Mortal, sneer not at the devil,
Life's a short and narrow way,
And perdition everlasting
Is no error of the day.

Mortal, pay thy debts precisely,
Life's a long and weary way;
And to-morrow thou must borrow,
As thou borrowd'st yesterday.

I, a most wretched Atlas, the huge world,
The whole huge world of sorrow I must carry.
Yea, the unbearable must bear, though meanwhile
My heart break in my bosom.
Thou haughty heart, thyself hast willed it thus,
Thou would'st be happy, infinitely happy,
Or infinitely wretched, haughty heart!
And lo! now art thou wretched.

E'en as a lovely flower,
So fair, so pure thou art;
I gaze on thee, and sadness
Comes stealing o'er my heart

My hands I fain had folded
Upon thy soft brown hair,
Praying that God may keep thee
So lovely, pure and fair.

Dearest friend, thou art in love,
Tortured with new woes thou art;
Darker grows it in thy brain,
Lighter grows it in thy heart.

Dearest friend, thou art in love,
Though thou hast not yet confessed.
I can see thy flaming heart
Burn already through thy vest.

And when I lamented my cruel lot,
You yawned in my face and you answered not.
But now that I set in dainties rhyme,
You flourish my trumpet all the time.

vii

At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
From death, you numberlesse infinities
Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom warre, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never taste deaths woe.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,

STROPHE I

Oh Love! oh Love! whose shafts of fire
Invade the soul with sweet surprise,
Through the soft dews of young desire
Trembling in beauty's azure eyes!
Condemn not me the pangs to share
Thy too impassioned votaries bear,
That on the mind their stamp impress,
Indelible and measureless
For not the sun's descending dart,
Nor yet the lightning-brand of Jove,
Fall like the shaft that strikes the heart,

Lift my head, help me up,
I am bruised, bone and flesh;
chafe my white hands, my servants:
this weight about my forehead?
Ah, my veil — loose it —
spread my hair across my breast. TROPHOS

There, do not start,
child, nor toss about;
only calm and high pride
can help your hurt:
fate tries all alike. PHAEDRA
Ai, ai! to drink deep
of spring water
from its white source;
ai, ai! for rest — black poplars —

thick grass — sleep TROPHOS
What is this you ask,
wild words, mad speech —
hide your hurt, my heart,

Daemon initiate, spirit
of the god-race. Artemis,
Latona's daughter,
child of Zeus,

of all maids loveliest,
we greet you, mistress:
you dwell in your father's house,
the gold-wrought porches of Zeus,
apart in the depth of space. HIPPOLYTUS
Of all maids, loveliest,
I greet you, Artemis,
loveliest upon Olympus:
dearest, to you this gift,
flower set by flower and leaf
broken by uncut grass,
where neither scythe has dipped
nor does the shepherd yet
venture to lead his sheep;
there it is white and fragrant,

127 Tuesday, 4 June 1751

Caepisti melius quam desinis: ultima primis
Cedunt: dissimiles hic vir, et ille puer.
Ovid [Her. IX 23 4]

Succeeding years thy early fame destroy;
Thou, who began'st a man, wilt end a boy.