Volume 7 — From The Latin Of Prudentius. An Elegy.

Aurelics Prudentius Clemens, the glory of the early Christian poets, was born in Spain in the year 348. He studied eloquence in his youth under a celebrated master. He was twice made governor of provinces and cities, raised to the highest rank, and placed at the court by the Emperor Theodosius I., next in dignity to his own person.

But in the vigor of his age, he quitted worldly honors and employments, made a pilgrimage to Rome, and thence returning to Spain, led a secluded life, consecrating his leisure to the composition of sacred poems. He is esteemed the most learned of the Christian poets, and, for the sweetness and elegance of his verses, has been compared to Horace.

Venient citò saecula, quum jam Socius calor ossa revisat, Animataque sanguine vivo Habitacula pristina gestet. Quae pigra cadavera pridem Tumulis putrefacta jacebant, Volucres rapientur in auras, Animas comitata priores. Quid turba superstes inepta Plangens ululamina miscet? Cur tam bene condita jura, Luctu dolor arguit amens? Jam moesta quiesce querela, Lacrymas suspendite matres, Nullus sua pignora plangat: Mors haec reparatio vitae est. Sic semina sicca virescunt Jam mortua, jamque sepulta, Quae reddita cespite ab imo Veteres meditantur aristas. Nunc suscipe, terra, fovendum, Gremioque hunc concipe molli; Hominis tibi membra sequestro, Generosa et fragmina credo. Animae fuit haec domus olim Factoris ab ore create; Fervens habitavit in istis Sapientia, principe Christo. Tu depositum tege corpus; Non immemor ille requiret Sua munera fictor et auctor, Propriique aenigmata vultûs. Veniant modò tempora justa, Quum spem Deus impleat omnem; Reddas patefacta necesse est, Qualem tibi trado figuram. Non si cariosa vetustas Dissolverit ossa favillis, Fueritque cinisculus arens, Minimi mensura pugilli; Nee si vaga flamina, et aurae Vacuum per inane volantes Tulerint cum pulvere nervos, Hominem periisse licebit.

Translation.

The hour is speeding on amain When back into its olden form, Once more with ruddy life-blood warm, The spirit shall return again. The freed soul soars aloft through space: So, dust with dust, aloft through air, This heavy clay swift gales shall bear From its sepulchral resting-place.. Why doth the crowd surviving fill The air with a lamenting vain? Why with such idle griefs arraign The justice of the Eternal will? Oh! end these pangs with murmurs rife, O mothers! cease your tears, your woe; Weep not for your dead children so, Death the renewal is of life. The dead, dry seed lies hid from view, To burst forth to new glorious bloom; The former beauty to resume, The ancient harvest to renew. O earth! in thy soft bosom keep, And quicken with new warmth this clay, This sacred frame to rest we lay. It smiles in thy embrace to sleep. 'Twas once the immortal spirit's cell. That breath breathed from the lips divine; Here was the living wisdom's shrine, Here deigned the Christ supreme to dwell. Guard it beneath thy faithful sod, For He, one day, will re-demand From thee this labor of his hand. This breathing likeness of its God. Oh! for the appointed hour to rend The grave! the hope God gives is sure: Safe, beauteous, through these gates obscure What now descendeth shall ascend. Yes, though this frame divinely planned Be wasted by decay and rust, And naught left save a little dust. The filling of the smallest hand: Though these strong sinews ashes be On wandering breezes wafted wide, Inviolate ever shall abide The mortal's immortality. C. E. B.