Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (Winds - World) Poem by Henry Baker

Winds.
See Storm at Land. Storm at Sea. Tempest.

Nor the Creator left the Winds at large,
On Seas, and Shores, their Fury to discharge:
Bound as they are, and circumscrib'd in Place,
They rend the World, resistless, where they pass:
And mighty Marks of Mischief leave behind:
Such is the Rage of their tempestuous Kind.
First, Eurus to the rising Morn is sent,
(The Regions of the balmy Continent
And Eastern Realms where early Persians run,
To greet the blest Appearance of the Sun.
Westward, the wanton Zephyr wings his Flight,
Pleas'd with the Remnants of departing Light.
Fierce Boreas, with his Offspring, issues forth,
T'invade the frozen Waggon of the North:
Whilst frowning Auster seeks the Southern Sphere,
And rots, with endless Rain, th' unwholsome Year.--

--In his capacious Cave,
Great Æolus, with absolute Command,
Controuls, imprisons, and confines in Chains
The noisy Tempests, and reluctant Winds.
They roar, and murmur round the Mountain's Sides,
Indignant: Æolus his Scepter shakes,
Majestic on his lofty Throne: o'er--rules
Their wild Desires, and moderates their Rage.
Which did he not, with rapid Force they'd hurl
Heav'n, Earth, and Seas, and sweep them thro' the Air.
But fearing This, the Sov'reign of the Gods
Pent them in gloomy Caves: and o'er them threw
Vast Piles of massy Rocks:--impos'd a King,
Who should, by certain Measures, know to curb,
Or, when commanded, to indulge their Rage.--

East, West, and North, and South, on either Side,
Oppos'd they lie, and thus the World divide:
As many Winds from these four Quarters fly,
And fight, and rattle, thro' the empty Sky.
Rough Boreas, from the North bears Frost and Snows:
And from the East the surly Eurus blows:
Wet Auster from the torrid South is thrown:
And pleasing Zephyrus loves the setting Sun.--

Like Boreas in his Race, when rushing forth,
He sweeps the Skies, and clears the cloudy North:
The waving Harvest bends beneath his Blast:
The Forest shakes, the Groves their Honours cast:
Aloft he flies, and with impetuous Roar,
Pursues the foaming Surges to the Shore.--

Now rising all at once, and unconfin'd,
From ev'ry Quarter roars the rushing Wind.
First, from the wide Atlantic Ocean's Bed,
Tempestuous Corus rears his dreadful Head:
Th' obedient Deep his potent Breath controuls,
And, Mountain--high, the foamy Flood he rolls.
Him the North--East encount'ring fierce defy'd,
And back rebuffeted the yielding Tide.
The curling Surges loud conflicting meet,
Dash their proud Heads, and bellow as they beat:
While piercing Boreas from the Scythian Strand
Plows up the Waves, and scoops the lowest Sand.
Nor Eurus, then, I ween, was left to dwell,
Nor show'ry Notus, in th' Æolian Cell:
But each, from ev'ry Side, his Pow'r to boast,
Rang'd his proud Forces, to defend his Coast.
Equal in Might, alike they strive in vain,
While in the midst the Seas unmov'd remain.--


Winter.
See Frost. Seasons. Year.

Still slothful proves the Winter to the Swain.
'Tis then their Stores the Peasants oft employ
In mutual Feasts, and give a loose to Joy:
The genial Winter all their Minds prepares
To sprightly Mirth, and buries anxious Cares:
So joy the Sailors, every Danger past,
Safe in the Port the Ship, and crown'd the Mast.--

The Fields unwrought then lie, unplow'd the Seas,
And Mars in Quarters, lies consign'd to Ease:
Rocks cleave with Frosts: and by the Cold opprest,
All Nature's Powers are stiffen'd into Rest.--

Mean while the Sun rolls round the circling Year,
And icy Winter, harsh with northern Winds,
Roughens the Sea.--

--Then is the time to set
Springs for Cranes, and Toils for Stags: to hunt
The Hare: and from the Balearian sling,
With twisted Thong whirl'd round, to shoot the Doe:
While Snow lies deep: while heavy Cakes of Ice,
Push'd by the Tide, down the dull River float.--


Scythian Winter.

