CES. Now here is a boy in a boat, which little by little is being submerged in the tempestuous waves, and he, languid and tired, has abandoned the oars; around it the legend "Fronti nulla, fides." There is no doubt that this signifies that he was induced, by the serene aspect of the waters, to venture on the treacherous sea, which having suddenly become troubled, the boy, in mortal fear, and in his impotence to still the tempest, has lost his head, his hope, and the power of his arm. But let us see the rest:--
Oh, gentle boy, that from the shore didst loose The baby bark, and to the slender oar Didst set thy unskilled hand; lured by the sea! Late hast thou seen the evil of thy plight. See there the traitor rolls his fatal waves, The prow of thy frail bark, now sinks, now mounts. The soul borne down with anxious cares Prevaileth not against the swollen floods. Thy oars thou yieldst to thy fierce enemy, Waiting for death with calm collected thought, With eyelids closed, lest thou shouldst see him come. If thee no friendly aid should quickly reach Thou surely must the full result soon feel, Of thy inquisitive temerity. My cruel fate is like unto thine own, For I too, lured, enticed by Love, must feel, The rigour keen of this most treacherous one.
In what manner and why Love is a traitor and deceiver we have just seen; but as I see the following without figure or legend, I believe that it must have connection with the above. Therefore let us go on and read it.
Methought to leave the shelter of my port, And from maturer studies rest awhile: When, looking round me to enjoy my ease, Sudden I saw those unrelenting fates. These have inflamed me with so ardent fires. Vainly I strive some safer shores to reach, Vainly from pitying hands invoke some aid, And swift deliverance from my enemies. Weary and hoarse I yield me, impotent, And seek no more to elude my destiny, Or make endeavour to escape my death: Let every other life to me be null, And let not the extremest torment fail, Which my hard fate for me prescribed. Type of my own deep ills, Is that which thou for pastime didst entrust To hostile breast. Oh, careless boy.
Here I would not pretend to understand or determine all that the enthusiast means. Yet there is well expressed the strange condition of a soul cast down by the knowledge of the difficulty of the operation, the amount of the labour, the vastness of the work on one side, and on the other the ignorance, want of knowledge of the way, weakness of nerves and peril of death. He has no knowledge suitable to the business, he does not know where and how to turn, no place of flight or refuge presents itself; and he sees that, from every side, the waves threaten, with frightful, fatal impetus. Ignoranti portum, nullus suus ventus est. Behold him, who has committed himself indeed to fortuitous things, and has brought upon himself trouble, prison, ruin, and drowning. See how fortune deludes us, and that which we put carefully into her hands, she either breaks or lets it fall from her hands, or causes it to be removed by the violence of another, or suffocates and poisons, or taints with suspicion, fear, and jealousy to the great hurt and ruin of the possessor. Fortunae au ulla putatis dona carcere dolis? For strength which cannot give proof of itself is dissipated; magnanimity, which cannot prevail, is naught, and vain is study without results; he sees the effects of the fear of evil, which is worse than evil itself. Peior est morte timor ipse mortis. He already suffers, through fear, that which he fears to suffer, terror in the limbs, imbecility in the nerves, tremors in the body, anxiety of the spirit, and that which has not yet appeared becomes present to him, and is certainly worse than whatsoever may happen. What can be more stupid than to be in pain about future things and absent ones which at present are not felt?