom, of all the Ilion race, they take their

highest degree."

For want of knowledge moved, but hear the call Of any Siren, he will so despise

60 Both wife and children, for their sorceries, That never home turns his affection's stream, Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them. The Sirens will so soften with their song (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong) His loose affections, that he gives them head. And then observe: They sit amidst a mead, And round about it runs a hedge or wall Of dead men's bones, their wither'd skins and all Hung all along upon it; and these men 70 Were such as they had fawn'd into their fen, And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones. Sail by them therefore, thy companions Beforehand causing to stop every ear With sweet soft wax so close, that none may hear A note of all their charmings. Yet may you, If you affect it, open ear allow To try their motion; but presume not so To trust your judgment, when your senses go So loose about you, but give strait command 80 To all your men, to bind you foot and hand Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve How strong in instigation to their love Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move, That, spite of all your reason, your will stands To be enfranchised both of feet and hands, Charge all your men before to slight your charge, And rest so far from fearing to enlarge That much more sure they bind you. When your

friends Have outsail'd these, the danger that transcends Rests not in any counsel to prevent,

91 Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent Of that way that avoids it. I can say That in your course there lies a twofold way, The right of which your own taught present wit, And grace divine, must prompt. In general yet Let this inform you: Near these Sirens' shore Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar The black sea's cruel billows; the bless'd Gods Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr'd abodes No bird can pass; no not the doves, whose fear Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear Ambrosia to him, can their ravine scape, But one of them falls ever to the rape Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill The sacred number. Never ship could shun The nimble peril wing'd there, but did run With all her bulk, and bodies of her men, To utter ruin. For the seas retain Not only their outrageous æsture there, But fierce assistants of particular fear And supernatural mischief they expire,

102

FROM THE TWELFTH BOOK OF

HOMER'S ODYSSEYS

IIO

“First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint The minds of all men whom they can acquaint With their attractions. Whosoever shall,

I21

And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire
Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone,
(Which bore the care of all men) got her gone,
Come from Areta. Yet perhaps even she
Had wrack'd at those rocks, if the Deity,
That lies by Jove's side, had not lent her hand
To their transmission; since the man, that mann'd
In chief that voyage, she in chief did love.
Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove
Against the height of heaven her pointed brow.
A black cloud binds it round, and never show
Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky
Lets ever view it, not the summer's eye,
Not fervent autumn's. None that death could end
Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend,
Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold.
A polish'd ice-like glibness doth enfold 130
The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell
Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.
From this keep you as far as from his bow
An able young man can his shaft bestow.
For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face,
That breathes a voice at all parts no more base
Than are newly-kitten'd kitling's cries,
Herself a monster yet of boundless size,
Whose sight would nothing please a mortal's eyes;
No, nor the eyes of any God, if he

140 (Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and

she Her full shape show'd. Twelve foul feet bear

about Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look'd out Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let A ghastly head out; every head three set, Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth; And every tooth stuck with a sable death;

“She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks; Where (gloating round her rock) to fish she falls; And up rush dolphins, dogfish; some-whiles whales,

151 If got within her when her rapine feeds; For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds About her whirlpool an unmeasured store. No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore That there touch'd with his ship, but still she fed Of him and his; a man for every head Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh Your dart may mete the distance. It receives A huge wild fig-tree, curl'd with ample leaves, Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits, 162 Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits She drinks all dry, and thrice a day again All up she belches, baneful to sustain. When she is drinking, dare not near her draught,

For not the force of Neptune (if once caught)
Can force your freedom. Therefore, in your

strife
To scape Charybdis, labour all, for life,
To row near Scylla, for she will but have

170 For her six heads six men; and better save The rest, than all make offerings to the wave."

This need she told me of my loss, when I Desired to know, if that Necessity, When I had scaped Charybdis' outrages, My powers might not revenge, though not redress. She answers: “O unhappy! art thou yet Enflamed with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat? Not to the Gods give up both arms and will ? She deathless is, and that immortal ill 180 Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued, That men must suffer till they be renew'd. Nor lives there any virtue that can fly The vicious outrage of their cruelty. Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock, I fear six more must expiate the shock. Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly, And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry (Great Scylla's mother, who exposed to light That bane of men) and she will do such right 190 To thy observance, that she down will tread Her daughter's rage, nor let her show a head.

“From henceforth then, for ever past her care,
Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular,
Where many oxen of the Sun are fed,
And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head
In every herd feed, and their herds are seven;
And of his fat flocks is their number even.
Increase they yield not, for they never die.
There every shepherdess a Deity.
Fair Phaëthusa, and Lampetie,
The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be,
Who to the daylight's lofty-going flame
Had gracious birthright from the heavenly dame,
Still young Neæra; who (brought forth and bred)
Far off dismiss'd them, to see duly fed
Their father's herds and flocks in Sicily.
These herds and flocks if to the Deity
Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on
Go with all fit care of your home, alone,
(Though through some sufferance) you yet safe

shall land
In wished Ithaca. But if impious hand
You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then
Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men.
If thou escapest thyself, extending home
Thy long'd-for landing, thou shalt loaded come
With store of losses, most exceeding late,
And not consorted with a saved mate."

This said, the golden-throned Aurora rose,
She her way went, and I did mine dispose

200

210

220

“Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise, That dost so high the Grecian glory raise; Ulysses / stay thy ship, and that song hear That none pass'd ever but it bent his ear, But left him ravish'd and instructed more By us, than any ever heard before. For we know all things whatsoever were In wide Troy labour'd; whatsoever there The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain's 280 By those high issues that the Gods ordain'd. And whatsoever all the earth can show T' inform a knowledge of deserl, we know."

