English

Charm , O charm, thou god of sleep,
Her fair eyes, that waking mourn;
Frightful visions from her keep,
Such as are by sorrows borne:
But let all the sweets that may
Wait on rest, her thoughts obey.

Fly, Oh fly, thou god of love,
To that breast thy dart did wound,
Draw thy shaft, the smart remove,
Let her wonted joys be found:
Raise up pleasure to a flood,
Never ebbing; new joys bud.

We that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate:
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
The power of scepters we admire;
But sheep-hooks for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition;
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold.
“Our music from the birds we borrow;
They bidding us, we them, good morrow.”

Such wondrous Friendship, wondrous Love,
As constitutes their Bliss Above;
And such a strong refining Fire,
As melts them into one Desire,
Makes both their Aims, their Thoughts the same,
And leaves them different but in Name.

Remember , Lord, th' afflictions we have borne,
See how we are to all the world a scorn!
Our lands and houses foreigners possess,
Our mothers widows, and we fatherless.
To us our wood the greedy stranger sells,
And dearly-purchas'd water from our wells.
Our necks with heavy burdens are oppress'd;
All day we toil, at night depriv'd of rest.
We, in th' Egyptian and Assyrian lands,
Are forc'd to beg our bread with stretch'd-out hands.
Our fathers, who transgress'd, in death remain,
And we the pressure of their sins sustain.

How is our gold grown dim! of all the most
Refin'd and pure hath now his lustre lost!
That marble, which the temple beautified,
Torn down by impious rage, and cast aside.
The wretched sons of Sion, ah! behold,
Of late so precious, more esteem'd than gold,
How slighted! to how low a value brought!
Like earthen vessels by the potter wrought!
The monsters of the sea, and savage beasts,
Their young ones gently foster at their breasts:
My daughters, ah! more cruel are than these,
Or than the desert-haunting estriches.

Lo , I, the man, who by the wrath of God
Have seen affliction's storms, and felt His rod!
He hath depriv'd me of the cheerful light,
Envelopéd with shades more dark than night,
Against me His revengeful forces bent;
Nor sets His anger with the sun's descent.
My flesh hath wasted, wrinkled my smooth skin
With sorrow's age, and broke my bones within.
Against me digg'd a trench, cast up a mound,
With travail's bitter gall besieg'd me round.
Imprison'd where no beams their brightness shed,
Like that dark region peopled by the dead.

I am post edomitas Alpes defensaque regna
Hesperiae merita complexus sede parentem
auctior adiecto fulgebat sidere mundus,
iamque tuis, Stilicho, Romana potentia curis
et rerum commissus apex, tibi credita fratrum
utraque maiestas geminaeque exercitus aulae.
Rufinus (neque enim patiuntur saeva quietem
crimina pollutaeque negant arescere fauces)
infandis iterum terras accendere bellis
incohat et solito pacem vexare tumultu.
haec etiam secum: “quanam ratione tuebor
spem vitae fragilem? qua tot depellere fluctus

Would it were yesterday and I i' the grave,
With her sweet faith above for monument.

Pity the laden one; this wandering woe
May visit you and me.

Full souls are double mirrors, making still
An endless vista of fair things before,
Repeating things behind.