The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics)

  Et Timor, exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror,

  Perpetuoque leves per muta silentia Manes,

  150 Exululat tellus et sanguine conscia stagnat.

  Ipsi etiam pavidi latitant penetralibus antri

  Et Phonos, et Prodotes, nulloque sequente per antrum,

  Antrum horrens, scopulosum, atrum feralibus umbris,

  Diffugiunt sontes, et retro lumina vortunt;

  155 Hos pugiles Romae per saecula longa fideles

  Evocat antistes Babylonius, atque ita fatur.

  Finibus occiduis circumfusum incolit aequor

  Gens exosa mihi, prudens Natura negavit

  Indignam penitus nostro coniungere mundo;

  160 Illuc, sic iubeo, celeri contendite gressu,

  Tartareoque leves difflentur pulvere in auras

  Et rex et pariter satrapae, scelerata propago;

  Et quotquot fidei caluere cupidine verae

  Consilii socios adhibete, operisque ministros.

  165 Finierat, rigidi cupide paruere gemelli.

  Interea longo flectens curvamine coelos

  Despicit aetherea dominus qui fulgurat arce,

  Vanaque perversae ridet conamina turbae,

  Atque sui causam populi volet ipse tueri.

  170 Esse ferunt spatium, qua distat ab Aside terra

  Fertilis Europe, et spectat Mareotidas undas;

  Hic turris posita est Titanidos ardua Famae

  Aerea, lata, sonans, rutilis vicinior astris

  Quam superimpositum vel Athos vel Pelion Ossae.

  175 Mille fores aditusque patent, totidemque fenestrae,

  Amplaque per tenues translucent atria muros;

  Excitat hic varios plebs agglomerata susurros;

  Qualiter instrepitant circum mulctralia bombis

  Agmina muscarum, aut texto per ovilia iunco,

  180 Dum Canis aestivum coeli petit ardua culmen.

  Ipsa quidem summa sedet ultrix matris in arce,

  Auribus innumeris cinctum caput eminet olli,

  Queis sonitum exiguum trahit, atque levissima captat

  Murmura, ab extremis patuli confinibus orbis.

  185 Nec tot Aristoride servator inique iuvencae

  Isidos, immiti volvebas lumina vultu,

  Lumina non unquam tacito nutantia somno,

  Lumina subiectas late spectantia terras.

  Istis illa solet loca luce carentia saepe

  190 Perlustrare, etiam radianti impervia soli.

  Millenisque loquax auditaque visaque linguis

  Cuilibet effundit temeraria; veraque mendax

  Nunc minuit, modo confictis sermonibus auget.

  Sed tamen a nostro meruisti carmine laudes

  195 Fama, bonum quo non aliud veracius ullum,

  Nobis digna cani, nec te memorasse pigebit

  Carmine tarn longo; servati scilicet Angli

  Officiis vaga diva tuis, tibi reddimus aequa.

  Te Deus aeternos motu qui temperat ignes,

  200 Fulmine praemisso alloquitur, terraque tremente:

  Fama siles? an te latet impia Papistarum

  Coniurata cohors in meque meosque Britannos,

  Et nova sceptrigero caedes meditata Iacobo?

  Nec plura, illa statim sensit mandata Tonantis,

  205 Et satis ante fugax stridentes induit alas,

  Induit et variis exilia corpora plumis;

  Dextra tubam gestat Temesaeo ex aere sonaram.

  Nec mora iam pennis cedentes remigat auras,

  Atque parum est cursu celeres praevertere nubes,

  210 Iam ventos, iam solis equos post terga reliquit:

  Et primo Angliacas solito de more per urbes

  Ambiguas voces, incertaque murmura spargit,

  Mox arguta dolos, et detestabile vulgat

  Proditionis opus, nec non facta horrida dictu,

  215 Authoresque addit sceleris, nec garrula caecis

  Inisidiis loca structa silet; stupuere relatis,

  Et pariter iuvenes, pariter tremuere puellae,

  Effetique senes pariter, tantaeque ruinae

  Sensus ad aetatem subito penetraverat omnem.

  220 Attamen interea populi miserescit ab alto

  Aethereus Pater, et crudelibus obstitit ausis

  Papicolum; capti poenas raptantur ad acres;

  At pia thura Deo, et grati solvuntur honores;

  Compita laeta focis genialibus omnia fumant,

  225 Turba choros iuvenilis agit: Quintoque Novembris

  Nulla dies toto occurrit celebratior anno.

