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diff --git a/27179.txt b/27179.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c4e012 --- /dev/null +++ b/27179.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1167 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Laments, by Jan Kochanowski + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Laments + +Author: Jan Kochanowski + +Translator: Dorothea Prall + +Release Date: November 6, 2008 [EBook #27179] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMENTS *** + + + + +Produced by Jimmy O'Regan (Produced from images generously +made available by Columbia University Libraries) + + + + + + + + + +LAMENTS + +BY + +JAN KOCHANOWSKI + + +VERSIFIED BY +DOROTHEA PRALL + + +UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS +BERKELEY +1920 + +UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SYLLABUS SERIES NO. 122 + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Jan Kochanowski (1530-84) was the greatest poet of Poland during its +existence as an independent kingdom. His _Laments_ are his masterpiece, +the choicest work of Polish lyric poetry before the time of Mickiewicz. + +Kochanowski was a learned poet of the Renaissance, drawing his +inspiration from the literatures of Greece and Rome. He was also a man +of sincere piety, famous for his translation of the Psalms into his +native language. In his _Laments_, written in memory of his little +daughter Ursula, who died in 1579 at the age of thirty months, he +expresses the deepest personal emotion through the medium of a literary +style that had been developed by long years of study. The _Laments_, to +be sure, are not based on any classic model and they contain few direct +imitations of the classical poets, though it may be noted that the +concluding couplet of _Lament XV_ is translated from the _Greek +Anthology_. On the other hand they are interspersed with continual +references to classic story; and, more important, are filled with the +atmosphere of the Stoic philosophy, derived from Cicero and Seneca. And +along with this austere teaching there runs through them a warmer tone +of Christian hope and trust; _Lament XVIII_ is in spirit a psalm. To us +of today, however, these poems appeal less by their formal perfection, +by their learning, or by their religious tone, than by their exquisite +humanity. Kochanowski's sincerity of grief, his fatherly love for his +baby girl, after more than three centuries have not lost their power to +touch our hearts. In the _Laments_ Kochanowski embodied a wholesome +ideal of life such as animated the finest spirits of Poland in the years +of its greatest glory, a spirit both humanistic and universally human. + +G. R. NOYES. + + +TO URSULA KOCHANOWSKI + +A CHARMING, MERRY, GIFTED CHILD, WHO, AFTER SHOWING GREAT PROMISE OF ALL +MAIDENLY VIRTUES AND TALENTS, SUDDENLY, PREMATURELY, IN HER UNRIPE +YEARS, TO THE GREAT AND UNBEARABLE GRIEF OF HER PARENTS, DEPARTED HENCE. + +WRITTEN WITH TEARS FOR HIS BELOVED LITTLE GIRL BY JAN KOCHANOWSKI, HER +HAPLESS FATHER. + +THOU ART NO MORE, MY URSULA. + +_Tales sunt hominum mentes, quali pater ipse +Juppiter auctiferas lustravit lumine terras._ + + + + +LAMENT I + +Come, Heraclitus and Simonides, +Come with your weeping and sad elegies: +Ye griefs and sorrows, come from all the lands +Wherein ye sigh and wail and wring your hands: +Gather ye here within my house today +And help me mourn my sweet, whom in her May +Ungodly Death hath ta'en to his estate, +Leaving me on a sudden desolate. +'Tis so a serpent glides on some shy nest +And, of the tiny nightingales possessed, +Doth glut its throat, though, frenzied with her fear, +The mother bird doth beat and twitter near +And strike the monster, till it turns and gapes +To swallow her, and she but just escapes. +"'Tis vain to weep," my friends perchance will say. +Dear God, is aught in life not vain, then? Nay, +Seek to lie soft, yet thorns will prickly be: +The life of man is naught but vanity. +Ah, which were better, then--to seek relief +In tears, or sternly strive to conquer grief? + + +LAMENT II + +If I had ever thought to write in praise +Of little children and their simple ways, +Far rather had I fashioned cradle verse +To rock to slumber, or the songs a nurse +Might croon above the baby on her breast. +Setting her charge's short-lived woes at rest. +For much more useful are such trifling tasks +Than that which sad misfortune this day asks: +To weep o'er thy deaf grave, dear maiden mine. +And wail the harshness of grim Proserpine. +But now I have no choice of subject: then +I shunned a theme scarce fitting riper men, +And now disaster drives me on by force +To songs unheeded by the great concourse +Of mortals. Verses that I would not sing +The living, to the dead I needs must bring. +Yet though I dry the marrow from my bones, +Weeping another's death, my grief atones +No whit. All forms of human doom +Arouse but transient thoughts of joy or gloom. +O law unjust, O grimmest of all maids, +Inexorable princess of the shades! +For, Ursula, thou hadst but tasted time +And art departed long before thy prime. +Thou hardly knewest that the sun was bright +Ere thou didst vanish to the halls of night. +I would thou hadst not lived that little breath-- +What didst thou know, but only birth, then death? +And all the joy a loving child should bring +Her parents, is become their bitterest sting. + + +LAMENT III + +So, thou hast scorned me, my delight and heir; +Thy father's halls, then, were not broad and fair +Enough for thee to dwell here longer, sweet. +True, there was nothing, nothing in them meet +For thy swift-budding reason, that foretold +Virtues the future years would yet unfold. +Thy words, thy archness, every turn and bow-- +How sick at heart without them am I now! +Nay, little comfort, never more shall I +Behold thee and thy darling drollery. +What may I do but only follow on +Along the path where earlier thou hast gone. +And at its end do thou, with all thy charms, +Cast round thy father's neck thy tender arms. + + +LAMENT IV + +Thou hast constrained mine eyes, unholy Death, +To watch my dear child breathe her dying breath: +To watch thee shake the fruit unripe and clinging +While fear and grief her parents' hearts were wringing. +Ah, never, never could my well-loved child +Have died and left her father reconciled: +Never but with a heart like heavy lead +Could I have watched her go, abandoned. +And yet at no time could her death have brought +More cruel ache than now, nor bitterer thought; +For had God granted to her ample days +I might have walked with her down flowered ways +And left this life at last, content, descending +To realms of dark Persephone, the all-ending, +Without such grievous sorrow in my heart, +Of which earth holdeth not the counterpart. +I marvel not that Niobe, alone +Amid her dear, dead children, turned to stone. + + +LAMENT V + +Just as a little olive offshoot grows +Beneath its orchard elders' shady rows, +No budding leaf as yet, no branching limb, +Only a rod uprising, virgin-slim-- +Then if the busy gardener, weeding out +Sharp thorns and nettles, cuts the little sprout, +It fades and, losing all its living hue, +Drops by the mother from whose roots it grew: +So was it with my Ursula, my dear; +A little space she grew beside us here, +Then Death came, breathing pestilence, and she +Fell, stricken lifeless, by her parent tree. +Persephone, Persephone, this flow +Of barren tears! How couldst thou will it so? + + +LAMENT VI + +Dear little Slavic Sappho, we had thought, +Hearing thy songs so sweetly, deftly wrought, +That thou shouldst have an heritage one day +Beyond thy father's lands: his lute to play. +For not an hour of daylight's joyous round +But thou didst fill it full of lovely sound, +Just as the nightingale doth scatter pleasure +Upon the dark, in glad unstinted measure. +Then Death came stalking near thee, timid thing, +And thou in sudden terror tookest wing. +Ah, that delight, it was not overlong +And I pay dear with sorrow for brief song. +Thou still wert singing when thou cam'st to die; +Kissing thy mother, thus thou saidst good-bye: + "My mother, I shall serve thee now no more +Nor sit about thy table's charming store; +I must lay down my keys to go from here, +To leave the mansion of my parents dear." + This and what sorrow now will let me tell +No longer, were my darling's last farewell. +Ah, strong her mother's heart, to feel the pain +Of those last words and not to burst in twain. + + +LAMENT VII + +Sad trinkets of my little daughter, dresses + That touched her like caresses, +Why do you draw my mournful eyes? To borrow + A newer weight of sorrow? +No longer will you clothe her form, to fold her + Around, and wrap her, hold her. +A hard, unwaking sleep has overpowered + Her limbs, and now the flowered +Cool muslin and the ribbon snoods are bootless, + The gilded girdles fruitless. +My little girl, 'twas to a bed far other + That one day thy poor mother +Had thought to lead thee, and this simple dower + Suits not the bridal hour; +A tiny shroud and gown of her own sewing + She gives thee at thy going. +Thy rather brings a clod of earth, a somber + Pillow for thy last slumber. +And so a single casket, scant of measure, + Locks thee and all thy treasure. + + +LAMENT VIII + +Thou hast made all the house an empty thing, +Dear Ursula, by this thy vanishing. +Though we are here, 'tis yet a vacant place, +One