In Scythia's Realms, no Herbage on the Fields,
No Leaves, in Winter, on the Trees are seen:
But Frost, and Ice, and ridgy Heaps of Snow,
Sev'n Ells in Height, deform the Country round.
Eternal Winter reigns, and freezing Winds.
The Sun ne'er dissipates the hazy Gloom:
Not when his Steeds mount upwards to the Sky,
Nor when He washes in the Ocean's Waves,
Red with his Beams, his prone descending Car.
The running Streams to sudden Crusts congeal:
The Water on it's Surface Iron Wheels
Sustains: and Carts are driv'n, where Lighters sail'd.
Brass splits: Their rusling Garments stiffen frore:
With Axes Wine is hewn: To solid Glass
The standing Puddles in the Dykes are turn'd:
And Icicles hang rigid from their Beards.
Nor less, meanwhile, it Snows o'er all the Air:
The Cattle die: The Neat, of bulky Size,
With Frost surrounded stand: The Stags in Droves,
Benumb'd beneath th' unusual Weight, scarce raise
Their Heads, or with their topmost Horns appear.
These the rough Hunters nor with Dogs, nor Toils,
Nor with the Line of crimson Plumes pursue:
But, as in vain they labour with their Breasts,
And push against th' opposing Hills of Snow,
Stab them with Swords, or Spears, in closer Fight,
Braying aloud: And, with a mighty Shout,
Triumphant, carry off the bleeding Prey.

Themselves in low sunk Caverns, under Ground,
Secure, and jovial live: whole Oaks, and Elms,
Roll to the Hearths, and pile them on the Fire:
In Mirth and Jollity protract the Night;
And Beer, and Cyder quaff, instead of Wine.
Such is th' unbroken Race of Men, who live
Beneath the Pole: by rough Riphaean Blasts
For ever buffeted: and with the Skins
And tawny Furs of Beasts their Bodies cloth.--

Such are the Climes beneath the frozen Zone,
Where chearless Winter plants her dreary Throne:
No golden Stars their gloomy Heav'ns adorn,
Nor genial Seasons to their Earth return:
But everlasting Ice and Snows appear,
Chill all the Summer's Fires, and curse the barren Year.--


Wish.
See Midas. Prayers.

Me may the Muses, whose vow'd Priest I am,
Smit with strong Passion for their sacred Song,
Dear above all to me, accept: and teach
The heav'nly Roads, the Motions of the Stars,
The Sun's Defects, the Labours of the Moon:
Whence Tremor to the Earth: by what Impulse
The Sea swells high, and ebbing back retires:
Why Suns in Winter haste so swift to tinge
Themselves in Ocean: and what Cause retards
The sluggish Nights.--But if the colder Blood
About my Heart forbid me to approach
So near to Nature: may the rural Fields,
And Streams, which murm'ring glide along the Vales,
Delight me: Groves, and Rivers may I love,
Obscure, inglorious.--

--O! in Haemus' Vallies cool
Who places me, and covers me with shade
Of thickest Trees, embow'ring?--

Look round the habitable World, how few
Know their own Good: or knowing it, pursue.
How void of Reason are our Hopes and Fears!
What, in the Conduct of our Life, appears
So well design'd, so luckily begun,
But, when we have our Wish, we wish undone?--

For what do You imagine that I care?
What think You is the Subject of my Pray'r?
Be my Estate just what it is, or less,
'Twill still be large enough for Happiness!
And grant I may, if Heav'n more Years will give,
Live to myself, the Time I have to live!
Let me have Books, and Food to serve a Year,
Lest I should wav'ring hang 'twixt Hope and Fear!