  On the Fifth of November

  At the Age of 17

  Now the devout James, coming from the far north, began his reign over the Troy-descended people2 and the wide realm of Albion, and now an inviolable league had united the sceptres of the English and the Caledonian Scots. Happy and wealthy, the bringer of peace was sitting on his new throne, fearing no enemy or secret plot, when the fierce tyrant who rules Acheron’s fiery waves,7 the father of the Furies, the wandering exile from heavenly Olympus, had chanced to be roaming the earth’s vast globe, counting his companions in crime, his faithful slaves by birth,10 who were destined to share his kingdom after their miserable deaths. Here he stirs up wild storms in the middle air;12 there he instigates hatred between loving friends. He arms invincible nations for a death-struggle, and overturns kingdoms that were flourishing under the olive of peace. Wherever he sees lovers of pure virtue, he seeks to add them to his empire. A master of fraud, he seeks to corrupt the heart that is closed to wickedness. Silently he sets his traps, and stretches hidden nets to catch the unwary, as when a Caspian tigress pursues its trembling prey through a pathless desert, under a moonless night, while the stars wink drowsily. With such horrors, and girt with a smoking whirlwind of blue flame, Summanus23 infests cities and people. And now appear the white cliffs and wave-resounding rocks of the land loved by the sea-god and named of old after Neptune’s son,27 who did not fear to cross the sea and challenge Amphitryon’s terrible son28 to furious battle, before the cruel days of the sack of Troy.

  But as soon as he caught sight of this land, blessed with prosperity and joyful peace, its fields rich with Ceres’ gifts, and-what grieved him more – its people worshipping the sacred divinity of the true God, he broke into sighs that stank of Tartarean fire and yellow sulphur; such sighs as the ferocious monster Typhoeus, imprisoned by Jove under Trinacrian Etna, breathes from his infectious mouth.37 His eyes flash fire, and he gnashes his rows of steel-hard teeth so they make a din like clashing weapons, like the grating of spear against spear. ‘I have wandered over the whole world,’ he said, ‘and have found only one cause for tears: this nation alone rebels against me, is scornful of my yoke, and stronger than my wiles. Yet if my efforts are of any avail, these people will not carry on with impunity, will not go unpunished.’ This said, he swam through the liquid air on pitch-black wings. Wherever he flies, a multitude of warring winds rush before him, clouds gather, and countless thunderbolts flash.

  And now he had swiftly crossed the snowy Alps and reached the borders of Italy. To his left were the cloud-capped Apennines and the ancient land of the Sabines; to his right, Etruria, infamous for witchcraft. Nor did he fail to see you, Tiber, giving furtive kisses to Thetis.52 Thence he alighted in the citadel of Quirinus,53 son of Mars. Now, when evening dusk brought dubious twilight, the wearer of the triple crown55 makes a circuit of the whole city, carrying his gods made of bread,56 and he himself is carried on men’s shoulders. Before him go kings on bended knee, and a long line of mendicant friars. They carry wax candles in their hands, for they are blind. They were born in Cimmerian60 darkness, and in darkness they still lead their lives. They enter temples gleaming with many torches (it was the eve62 sacred to St Peter), and their cacophonous chanting repeatedly fills the hollow cupolas and empty spaces. They sound just like Bromius64 and his rout, when they raise their Bacchanalian cries on Echionian Aracynthus,65 while astonished Asopus66 trembles beneath his glassy waves, and distant Citha
eron67 itself echoes from its hollow cliff.

  When these rites had at last been performed according to custom, Night silently quit the embrace of old Erebus,69 and drove her swift steeds with the goading whip: blind Typhlon, fierce Melanchaetes, torpid Siope, born of a hellish sire, and shaggy Phrix with bristling mane.73

  Meanwhile, the tamer of kings,74 the heir of Phlegethon, enters his bridal-bed (for the secret adulterer never passes a barren night without a sweet whore). But sleep had hardly closed his eyes in peaceful rest, when the dark lord of shadows, the ruler of the silent shades, the predator of men, stood beside him, under cover of a false shape. His temples gleamed with white hair, assumed for his disguise; a long beard covered his chest, his ash-coloured robe swept the ground with its long train, a hood dangled from his tonsured head; and, to complete his wiles, he had bound his lecherous loins with a hempen rope, and fastened latticed sandals to his slow feet.85 In such garb, so legend has it, Francis would wander the waste wilderness, alone among the horrid haunts of wild beasts, and (impious himself) brought the pious word of salvation to the forest folk,88 and tamed wolves and Libyan lions.