little soul had filled so great a space. +For thou didst sing thy joyousness to all, +Running through every nook of house and hall. +Thou wouldst not have thy mother grieve, nor let +Thy father with too solemn thinking fret +His head, but thou must kiss them, daughter mine, +And all with that entrancing laugh of thine! +Now on the house has fallen a dumb blight: +Thou wilt not come with archness and delight, +But every corner lodges lurking grief +And all in vain the heart would seek relief. + + +LAMENT IX + +Thou shouldst be purchased, Wisdom, for much gold +If all they say of thee is truly told: +That thou canst root out from the mind the host +Of longings and canst change a man almost +Into an angel whom no grief can sap, +Who is not prone to fear nor evil hap. +Thou seest all things human as they are-- +Trifles. Thou bearest in thy breast a star +Fixed and tranquil, and dost contemplate +Death unafraid, still calm, inviolate. +Of riches, one thing thou dost hold the measure: +Proportion to man's needs--not gold nor treasure; +Thy searching eyes have power to behold +The beggar housed beneath the roof of gold, +Nor dost thou grudge the poor man fame as blest +If he but hearken him to thy behest. +Oh, hapless, hapless man am I, who sought +If I might gain thy thresholds by much thought, +Cast down from thy last steps after so long, +But one amid the countless, hopeless throng! + + +LAMENT X + +My dear delight, my Ursula, and where +Art thou departed, to what land, what sphere? +High o'er the heavens wert thou borne, to stand +One little cherub midst the cherub band? +Or dost thou laugh in Paradise, or now +Upon the Islands of the Blest art thou? +Or in his ferry o'er the gloomy water +Does Charon bear thee onward, little daughter? +And having drunken of forgetfulness +Art thou unwitting of my sore distress? +Or, casting off thy human, maiden veil, +Art thou enfeathered in some nightingale? +Or in grim Purgatory must thou stay +Until some tiniest stain be washed away? +Or hast returned again to where thou wert +Ere thou wast born to bring me heavy hurt? +Where'er thou art, ah! pity, comfort me; +And if not in thine own entirety, +Yet come before mine eyes a moment's space +In some sweet dream that shadoweth thy grace. + + +LAMENT XI + +"Virtue is but a trifle!" Brutus said +In his defeat; nor was he cozened. +What man did his own goodness e'er advance +Or piety preserve from evil chance? +Some unknown foe confuses men's affairs; +For good and bad alike it nothing cares. +Where blows its breath, no man can flee away; +Both false and righteous it hath power to stay. +Yet still we vaunt us of our mighty mind +In idle arrogance among our kind; +And still we gaze on heaven and think we see +The Lord and his all-holy mystery. +Nay, human eyes are all too dull; light dreams +Amuse and cheat us with what only seems. +Ah, dost thou rob me, Grief, my safeguards spurning, +Of both my darling and my trust in learning? + + +LAMENT XII + +I think no father under any sky +More fondly loved a daughter than did I, +And scarcely ever has a child been born +Whose loss her parents could more justly mourn. +Unspoiled and neat, obedient at all times, +She seemed already versed in songs and rhymes, +And with a highborn courtesy and art, +Though but a babe, she played a maiden's part. +Discreet and modest, sociable and free +From jealous habits, docile, mannerly, +She never thought to taste her morning fare +Until she should have said her morning prayer; +She never went to sleep at night until +She had prayed God to save us all from ill. +She used to run to meet her father when +He came from any journey home again; +She loved to work and to anticipate +The servants of the house ere they could wait +Upon her parents. This she had begun +When thirty months their little course had run. +So many virtues and such active zeal +Her youth could not sustain; she fell from weal +Ere harvest. Little ear of wheat, thy prime +Was distant; 'tis before thy proper time +I sow thee once again in the sad earth, +Knowing I bury with thee hope and mirth. +For thou wilt not spring up when blossoms quicken +But leave mine eyes forever sorrow-stricken. + + +LAMENT XIII + +Ursula, winsome child, I would that I +Had never had thee if thou wert to die +So early. For with lasting grief I pay, +Now thou hast left me, for thy sweet, brief stay. +Thou didst delude me like a dream by night +That shines in golden fullness on the sight, +Then vanishes, and to the man awake +Leaves only of its treasures much heartbreak. +So hast thou done to me, beloved cheat: +Thou madest with high hope my heart to beat +And then didst hurry off and bear with thee +All of the gladness thou once gavest me. +'Tis