This, this is all, for which Mankind should pray,
And beg of JOVE: who gives, and takes away.
Let him but Life, and mod'rate Plenty find,
And I'll provide my self an happy Mind.--

My Fortune might I form at Will,
My Canvas, Zephyrs soft, should fill
With gentle Breath: lest ruder Gales
Crack the Main--Yard, or burst the Sails.
By Winds, that temperately blow,
My Barque should pass secure and slow:
Nor scare me, leaning on her Side,
But smoothly cleave the unruffled Tide.--


Wit.

The rolling Sea rewards the Merchant's Pains,
And pays his Confidence with ample Gains:
The Sons of Mars, in War and Battles bold,
Return with Plunder rich, and cloth'd in Gold:
The drunken Scoundrel Parasite can lie
On costly Couches, ting'd with purple Dye:
He that debauches other People's Wives,
Receives his pay, and by his Baseness thrives:
Poor Wit alone a Threadbare Garment wears,
And courts those Arts, for which no Mortal Cares.--


Woman.
See Wife.

--A woman is a Thing
Still various, and uncertain.--

Tears in abundance ever wait her Will,
To be squeez'd out, and over--flow her Eyes,
Just as Occasion serves.--

Woman is soft and of a tender Heart,
Apt to receive, and to retain Love's Dart:
Man has a Breast robust, and more secure,
It wounds him not so deep, nor hits so sure.
Men oft are false: and, if You search with Care,
You'll find less Fraud imputed to the Fair.--

Perfidious Woman naturally deceives,
And all her Speeches are like falling Leaves:
Which when the Winds have from the Branches tore,
About they're blown a--while, and seen no more.

There's nothing bolder than a Woman caught:
Guilt gives 'em Courage to maintain their Fault.--

No Cause is try'd at the litigious Bar,
But Women Plaintiffs, or Defendants are.
They form the Process, all the Briefs they write:
The Topicks furnish, and the Pleas indite:
And teach the toothless Lawyer how to bite.--

Poor vain Ogulnia, on the Poet's Day,
Will borrow Cloths, and Chair, to see the Play:
Will spend the last Half--Crown of her Estate,
And pawn the last remaining Piece of Plate.
Some are reduc'd their utmost Shifts to try,
But Women have no Shame of Poverty:
Beyond their Stint they live: as if their Store
The more exhausted would encrease the more:
Some Men, instructed by the lab'ring Ant,
Provide against th' Extremities of Want:
But Womankind, that never knows a Mean,
Down to the Dregs their sinking Fortunes drain:
Hourly they give, and spend, and waste, and wear,
And think no Pleasure can be bought too dear.--

I know full well the giddy Mind of Woman:
Would You? They won't: but, if You won't, They will.--

When Tatius rul'd the antient Sabine Race,
Then rough, and careless of a handsome Face,
The Women took more Pains to earn their Bread
At Plow, and Cart, than how to dress the Head.
All Day their Task the busy Matrons ply'd,
Or spinning sat, as to their Distaffs ty'd.
The Mother then, at Night, would fold the Sheep,
Her little Daughter us'd by Day to keep.
And when at home, would cleave out Logs of Wood,
Or kindle up a Fire to boil their Food.
But You, bright Fair! who're form'd in finer Moulds,
Must wrap your Limbs in rich brocaded Folds:
Must comb, and curl, and with abundant Care
Turn up, and braid, and place the shining Hair.
With Necklaces and Rings, set off your Charms,
Hang Pendants in your Ears, and Bracelets on your Arms:
Nor need this Care to please a Blush create,
For Men themselves have learn'd to Dress of late.--


World.

All mortal Things must change. The fruitful Plain
As Seasons turn, scarce knows herself again,
Such various Forms she bears: large Empires too,
Put off their former Face, and take a new:
Yet safe the World, and free from Change doth last:
No Years encrease it, nor can Ages waste.
It's Course it urges on, and keeps it's Frame,
And still will be, for always 'twas the same.
Our Fathers saw it, just as now we see,
And to our Children it the same shall be:
Secure it stands from Time's devouring Rage,
For It's a God, unchangeable by Age.—