  Cloaked in this disguise, the sly Serpent uttered these sly words from his foul lips: ‘Are you sleeping,92 my son? Does slumber weigh down your limbs? O, unmindful of the faith, forgetful of your flocks – you, who ought to be revered – while a barbarous nation, born under the Hyperborean95 sky, laughs at your throne and triple diadem, and the British archers despise your laws. Sluggard, awake, arise! You to whom the Holy Roman Emperor bows down, you for whom the gate of vaulted heaven lies open and unlocked. Break their lofty spirits and haughty impudence! Let the sacrilegious know the power of your malediction and the power of your custodianship of the Apostolic key!101 Avenge the scattered Hesperian fleet,102 the Iberian standards sunk in the wide deep, and the bodies of so many saints fixed on the shameful cross in the Amazonian virgin’s105 recent reign. Remember! But if you would rather lie torpid on your soft bed, and shrink from crushing your enemy’s growing strength, he will fill the Tyrrhenian Sea108 with a numerous host and plant his glittering standards on the Aventine hill.109 He will smash your relics of the ancients and burn them in the flames; he will tread your sacred neck under his profane feet – you, whose shoes kings have rejoiced to kiss. Yet do not challenge him with arms and open war. That would be a wasted effort. Be prudent and use covert guile. It is lawful to spread any kind of net for heretics. Even now their great king is summoning to Parliament, from the furthest corners of their land, the patricians, the men of high descent,117 and the venerable fathers,118gowned and grey-haired. These you might scatter in the air – tear them limb from limb, and burn them to cinders – if you ignite nitrous powder under the halls where they will assemble. At once, therefore, give notice of the proposed action to however many of the faithful are still left in England. Will any of your followers hear the sovereign Pope’s commands and not eagerly perform them? While the people are panic-stricken and stunned by the unexpected catastrophe, let the fierce Frenchman or savage Spaniard invade them. In this way the Marian age127 will at last return to that land, and you will once again hold the warlike English under your sway. And (lest you should fear) know that all the gods and goddesses support you – all those deities you worship on your feast days.’ So the deceiver spake, and putting off his disguise, fled to unspeakable Lethe,132 his joyless kingdom.

  Now the rosy wife of Tithonus,133 throwing open the gates of dawn, dresses the gilded earth with returning light and, still mourning the sad death of her black son,135 she sprinkles the mountain summits with ambrosial drops. Then the janitor137 of the starry courts shook off his slumbers, and turned over in his mind his nocturnal visions and delightful dreams.

  There is a place,139 enveloped in eternal darkness and night, which was of old the vast foundation of a ruined edifice. Now it has become the cavernous den of savage Murder and double-tongued Treason, twins whom fierce Discord bore at one birth. Here, amid rubble and jagged143 rocks, lie the unburied bones of men, and corpses pierced by iron. Here dark Guile, with eyes twisted askance, forever sits; here are Strife, and Calumny, her jaws armed with fangs, and Fury. Here a thousand ways of dying are seen, and Fear, and bloodless Horror flying about the place, and insubstantial ghosts forever flitting through the dead silences. The conscious150 earth wails and rots with blood. Murder and Treason themselves lurk trembling in the depths of the cave, and though no one pursues them through the cave (a horrible cave, with a projecting outcrop of rock, and black with deadly shadows) they flee guiltily with backward glances. The Babylonian156high-priest summons these champions of Rome, faithful to her for long ages, and says: ‘In the western limits of the world, surrounded by the sea, there dwells a nation that is odious to me. Prudent Nature refused to join it up with our continent, finding it unworthy. Thither turn your steps with all speed – such is my command. Let the king and all his nobles – the whole wicked brood – be blown into thin air with Tartarean powder. Bring into the plot as comrades and abettors of the deed all those who are fired with zeal for the true faith.’ He ended, and the pitiless pair zealously obeyed him.

  Meanwhile the Lord, who turns the heavens in their wide vault, and hurls the lightning from his ethereal citadel, looks down and laughs168 at the vain exertions of the wicked crew, and himself undertakes to defend the cause of his people.