half my heart I lack through this thy taking +And what is left is good for naught but aching. +Stonecutters, set me up a carven stone +And let this sad inscription run thereon: +_Ursula Kochanowski lieth here, +Her father's sorrow and her father's dear; +For heedless Death hath acted here crisscross: +She should have mourned my death, not I her loss._ + + +LAMENT XIV + +Where are those gates through which so long ago +Orpheus descended to the realms below +To seek his lost one? Little daughter, I +Would find that path and pass that ford whereby +The grim-faced boatman ferries pallid shades +And drives them forth to joyless cypress glades. +But do thou not desert me, lovely lute! +Be thou the furtherance of my mournful suit +Before dread Pluto, till he shall give ear +To our complaints and render up my dear. +To his dim dwelling all men must repair, +And so must she, her father's joy and heir; +But let him grant the fruit now scarce in flower +To fill and ripen till the harvest hour! +Yet if that god doth bear a heart within +So hard that one in grief can nothing win, +What can I but renounce this upper air +And lose my soul, but also lose my care. + + +LAMENT XV + +Golden-locked Erato, and thou, sweet lute, +The comfort of the sad and destitute, +Calm thou my sorrow, lest I too become +A marble pillar shedding through the dumb +But living stone my almost bloody tears, +A monument of grief for coming years. +For when we think of mankind's evil chance +Does not our private grief gain temperance? +Unhappy mother (if 'tis evil hap +We blame when caught in our own folly's trap) +Where are thy sons and daughters, seven each, +The joyful cause of thy too boastful speech? +I see their fourteen stones, and thou, alas, +Who from thy misery wouldst gladly pass +To death, dost kiss the tombs, O wretched one, +Where lies thy fruit so cruelly undone. +Thus blossoms fall where some keen sickle passes +And so, when rain doth level them, green grasses. +What hope canst thou yet harbor in thee? Why +Dost thou not drive thy sorrow hence and die? +And thy swift arrows, Phoebus, what do they? +And thine unerring bow, Diana? Slay +Her, ye avenging gods, if not in rage, +Then out of pity for her desolate age. +A punishment for pride before unknown +Hath fallen: Niobe is turned to stone, +And borne in whirlwind arms o'er seas and lands, +On Sipylus in deathless marble stands. +Yet from her living wounds a crystal fountain +Of tears flows through the rock and down the mountain, +Whence beast and bird may drink; but she, in chains, +Fixed in the path of all the winds remains. +This tomb holds naught, this woman hath no tomb: +To be both grave and body is her doom. + + +LAMENT XVI + +Misfortune hath constrained me +To leave the lute and poetry, +Nor can I from their easing borrow + Sleep for my sorrow. + +Do I see true, or hath a dream +Flown forth from ivory gates to gleam +In phantom gold, before forsaking + Its poor cheat, waking? + +Oh, mad, mistaken humankind, +'Tis easy triumph for the mind +While yet no ill adventure strikes us + And naught mislikes us. + +In plenty we praise poverty, +'Mid pleasures we hold grief to be +(And even death, ere it shall stifle + Our breath) a trifle. + +But when the grudging spinner scants +Her thread and fate no surcease grants +From grief most deep and need most wearing, + Less calm our bearing. + +Ah, Tully, thou didst flee from Rome +With weeping, who didst say his home +The wise man found in any station, + In any nation. + +And why dost mourn thy daughter so +When thou hast said the only woe +That man need dread is base dishonor?-- + Why sorrow on her? + +Death, thou hast said, can terrify +The godless man alone. Then why +So loth, the pay for boldness giving, + To leave off living? + +Thy words, that have persuaded men, +Persuade not thee, angelic pen; +Disaster findeth thy defenses, + Like mine, pretenses. + +Soft stone is man: he takes the lines +That Fortune's cutting tool designs. +To press the wounds wherewith she graves us, + Racks us or saves us? + +Time, father of forgetfulness +So longed for now in my distress, +Since wisdom nor the saints can steel me, + Oh, do thou heal me! + + +LAMENT XVII + +God hath laid his hand on me: +He hath taken all my glee, +And my spirit's emptied cup +Soon must give its life-blood up. + +If the sun doth wake and rise, +If it sink in gilded skies, +All alike my heart doth ache, +Comfort it can never take. + +From my eyelids there do flow +Tears, and I must weep e'en so +Ever, ever. Lord of Light, +Who can hide him from thy sight! + +Though we shun the stormy sea, +Though from war's affray we flee, +Yet misfortune shows her face +Howsoe'er concealed our place. + +Mine a life so far from fame +Few there were could know my name; +Evil hap and jealousy +Had no way of harming me. + +But the Lord, who doth disdain +Flimsy safeguards raised by man, +Struck a blow more swift and sure +In that I was more secure. + +Poor philosophy, so late +Of its power wont to prate, +Showeth its incompetence +Now that joy proceedeth hence. + +Sometimes still it strives to prove +Heavy care it can remove; +But its little weight doth fail +To raise sorrow in the scale. + +Idle is the foolish claim +Harm can have another name: +He who laughs when he is sad, +I should say was only mad. + +Him who tries to prove our tears +Trifles, I will lend mine ears; +But my sorrow he thereby +Doth not check, but magnify. + +Choice I have none, I must needs +Weep if all my spirit bleeds. +Calling it a graceless part +Only stabs anew my heart. + +All such medicine, dear Lord, +Is another, sharper sword. +Who my healing would insure +Will seek out a gentler cure. + +Let my tears prolong their flow. +Wisdom, I most truly know, +Hath no power to console: +Only God can make me whole. + + +LAMENT XVIII + +We are thy thankless children, gracious Lord. +The good thou dost afford +Lightly do we employ, +All careless of the one who giveth joy. + +We heed not him from whom delights do flow. +Until they fade and go +We take no thought to render +That gratitude we owe the bounteous sender. + +Yet keep us in thy care. Let not our pride +Cause thee, dear God, to hide +The glory of thy beauty: +Chasten us till we shall recall our duty. + +Yet punish us as with a father's hand. +We mites, cannot withstand +Thine anger; we are snow, +Thy wrath, the sun that melts us in its glow. + +Make us not perish thus, eternal God, +From thy too heavy rod. +Recall that thy disdain +Alone doth give thy children bitter pain. + +Yet I do know thy mercy doth abound +While yet the spheres turn round, +And thou wilt never cast +Without the man who humbles him at last. + +Though great and many my transgressions are, +Thy goodness greater far +Than mine iniquity: +Lord, manifest thy mercy unto me! + + +LAMENT XIX + +The Dream + +Long through the night hours sorrow was my guest +And would not let my fainting body rest, +Till just ere dawn from out its slow dominions +Flew sleep to wrap me in its dear dusk pinions. +And then it was my mother did appear +Before mine eyes in vision doubly dear; +For in her arms she held my darling one, +My Ursula, just as she used to run +To me at dawn to say her morning prayer, +In her white nightgown, with her curling hair +Framing her rosy face, her eyes about +To laugh, like flowers only halfway out. + "Art thou still sorrowing, my son?" Thus spoke +My mother. Sighing bitterly, I woke, +Or seemed to wake, and heard her say once more: + "It is thy weeping brings me to this shore: +Thy lamentations, long uncomforted, +Have reached the hidden chambers of the dead, +Till I have come to grant thee some small grace +And let thee gaze upon thy daughter's face, +That it may calm thy heart in some degree +And check the grief that imperceptibly +Doth gnaw away thy health and leave thee sick, +Like fire that turns to ashes a dry wick. +Dost thou believe the dead have perished quite, +Their sun gone down in an eternal night? +Ah no, we have a being far more splendid +Now that our bodies' coarser claims are ended. +Though dust returns to dust, the spirit, given +A life eternal, must go back to heaven, +And little Ursula hath not gone out +Forever like a torch. Nay, cease thy doubt, +For I have brought her hither in the guise +She used to wear before thy mortal eyes, +Though mid the deathless angels, brighter far +She shineth as the lovely morning star; +And still she offers up her prayers for you +As here on earth, when yet no words she knew. +If herefrom springs thy sorrow, that her years +Were broken off before all that endears +A life on earth to mortals she might prove-- +Yet think how empty the delights that move +The minds of men, delights that must give place +At last to sorrow, as in thine own case. +Did then thy little girl such joy confer +That all the comfort thou didst find in her +Could parallel thine anguish of today? +Thou canst not answer otherwise than nay. +Then fret not that so early death has come +To what was dearest thee in Christendom. +She did not leave a land of much delight, +But one of toil and grief and evil blight +So plenteous, that all which men can hold +Of their so transitory blessings, gold, +Must lose its value through this base alloy, +This knowledge of the grief that follows joy. + "Why do we weep, great God? That with her dower +She bought herself no lord, that she might cower +Before upbraidings from her husband's kin? +That she knew not the pangs that usher