This they gave accent in the sweetest strain That ever open'd an enamour'd vein. When my constrain'd heart needs would have mine

ear

Up to my ship, weigh'd anchor, and away.
When reverend Circe help'd us to convey
Our vessel safe, by making well inclined
A seaman's true companion, a forewind,
With which she fillid our sails; when, fitting all
Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall
To grave relation what concern'd in fate
My friends to know, and told them that the state
Of our affairs' success, which Circe had
Presaged to me alone, must yet be made

230
To one nor only two known, but to all;
That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall
In their elections, they might life elect,
And give what would preserve it fit effect.

I first inform’d them, that we were to fly The heavenly-singing Sirens' harmony, And flower-adorned meadow; and that I Had charge to hear their song, but fetter'd fast In bands, unfavour'd, to th' erected mast; From whence, if I should pray, or use command, To be enlarged, they should with much more

band Contain my strugglings. This I simply told 242 To each particular, nor would withhold What most enjoin'd mine own affection's stay, That theirs the rather might be taught t'obey. In meantime flew our ships, and straight we

fetch'd The Sirens' isle; a spleenless wind so stretch'd Her wings to wast us, and so urged our keel. But having reach'd this isle, we could not feel The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead, 250 And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread: The Sirens' devil charm'd all. Up then flew My friends to work, strook sail, together drew, And under hatches stow'd them, sat, and plied Their polish'd oars, and did in curls divide The white-head waters. My part then came on: A mighty waxen cake I set upon, Chopp'd it in fragments with my sword, and

wrought With strong hand every piece, till all were soft. The great power of the sun, in such a beam 260 As then flew burning from his diadem, To liquefaction help'd us. Orderly I stopp'd their ears: and they as fair did ply My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast With other halsers made me soundly fast. Then took they seat, and forth our passage

strook, The foamy sea beneath their labour shook.

Row'd on, in reach of an erected voice, The Sirens soon took note, without our noise; Tuned those sweet accents that made charms so strong,

270 And these learn'd numbers made the Sirens' song:

Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.
To which end I commanded with all sign
Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine
Had power to stir) my friends to rise, and give
My limbs free way. They freely strived to drive
Their ship still on. When, far from will to loose,
Eurylochus and Perimedes rose

293
To wrap me surer, and oppress'd me more
With many a halser than had use before.
When, rowing on without the reach of sound,
My friends unstopp'd their ears, and me unbound,
And that isle quite we quitted.

Gold their god; and some esteem
Honour is the chief content
That to man in life is lent.
And some others do contend,
Quiet none like to a friend.
Others hold there is no wealth
Compared to a perfect health.
Some man's mind in quiet stands,
When he is lord of many lands.
But I did sigh, and said all this
Was but a shade of perfect bliss;
And in my thoughts I did approve,
Nought so sweet as is true love.
Love 'twixt lovers passeth these,
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees,
With folded arms and lips meeting,
Each soul another sweetly greeting;
For by the breath the soul fleeteth,
And soul with soul in kissing meeteth.
If love be so sweet a thing,
That such happy bliss doth bring,
Happy is love's sugared thrall,
But unhappy maidens all,
Who esteem your virgin blisses
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses.
No such quiet to the mind
As true Love with kisses kind;
But if a kiss prove unchaste,
Then is true love quite disgraced.
Though love be sweet, learn this of me
No sweet love but honesty.

SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD

20

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
When thy father first did see

5
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe,
Fortune changed made him so,
When he left his pretty boy
Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Love is sweet,
Wherein sweet?

In fading pleasures that do pain.
Beauty sweet:
Is that sweet

That yieldeth sorrow for a gain?
If Love's sweet,
Herein sweet,

That minute's joys are monthly woes: 'Tis not sweet, That is sweet

Nowhere but where repentance grows. Then love who list, if beauty be so sour; Labor for me, Love rest in prince's bower.

25

IO

THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,

15
That one another's place supplies;
Thus he grieved in every part,
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king;

And sweeter too:
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown. 5

Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

20

10

10

20

His ilocks are folded, he comes home at night,
As merry as a king in his delight;

And merrier too:
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire.

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 15 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curds as doth the king his meat;

And blither too: For kings have often fears when they do sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup.

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain? To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, 25 As is a king in dalliance with a queen;

More wanton too: For kings have many griefs affects to move, Where shepherds have no greater grief than love. Ah then, ah then,

30 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound, As doth the king upon his bed of down; More sounder too:

35 For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill.

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 40 Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe As doth the king at every tide or sithe;

And blither too:
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand
When shepherds laugh and love upon the land.

Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ?

Who scorchèd with exceeding heat such floods of tears did shed,

5 As though His floods should quench His flames

with what His tears were fed; “Alas !” quoth He, “but newly born in fiery

heats I fry. Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel

my fire but I! My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wound

ing thorns; Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes

shame and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the

coals; The metal in this furnace wrought are men's

defiled souls; For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to

their good, So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my

blood :" With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly

15 And straight I called unto mind that it was

Christmas-day.

shrunk away,

SAMUEL DANIEL (1562-1619)

SONNETS TO DELIA

XIX

Restore thy tresses to the golden ore;

Yield Cytherea's son those arcs of love: Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore;

And to the orient do thy pearls remove. Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory white;

To Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet; Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright;

To Thetis give the honour of thy feet. Let Venus have thy graces her resigned;

And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres: But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind

To Hyrcan tigers and to ruthless bears. Yield to the marble thy hard heart again; So shalt thou cease to plague and I to pain.

46

II

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (1561 ?-1595)

XXXIX

THE BURNING BABE

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the

snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which made

my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was

near, A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air

appear,

Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose

The image of thy blush, and summer's honour! Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose

That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air But strait her wide-blown pomp comes to

decline; She then is scorn'd that late adorned the fair So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine.