Classic Poem

" NOW, to pursue my first intent, which I
Would fain fulfill, that was to state the grief
Which troubles me in body and in soul,
This matter I'll discuss no more, but turn
Back to the heavens that well their duty do
To creatures who receive their influence
According to their divers substances.
" They make the contrary winds inflame the air
And shriek and howl and burst on many a place
In thunder and in vivid lightning flash;
The trumpets, kettledrums, and tambourines
Of the celestial orchestra they sound
So loudly that the vapors which they raise
Disrupt the very clouds, whose bellies burst
With heat engendered by the thunderbolts
Which horribly in tournaments engage
And shake the very earth and raise the dust,
Bell towers and turrets overwhelming quite —
And many an ancient tree so lash and beat
That it is torn, uprooted, from the ground,
Its roots, no matter how they were attached,
Availing naught to keep the trunk upright
Or save the branches wholly or in part.
" Some say the demons bring all this about
With hooks and cables, or with teeth and nails;
But such an explanation is not worth
Two turnips; those accepting it are wrong,
For nothing but the tempest and the wind
Are needed to explain the havoc wrought;
These are the things that cause the injury —
Blow down the grain and shrivel up the vines,
Knock flowers and fruit from trees and shake them so
That naught stays on the branches till it's ripe.
" The heavens make the air at divers times
Weep heavy tears; the clouds such sorrow feel
That they divest themselves of all their clothes.
They do not care a straw for those black cloaks
That they have worn, but tear them piecemeal off,
So much they've given themselves up to their grief.
As if one murdered them, they shed their tears
So thick and fast, and so profoundly weep,
That they cause streams to overflow their banks
And flood the fields — the neighboring forests sack
With their outrageous, inundating waves.
Destruction of the grain makes hard times come;
Then the poor men who cultivate the fields
Give themselves up to anguish, all hope lost.
But, when the rivers break their banks, the fish
Which, as is reasonable and right, pursue
The streams, like lords and masters wandering,
Go feeding 'mongst the vineyards or o'er fields
And meadows; toward the ash trees, oaks, and pines
They dash, and disinherit savage beasts
From their estates and manors, swimming free.
Bacchus and Ceres, Pan and Cybele
Are much enraged when they see troops of fish
Invading, on the fin, their happy homes
With heavy hearts satyrs and fairies lose
Their charming groves to inundating floods.
The nymphs lament their fountains; when they find
Them full and overflowing, covered quite
With river water, they resent their loss.
Wood sprites and dryads are so sick with grief
That they all think they're ruined when they see
Their woods cut off, and of the river-gods
Complain that they new villainy have wrought
Upon them, undeserving innocents,
Who naught have done to merit such abuse.
The fish are guests in many a neighboring town,
Low lying by the river, where they find
The miserable guest rooms poor and vile;
But there is not a cellar or a barn,
Or any place so costly or so dear,
That they therein do not install themselves;
The temples and the churches they invade,
And rob of services the deities;
From dim-lit chambers they chase household gods
And for their images have scant respect.
" But when good weather comes and drives away
The bad, the heavens, which are displeased and bored
In time of rain and tempest, clear the air
Of all its wrath and make it laugh with joy;
Then, when the clouds perceive that they are fed
With such rejoicing air, they smile again,
After their mourning trim and deck themselves,
To be more fair and pleasing, in bright robes
Of many colors, and their fleeces dry
Beneath the sun's most pleasant, cheerful rays,
And take advantage of the weather bright
And clear to comb them in the open air;
And then they spin their wool, and when it's spun
Draw out great needlefuls of snowy thread
As if they were about to lace their sleeves.
And then, when they take heart again to go
On a long pilgrimage, they hitch up steeds
And mount and ride like mad o'er hill and vale;
For Æolus, as he is called, the god
Of winds, when he has safely harnessed them
(For there's no other charioteer who knows
The way to manage horses such as they),
Puts on their feet such wings as birds ne'er had.
" Straightway the air then dons the mantle blue
Which she in India is wont to wear,
And dressed in it prepares to look her best,
As for a festival, while she awaits,
In fine array, the absent clouds' return.