in +The newborn child? And that she could not know, +Like her poor mother, if more racking woe +It were to bear or bury them? Ah, meet +Are such delights to make the world more sweet! +But heaven hath purer, surer happiness, +Free from all intermingling of distress. +Care rules not here and here we know not toil, +Misfortune and disaster do not spoil. +Here sickness can not enter nor old age, +And death, tear-nourished, hath no pasturage. +We live a life of endless joy that brings +Good thoughts; we know the causes of all things. +The sun shines on forever here, its light +Unconquered by impenetrable night; +And the Creator in his majesty +Invisible to mortals, we may see. +Then turn thy meditations hither, towards +This changeless gladness and these rich rewards. +Thou know'st the world, what love of it can do: +Found thou thine efforts on a base more true. +Thy little girl hath chosen well her part, +Thou may'st believe, as one about to start +For the first time upon the stormy sea, +Beholding there great flux and jeopardy, +Returneth to the shore; while those that raise +Their sails, the wind or some blind crag betrays, +And this one dies from hunger, that from cold: +Scarce one escapes the perils manifold. +So she, who, though her years should have surpassed +That ancient Sybil, must have died at last, +Preferred that ending to anticipate +Before she knew the ills of man's estate. +For some are left without their parents' care, +To know how sore an orphan's lot to bear; +One girl must marry headlong, and then rue +Her dower given up to God knows who; +Some maids are seized by their own countrymen, +Others, made captive by the Tatar clan +And held thus in a pagan, shameful thrall, +Must drink their tears till death comes ending all. + "But this thy little child need fear no more, +Who, taken early up to heaven's door, +Could walk all glad and shining-pure within, +Her soul still innocent of earthly sin. +Doubt not, my son, that all is well with her, +And let not sorrow be thy conqueror. +Reason and self-command are precious still +And yielding all to blighted hope is ill. +Be in this matter thine own lord, although +Thy longed-for happiness thou must forego. +For man is born exposed to circumstance, +To be the target of all evil chance, +And if we like it or we like it not +We still can not escape our destined lot. +Nor hath misfortune singled thee, my son; +It lays its burdens upon every one. +Thy little child was mortal as thou art, +She ran her given course and did depart; +And if that course was brief, yet who can say +That she would have been happier to stay? +The ways of God are past our finding out, +Yet what He holds as good shall we misdoubt? +And when the spirit leaves us, it is vain +To weep so long; it will not come again. +And herein man is hardly just to fate, +To bear in mind what is unfortunate +In life and to forget all that transpires +In full accordance with his own desires. +And such is Fortune's power, dearest son, +That we should not lament when she hath done +A bitter turn, but thank her in that she +Hath held her hand from greater injury. +So, yielding to the common order, bar +Thy heart to more disasters than now are; +Gaze at the happiness thou dost retain: +What is not loss, that must be rated gain. + "And finally, what profits the expense +Of thy long labor and the years gone hence, +While thou didst spend thyself upon thy books +And knewest scarce how lightsome pleasure looks? +Now from thy grafting pluck the fruit and save +Something of value from frail nature's grave. +To other men in sorrow thou hast shown +The comfort left them: hast none for thine own? +Now, master, heal thyself: time is the cure +For all; but he whose wisdom doth abjure +The common ways, he should anticipate +The healing for which other men must wait. +What is time's cunning? That it drives away +Our former haps with newer ones, more gay, +Or like the old. So man by taking thought +Perceives them ere their accidents are wrought, +And by such thinking banishes the past +And views the future, quiet and steadfast. +Then bear man's portion like a man, my son, +The Lord of grief and comfort is but one." + Then I awoke, and know not if to deem +This truth itself, or but a passing dream. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Laments, by Jan Kochanowski + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMENTS *** + +***** This file should be named 27179.txt or 27179.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/1/7/27179/ + +Produced by Jimmy O'Regan (Produced from images generously +made available by Columbia University Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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