  Men say170 there is an expanse, facing Lake Mareotis,171 which divides fertile Europe from Asia. Here Rumour, daughter of the Titaness,172 has her lofty tower – brazen, broad, full of noise, and closer to the glimmering stars than Athos or Pelion piled upon Ossa.174 A thousand doors and entrances, and as many windows, gape wide, and the spacious courts inside shine through the thin walls. Here a swarming crowd of people start various whispers, as when swarms of flies hum and buzz about the milk-pails or through the wattled sheepfolds,179 when the Dog Star attains the summit of the summer skies. Rumour herself, her mother’s avenger,181 sits on the topmost pinnacle, and lifts her head girt with innumerable ears. With these, she can catch the smallest sound and apprehend the slightest murmur from the uttermost ends of the wide globe. Not even you, Arestor’s son,185 cruel guard of the heifer Isis, rolled so many eyes in your inexorable face as she – eyes that never succumb to silent sleep, eyes that gaze far and wide over the lower lands. With these she often peers into places devoid of light, places inaccessible even to the sun’s rays. With her thousand tongues, the imprudent blab then pours out everything she has heard or seen to anyone who cares to listen. Now she dilutes the truth with lies, now she embellishes it with made-up speeches.

  But you nevertheless deserve to be praised in my song, Rumour, for one good report, than which none was ever more honest. You are worthy of my song, nor shall I ever regret having commemorated you at such length in my poem. We English, who were plainly saved by your good offices,198 inconstant goddess, render you your just reward. God, who guides the eternal fires in their motion, hurled down a thunderbolt, and thus addressed you, while the earth trembled: ‘Are you silent, Rumour? Can’t you see that an impious crew of Papists is conspiring against me and my Britons, and plotting a new kind of murder against sceptre-bearing James?’ He spoke no more, but she at once responded to the Thunderer’s commands and, swift enough before, she now put on whistling wings, and covered her slender body with varied plumage; in her right hand she took a shrill trumpet of Temesan207 brass. Without delay, she beat the yielding air with her wings. Not content to outstrip the swift clouds in her flight, she now leaves behind the winds and the horses of the sun. As is her wont, she first spread ambiguous words and uncertain whispers through the English cities; anon, with a clear voice, she divulges the plots and the detestable work of treason. She does not conceal the unutterable crime, and she adds the names of its wicked authors. Nor is her garrulous tongue silent about the places prepared for the secret treachery. Her news amazes all hearers. Young men, maidens, and feeble old men alike tremble, and people of all ages are struck to the heart by the sense
of so great a catastrophe. But meanwhile the heavenly Father from on high took pity on his people and frustrated the cruel deed dared by the Papists. They are captured and carried away to harsh punishments; pious incense and grateful prayers are offered to God; the joyful crossroads smoke with festive bonfires, and crowds of young people dance. In all the year no day is more celebrated than the fifth of November.

  In Obitum Praesulis Eliensis

  Anno aetatis 17

  Adhuc madentes rore squalebant genae,

  Et sicca nondum lumina;

  Adhuc liquentis imbre turgebant salis

  Quem nuper effudi pius,

  5 Dum maesta caro iusta persolvi rogo

  Wintoniensis praesulis,

  Cum centilinguis Fama (proh semper mali

  Cladisque vera nuntia)

  Spargit per urbes divitis Britanniae,

  10 Populosque Neptuno satos,

  Cessisse morti, et ferreis sororibus

  Te generis humani decus,

  Qui rex sacrorum illa fuisti in insula

  Quae nomen Anguillae tenet.

  15 Tunc inquietum pectus ira protinus

  Ebulliebat fervida,

  Tumulis potentem saepe devovens deam:

  Nec vota Naso in Ibida

  Concepit alto diriora pectore,

  20 Graiusque vates parcius

  Turpem Lycambis execratus est dolum,

  Sponsamque Neobolen suam.

  At ecce diras ipse dum fundo graves,

  Et imprecor neci necem,

  25 Audisse tales videor attonitus sonos

  Leni, sub aura, flamine:

  Caecos furores pone, pone vitream

  Bilemque et irritas minas.

  Quid temere violas non nocenda numina,

  30 Subitoque ad iras percita?

  Non est, ut arbitraris elusus miser,

  Mors atra Noctis filia,

  Erebove patre creta, sive Erinnye,

  Vastove nata sub Chao:

  35 Ast illa caelo missa stellato, Dei

  Messes ubique colligit;

  Animasque mole carnea reconditas

  In lucem et auras evocat:

  Ut cum fugaces excitant Horae diem

  40 Themidos Iovisque filiae;