They, meanwhile, to give solace to the earth,
And that they may be ready for a hunt,
Are wont to bear, ready at hand, a bow
Or two or even three if they prefer,
The which celestial arcs are rainbows called,
Regarding which nobody can explain,
Unless he teaches optics in some school,
How they are varicolored by the sun,
How many and what sorts of hues they show,
Wherefore so many and such different kinds,
Or why they are displayed in such a form.
Such teacher should take care to read the book
Of Aristotle, who has more observed
Of nature than has any other man
Since times of Tubal Cain. An optics book
Was written by Alhazen, of the line
Of Huchain, which none but fools neglect.
He who would well this rainbow understand
Should study this, and he should be, besides,
A good observer and a careful judge
And learned in nature and geometry,
Knowledge of which is most prerequisite
For one who would the book on optics con.
Therein he'll find explained the mirror's powers
And why a glass can make the smallest things —
Grains of powdered sand, or letters small —
Seem great, and to the observer bring them close:
Enable him to choose among them all
And count them, or to read the smallest script
From so far off that one who has not seen
Would not believe the tale of him who knows
The causes and observes their great effects.
This need not be accepted on belief,
For knowledge of it such a one can gain.
" If Mars and Venus, ere they went to bed
And as they there together lay were trapped,
Had looked in such a glass, so held that they
Could in it see the bed, they had escaped
The subtle, tenuous net that Vulcan made
And set for them, of which they nothing knew,
But in which they were captured and enmeshed.
For though that net had been of workmanship
Finer than spiderweb, it had been seen
And Vulcan had been foiled, for never they
Would then have gone to bed, if they perceived
Each thread more thick and longer, seemingly,
Than some great beam. Then Vulcan, wicked wretch,
Raging with anger and with jealous ire,
Never had proven their adultery,
Nor would the gods have known of the affair
If Mars and Venus had such glasses used,
For they immediately had fled the room
When they perceived the network spread for them,
And they had run to find some other place
To lie, where their amour had been concealed,
Or else they had contrived some other scheme
All mishap to avoid, and shame and grief.
Now, by your faith, have I not told the truth
In all these matters you've heard me confess? "
" Yes, certainly, " replied the priest. " That glass,
To tell the truth, had useful been to them;
For elsewhere they could easily conjoin
When once they knew their peril; or with sword,
Were it well made, strong Mars, the god of war,
Could certainly have cut the net apart
And so had vengeance on the jealous spouse,
And on that selfsame bed made Venus feel
That she was safe, without the care to find
Another place, unless one near at hand
Within the very room, upon the floor.
Then, if by some unfortunate mischance,
Which had been hard, indeed, Vulcan had come
Upon them while Mars held her in his arms,
Venus is smart enough (all women are
Most clever in intrigue), soon as she heard
Her husband at the door, to cover up
Her nakedness in time, and find defense
Against what accusation he might bring,
Offering some plausible excuse
Why Mars had come to visit in their home,
And swearing to whate'er he made her say,
Provided that she robbed him of his proof
And made him necessarily believe
That none of his malicious thoughts were true.
Nay, though his very eyes had seen her sin,
She might convince him that his sight was bad.
She knows how to employ a double tongue,
Twisting this way and that to find excuse;
For there's no creature can more hardily
Than women commit perjury and lie.
So Mars must have retired discomfited. "
" Most certainly, sir priest, you've spoken well,
Like one who's worthy, courteous, and wise.
Too much of subtlety and craftiness
The hearts of women harbor. He's a fool
Or ignoramus who doubts not their guile,
And never shall he be excused by me.
More boldly will they lie and falsely swear
Than any man, and even when they find
Themselves convicted of an obvious fault;
Indeed, especially when they are caught.
So I may honestly and well declare
That he who learns a woman's heart should be
Unboastful, for he'll ne'er know it so well
That it may not delude him in some way. "
Here Nature and Genius seem to reach accord;
But ne'ertheless wise Solomon has said,
And I go by the truth in Scripture writ:

" The man who one good woman finds is surely blest. "