English

Blithe the bright dawn found me,
Rest with strength had crown'd me,
Sweet the birds sang around me
Sport was their toil.

The horn its clang was keeping,
Forth the fox was creeping,
Round each dame stood weeping,
O'er the prowler's spoil.

Hark! the foe is calling,
Fast the woods are falling,
Scenes and sights appalling
Mark the wasted soil.

War and confiscation
Curse the fallen nation;
Gloom and desolation
Shade the lost land o'er,

Chill the winds are blowing,
Death aloft is going,

I KNOW that death is God's interpreter:
His quiet voice makes gracious meanings clear
In grievous things that vex us deeply here
Between the cradle and the sepulchre.
We, gazing into darkness, greatly err,
And fear the shrouded shadow of a fear
Till dawn reveals the vestments of a Seer
With gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
There is a mystery I cannot read
Around the mastery I no more dread;
For love is but a heart to brood and bleed,
And life is but a dream among the dead

A Shepherd kept Sheep in a Hill so high, fa, la, la, etc.
And there came a pretty Maid passing by, fa, la, etc.
Shepherd, quoth she, dost thou want e'er a Wife,
No by my troth I'm not weary of my Life, fa, la, la, etc.

Shepherd for thee I care not a Fly, fa, la, la,
For thou'st not the Face with a fair Maid to lie, fa, la,
How now my Damsel, say'st thou me so,
Thou shalt tast of my bottle before thou dost go, fa, la.

Then he took her and laid her upon the Ground, fa, la,
And made her believe that the World went round, fa, la,

Love for all! and can it be?
Can I hope it is for me?
I, who strayed so long ago,
Strayed so far, and fell so low!

I, the disobedient child,
Wayward, passionate, and wild;
I, who left my Father's home
In forbidden ways to roam!

I, who spurned his loving hold,
I, who would not be controlled;
I, who would not hear his call,
I, the willful prodigal?

I, who wasted and misspent
Every talent he had lent;
I, who sinned again, again,
Giving every passion rein!

To my Father can I go?—

My boat swings out and back,
Moored among mint and rush.
The river's ruffled speed
Laughs in the white wind's track.
My idle fingers crush
A crinkled, scented reed.

Who needs his fate provoke?
A spirit in all things flows,
And I with them flow too,
Content to eye long boughs
Of silvering willow stroke
Slowly the summer blue.

Drat my hateful birthday
to be spent in the boring old country.
It's going to be a day of mourning
without Cerinthus to hug.
Oh the joys of city life!
Is a musty old country house
Any fit place for a girl?
And that freezing river at Arezzo!
Please, sweet Messalla, relax,
too anxious, as ever, for my comfort!
Banish this grim expedition
totally out of your mind.
If I'm to be snatched away
I'll leave heart and soul behind here,
Since I'm not to be granted
licence to run my life.

As love and I, late harbour'd in one Inne,
With Proverbs thus each other intertaine:
In Love there is no lack, thus I begin,
Faire words make Fooles, replyeth he againe;
Who spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I)
As well (sayth he) too forward, as too slow;
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply,
A hastie Man (quoth he) ne'r wanted Woe;
Labour is light, where Love (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) Light Burthen's heavy, if farre borne;
(Quoth I) The Maine lost, cast the By away;

You cannot love, my prettie Heart, and why?
There was a time, You told Me that you would,
But now againe You will the same denie,
If it might please You, would to God You could;
What, will You hate? nay that You will not neither,
Nor Love, nor Hate, how then? what will You doe?
What will You keepe a meane then betwixt either?
Or will You love Me, and yet hate Me too?
Yet serves not This: what next, what other Shift?
You Will, and Will not, what a coyle is here?
I see Your craft, now I perceive Your drift,

To this our World, to Learning, and to Heaven,
Three Nines there are, to every one a Nine,
One number of the Earth, the other both Divine,
One Woman now, makes three odde Numbers even;
Nine orders first of Angels be in Heaven,
Nine Muses doe with Learning still frequent,
These with the Gods are ever resident;
Nine worthie Women to the World were given:
My worthy, One to these Nine Worthies addeth,
And my faire Muse, one Muse unto the Nine,
And my good Angell (in my Soule divine)
With one more Order, these nine Orders gladdeth:

Stay, speedy Time, behold, before thou passe,
From Age to Age, what thou hast sought to see,
One, in whom all the Excellencies be,
In whom, Heav'n lookes it selfe as in a Glasse:
Time, looke thou too, in this Tralucent Glasse,
And thy Youth past, in this pure Mirrour see,
As the World's Beautie in his Infancie,
What it was then, and thou before it was;
Passe on, and to Posteritie tell this,
Yet see thou tell, but truly, what hath beene:
Say to our Nephewes, that thou once hast seene,
In perfect humane shape, all heav'nly Blisse;