OF THE GENERATION AND REGENERATION OF THE PHOENIX.
Phoenix, nursling of Death, How wondrous is thy birth! Thou gainest not thy breath I' nest, like birds of Earth: 'Mid fire all flaming hot Thou strangely art begot; The leaping flames thee cherish When thou seem'st to perish. Lo, Death thy midwife is; Lo, thyself thou bearest. O tell me how is this, That mystery thou preparest? Thou mother of thyself! Thou daughter of thyself! When thy 'pointed hour is done, Thou an od'rous nest entwinest; And, as for thy destruction, Thou 'midst its fires reclinest. Most surely thou'rt consum'd; Most surely thou'rt relum'd. O fruitful Death! O gainful Death! Live then, self-containèd bird; Most pleasing wonder. The old legend is absurd; But truth lies under. G.
Quisquis nectareo serenus aevo Et spe lucidus aureae juventae, Nescis purpureos abire soles, Nescis vincula ferreamque noctem Imi careris horridumque Ditem, 5 Et spectas tremulam procul senectam, Hinc disces lacrymas, et huc repones. Hic, ô scilicet hic brevi sub antro Spes et gaudia mille, mille, longam, Heu longam nimis! induere noctem. 10 Flammantem nitidae facem juventae Submersit Stygiae paludis unda. Ergo, si lacrymas neges doloris, Huc certo lacrymas feres timoris.
I correct, in l. 6, 'tremulam' for 'tremulum;' l. 7, 'disces' for 'discas,' and 'huc' for 'hinc.' G.
Ye that still, serene in peace, Lying in the lap of ease, Believe the hopes of golden youth, And have not heard the bitter truth, How shining suns fade at a breath; Ye, with little dread of death, Or fear of chains and iron night Of man's last prison, or the sight Of gloomy Dis; that think to keep Old age away,--look here, and weep. Here, to this one narrow room, A thousand joys and hopes have come; Here bright minutes many a one Have a lasting night put on: Youth's torch, that flash'd such light about, Is in the Stygian wave put out. Then, if you grudge poor grief a tear, Heave, at least, a sigh for fear. A.
Whoe'er ye be, upgazing here, Calm, unruffl'd, without tear; Joyous in your golden prime, And unwitting of the time When shall pale Life's glowing sun, And the web of years be spun; Thinking not o' the iron night Where grim Pluto reigns in might; Thinking not of the nether world, With its clanking chains; Whither damnèd souls are hurl'd When the Judge arraigns; Seeing old age far away; Making Life one holiday;-- Here perceive that Grief shall yet Your ruddy cheeks with sorrow wet; Here musing upon this poor stone, Ye may learn prevention. This Earth, what is it but a home Fugitive as sea-wave's foam? Mark where breaks the whit'n'd wave 'Mid the cliffs--an archèd cave; Light and shadow play within, Flick'ring o'er its walls; In the gloom--with Hell akin-- A dull stream slowly crawls. E'en such is Life, how bright soe'er, Hope and Joy lure to Despair; And Life's stream goes plunging down Into dark drear Acheron; Youth's bright torch extinguish'd quite; Golden Day exchang'd for Night: To long night of changeless woe Swift the Christless souls shall go. Shun not therefore in thy prime, Shun not whilst thou art in Time, Tears of penitence over sin; Or bitterly shalt thou rue, When Death shall fling his javelin, And Hell's prison thee immew. Bethink thee in thy golden prime; Bethink thee whilst thou'rt yet in Time. G.