To Neptune. The Fumigation from Myrrh.
Hear, Neptune, ruler of the sea profound,
Whose liquid grasp begirts the solid ground;
Who, at the bottom of the stormy main,
Dark and deep-bosom'd, hold'st thy wat'ry reign
Thy awful hand the brazen trident bears,
And ocean's utmost bound, thy will reveres:
Thee I invoke, whose steeds the foam divide,
From whose dark locks the briny waters glide;
Whose voice loud sounding thro' the roaring deep,
Drives all its billows, in a raging heap
When fiercely riding thro' the boiling sea,
Thy hoarse command the trembling waves obey.
Earth shaking, dark-hair'd God, the liquid plains
(The third division) Fate to thee ordains
'Tis thine, cærulian dæmon, to survey
Well pleas'd the monsters of the ocean play,
Confirm earth's basis, and with prosp'rous gales
Waft ships along, and swell the spacious sails;
Add gentle Peace, and fair-hair'd Health beside,
And pour abundance in a blameless tide.
To Pluto.
In the Tartarian plains remote from sight,
And wrapt forever in the depths of night
Terrestrial Jove, thy sacred ear incline,
And, pleas'd, accept thy mystic's hymn divine,
Earth's keys to thee, illustrious king belong,
Its secret gates unlocking, deep and strong.
'Tis thine, abundant annual fruits to bear,
For needy mortals are thy constant care.
To thee, great king, Avernus is assign'd,
The seat of Gods, and basis of mankind,
Thy throne is fix'd in Hade's dismal plains,
Distant, unknown to rest, where darkness reigns
Where, destitute of breath, pale spectres dwell,
In endless, dire, inexorable hell;
And in dread Acheron, whose depths obscure,
Earth's stable roots eternally secure,
O mighty dæmon, whose decision dread,
The future fate determines of the dead,
With captive Proserpine, thro' grassy plains,
Drawn in a four-yok'd car with loosen'd reins,
Rapt o'er the deep, impell'd by love, you flew
Till Eleusina's city rose to view:
There, in a wond'rous cave obscure and deep,
The sacred maid secure from search you keep,
The cave of Atthis, whose wide gates display
An entrance to the kingdoms void of day.
Of unapparent works, thou art alone
The dispensator, visible and known.
O pow'r all-ruling, holy, honor'd light,
Thee sacred poets and their hymns delight:
Propitious to thy mystic's works incline,
Rejoicing come, for holy rites are thine,
To Thundring Jove. The Fumigation from Storax.
O Father Jove, who shak'st with fiery light
The world deep-sounding from thy lofty height:
From thee, proceeds th' ætherial lightning's blaze,
Flashing around intolerable rays.
Thy sacred thunders shake the blest abodes,
The shining regions of th' immortal Gods:
Thy pow'r divine, the flaming lightning shrouds,
With dark investiture, in fluid clouds.
?'Tis thine to brandish thunders strong and dire,
To scatter storms, and dreadful darts of fire;
With roaring flames involving all around,
And bolts of thunder of tremendous sound,
Thy rapid dart can raise the hair upright,
And shake the heart of man with wild afright.
Sudden, unconquer'd, holy, thund'ring God,
With noise unbounded, flying all abroad;
With all-devouring force, entire and strong,
Horrid, untam'd, thou roll'st the flames along.
Rapid, ætherial bolt, descending fire,
The earth all-parent, trembles at thy ire;
The sea all-shining; and each beast that hears
The sound terrific, with dread horror fears:
When Nature's face is bright with flashing fire,
And in the heavens resound thy thunders dire.
Thy thunders white, the azure garments tear,
And burst the veil of all surrounding air.
O jove, all-blessed, may thy wrath severe,
Hurl'd in the bosom of the deep appear,
And on the tops of mountains be reveal'd,
For thy strong arm is not from us conceal'd,
Propitious to these sacred rites incline,
And crown my wishes with a life divine:
Add royal health, and gentle peace beside,
With equal reason, for my constant guide.
To Jove, as the Author of Lightning. The Fumigation from Frankincense and Manna.
I Call the mighty, holy, splendid light,
Aerial, dreadful-sounding, fiery-bright
Flaming, aerial-light, with angry voice,
Lightning thro' lucid clouds with horrid noise,
Untam'd, to whom resentments dire belong,
Pure, holy pow'r, all-parent, great and strong:
Come, and benevolent these rites attend,
And grant my days a peaceful, blessed end.
To the Clouds. The Fumigation from Myrrh.
Ærial clouds, thro' heav'n's resplendent plains
Who wander, parents of prolific rains;
Who nourish fruits, whose water'y frames are hurl'd,
By winds impetuous, round the mighty world;
All-thund'ring, lion-roaring, flashing fire,
In Air's wide bosom, bearing thunders dire
Impell'd by ev'ry stormy, sounding gale,
With rapid course, along the skies ye fail,
With blowing winds your wat'ry frames I call,
On mother Earth with fruitful show'rs to fall.
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