Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come From Ves'vius', or from Ætna's burning womb? Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display The borrowed splendours of a cloudless day? With borrowed beams they shine. The gales, that breathe Now landward, and the current's force beneath, Have borne them nearer; and the nearer sight, Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. Their lofty summits crested high, they show, With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow, The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, Bleak winter well-nigh saddens all the year, Their infant growth began. He bade arise Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow Left the tall cliff to join the flood below, He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast The current, ere it reached the boundless waste. By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile, And long successive ages rolled the while, Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claimed to stand Tall as its rival mountains on the land. Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill, Or force of man, had stood the structure still; But that, though firmly fixt, supplanted yet By pressure of its own enormous weight, It left the shelving beach, -and with a sound That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, Self-launched, and swiftly, to the briny wave, As if instinct with strong desire to lave,
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old, How Delos swam the Ægean deep, have told. But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore
Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crowned with laurel, wore Even under wintry skies, a summer smile; And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle. But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. Your hated birth he deigned not to survey, But, scornful, turned his glorious eyes away. Hence! Seek your home, nor longer rashly dare The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air; Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast, In no congenial gulf for ever lost!
IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES.
EN, quæ prodigia, ex oris allata remotis, Oras adveniunt pavefacta per æquora nostras!
Non equidem priscæ sæclum rediisse videtur Pyrrhæ, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti
In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. Quid verò hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu? Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex ære vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, Baccâ cæruleâ, et flammas imitante pyropo. Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Parturit omnigenas, quibus æva per omnia sumptu Ingenti finxêre sibi diademata reges?
Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos Mercatorum oculos: prius et quàm littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima præda fuissent. Ortos unde putemus? An illos Ves'vius atrox Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus Ætna? Luce micant propriâ, Phœbive, per aëra purum Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent ? Phoebi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Multâ onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis.
Cætera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma ferè omnes Contristat menses, portenta hæc horrida nobis Illa strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutæ Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, Illa gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese Mirum cœpit opus; glacieque ab origine rerum In glaciem aggestâ sublimes vertice tandem Equavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. Sic immensa diu stetit, æternumque stetisset, Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset,
Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi, Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, Insula, in Ægæo fluitâsse erratica ponto. Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque. Sed vestita herbis erat illa, ornataque nunquam Deciduâ lauro; et Dolum dilexit Apollo. At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni Cimmeriâ, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cælum ! Ite! Redite! Timete moras; ni lenitèr austro Spirante, et nitidas Phœbo jaculante sagittas Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti!
THE winter night now well nigh worn away, The wakeful cock proclaimed approaching day, When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, Yawned, stretched his limbs, and anxious to provide Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied, By slow degrees his tattered bed forsook, And poking in the dark, explored the nook Where embers slept with ashes heaped around, And with burnt fingers'-ends the treasure found. It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose, Sure proof of latent fire, some smoke arose ; When trimming with a pin the incrusted tow, And stooping it towards the coals below, He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite The lingering flame, and gains at length a light. With prudent heed he spreads his hand before The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door. Small was his stock, but taking for the day, A measured stint of twice eight pounds away, With these his mill he seeks. A shelf at hand, Fixt in the wall, affords his lamp a stand : Then baring both his arms, a sleeveless coat He girds, the rough exuviæ of a goat; And with a rubber, for that use designed, Cleansing his mill within, begins to grind; Each hand has its employ; labouring amain, This turns the winch, while that supplies the grain. The stone revolving rapidly, now glows, And the bruised corn a mealy current flows; While he, to make his heavy labour light, Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right; And chants with rudest accent, to beguile His ceaseless toil, as rude a strain the while. And now, "Dame Cybale, come forth!" he cries; But Cybale, still slumbering, nought replies.
From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid, Whose face and form alike her birth betrayed; With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin, Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin, Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet, Chapped into chinks, and parched with solar heat. Such, summoned oft, she came; at his command Fresh fuel heaped, the sleeping embers fanned, And made in haste her simmering skillet steam, Replenished newly from the neighbouring stream. The labours of the mill performed, a sieve The mingled flour and bran must next receive, Which shaken oft, shoots Ceres through refined,
And better dressed, her husks all left behind. This done, at once, his future plain repast, Unleavened, on a shaven board he cast, With tepid lymph, first largely soaked it all, Then gathered it with both hands to a ball, And spreading it again with both hands wide, With sprinkled salt the stiffened mass supplied; At length, the stubborn substance, duly wrought, Takes from his palms impressed the shape it ought, Becomes an orb, and quartered into shares, The faithful mark of just division bears. Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space, For Cybale before had swept the place, And there, with tiles and embers overspread, She leaves it-reeking in its sultry bed.
Nor Similus, while Vulcan thus, alone, His part performed, proves heedless of his own, But sedulous, not merely to subdue
His hunger, but to please his palate too, Prepares more savoury food. His chimney-side Could boast no gammon, salted well, and dried, And hooked behind him; but sufficient store Of bundled anise, and a cheese it bore;
A broad round cheese, which, through its centre strung With a tough broom-twig, in the corner hung;
The prudent hero therefore with address,
And quick despatch, now seeks another mess. Close to his cottage lay a garden-ground, With reeds and osiers sparely girt around; Small was the spot, but liberal to produce, Nor wanted aught that serves a peasant's use; And sometimes even the rich would borrow thence, Although its tillage was his sole expense. For oft, as from his toils abroad he ceased, Home-bound by weather or some stated feast, His debt of culture here he duly paid, And only left the plough to wield the spade. He knew to give each plant the soil it needs, To drill the ground, and cover close the seeds; And could with ease compel the wanton rill To turn, and wind, obedient to his will.
There flourished star-wort, and the branching beet, The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind, The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind! Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board, The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd; But these (for none his appetite controlled With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold; With broom-twigs neatly bound, each kind apart, He bore them ever to the public mart; Whence, laden still, but with a lighter load,
Of cash well earned, he took his homeward road, Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome, His gains, in flesh-meat for a feast at home. There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red, Or the curled endive's bitter leaf, he fed ; On scallions sliced, or with a sensual gust On rockets-foul provocatives of lust; Nor even shunned, with smarting gums, to press Nasturtium, pungent face-distorting mess!
Some such regale now also in his thought, With hasty steps his garden-ground he sought; There delving with his hands, he first displaced Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast; The tender tops of parsley next he culls, Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls, And coriander last to these succeeds,
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds. Placed near his sprightly fire, he now demands The mortar at his sable servant's hands; When stripping all his garlick first, he tore The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor, Then cast away with like contempt the skin, Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. These searched, and perfect found, he one by one Rinsed and disposed within the hollow stone; Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, With his injected herbs he covered these, And tucking with his left his tunic tight, And seizing fast the pestle with his right, The garlick bruising first he soon expressed, And mixed the various juices of the rest. He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below Lost in each other their own powers forego, And with the cheese in compound, to the sight Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white. His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent; He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent, Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke
The trickling tears, cried-"Vengeance on the smoke!" The work proceeds: not roughly turns he now The pestle, but in circles smoothe and slow; With cautious hand that grudges what it spills, Some drops of olive-oil he next instils; Then vinegar with caution scarcely less; And gathering to a ball the medley mess, Last, with two fingers frugally applied,
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side: And thus complete in figure and in kind, Obtains at length the Salad he designed. And now black Cybale before him stands, The cake drawn newly glowing in her hands: He glad receives it, chasing far away
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