Partum Hiemalem.[123]

Serta, puer; quis nunc flores non praebeat hortus? Texe mihi facili pollice serta puer. Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi; stulte, Decembres Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer. Nix et hiems? non est nostras quid tale per oras; Non est, vel si sit, non tamen esse potest. Ver agitur: quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem, Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur. Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis Prodit, et in sacris quae sedet uva jugis? Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis? Quas hiemis pingit purpure tanta genas? O Maria, o divum soboles, genitrixque deorum, Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt? Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae Sidera, nil madidos sola morare notos? Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma, Atque suas solum lilia nosse nives? Ergo vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris, Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis? O bona turbatrix anni, quae limite noto Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis; O pia praedatrix hiemis, quae tristia mundi Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes; Perge, precor, nostris vim pulchram ferre calendis; Perge, precor, menses sic numerare tuos. Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri; Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui. Sit nobis sit saepe hiemes sic cernere nostras Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis. Saepe sit has vernas hiemes Maiosque Decembres, Has per te roseas saepe videre nives. Altera gens varium per sidera computet annum, Atque suos ducant per vaga signa dies: Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis? Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices? Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum: In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos. Sic tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni: Tempus et in titulos transeat omne tuos. Namque alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis? Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga? Hanc laurum Janus sibi vertice vellet utroque: Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Maius emet. Tota suam, vere expulso, respublica florum Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam. O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

TRANSLATION.

TO HER SERENE MAJESTY, CHILD-BEARING IN WINTER.

Garlands! bring garlands, boy! what garden now Would not give flowers? with ready hand do thou Weave garlands. What! December, sayst thou,--snow? Fool! hold thy blabbing, speak of what we know. Winter upon our shores, and snow? the thing Is not, and cannot be. It is the Spring: Whatever ghost threatens us with the drear Beatings of wild December, Spring is here. See'st thou not with what leaves the royal vine Spreads forth, what clusters on her boughs incline? Say, when like this was Winter ever seen To laugh and glow in purple? O great Queen, Offspring of gods, and mother! do we see The seasons thus a plaything made for thee? Thus with thy Spring mayst thou the stars restrain, That Winter sting not, nor the South bring rain. And do the lilies by thy grace alone Spring up, and know no snows except their own? In spite of all that Winter may oppose, Are thus our kingdoms blooming with the rose? O thou most blest disturber of the year, Who sufferest not the bounded seasons here To keep i' their own signs! destroyer kind Of Winter, whose sweet influence can bind All harsher murmurs of the world, still dare We pray thee, thus to force our calendar With thy fair violence; continue still The months to number at thine own sweet will; Still thus untimely, still thus burdensome, Make all things subject to thy royal womb. So, by thy grace, may it be often ours To see dethroned Winter deck'd in flowers; On snow that falls i' roses still to gaze, Sweet vernal Winters and December Mays! Let others by the stars compute their year, And count their days as wandering signs appear: Not so we Britons; not for us shall storm With cruel change our seasons dare deform; To thee, great Queen, our whole year we resign, O spend it all i' those rich births of thine! So the whole year shall own thy womb to be Its sovereign arbitress of good; in thee Merge all its titles. Where's the month could bear A more delicious name, or ever wear More whiteness? Janus, for his double crown, Covets this laurel; Maius for his own Would buy it, though his Chloris were the cost. Thee or thine infant, now that Spring has lost His ancient throne, the flow'ry states invite To take their empire. O blest year, how bright Thy fortunes, where each month in turn may claim From Mary or from Charles its mighty name! G.