Arma, viri! aetheriam quocunque sub ordine pubem Siderei proceres ducitis; arma, viri! Quaeque suis, nec queis solita est, stet dextra sagittis; Stet gladii saeva luce corusca sui. Totus adest, totisque movet se major in iris, Fertque Draco, quicquid vel Draco ferre potest. Quas secum facies, imae mala pignora noctis; Quot secum nigros ducit in arma deos. Jam pugnas parat, heu saevus! jam pugnat, et ecce, Vix potui 'Pugnat' dicere, jam cecidit. His tamen ah nimium est quod frontibus addidit iras; Quod potuit rugas his posuisse genis. Hoc torvum decus est, tumidique ferocia fati, Quod magni sceleris mors quoque magna fuit. Quod neque, si victus, jaceat victoria vilis; Quod meruit multi fulminis esse labor; Quod queat ille suas hoc inter dicere flammas: 'Arma tuli frustra: sed tamen arma tuli.' TRANSLATION. WAR IN HEAVEN. Rev. xii. 7. To arms, ye starry chieftains all, who lead The youth of heaven to war--to arms, with speed! Let each right-hand its untried arrows grasp, Or its own fiercely-gleaming falchion clasp. _He_ is _all_ here, and mightier in his wrath, The Dragon brings all powers the Dragon hath: Strange forms, curst children of the deepest Night-- What dusky gods he marshals to the fight! Now he makes ready, fights now, fierce as hell! Scarce could I say 'He fights,' when, lo, he fell. Ah, 'twas too much to scar with wrath these faces, And leave on angel-cheeks such furrow'd traces. 'Tis his grim boast and proudly-swelling fate, That of a great crime e'en the end was great: If vanquish'd, that 'twas no mean victory; Much boltèd thunder there requir'd to be; That with these words his fiery pains he charms: 'Arms I bore vainly; but I did bear arms.' R. WI. NOTE. See our Essay, as before, for relation of this poem to the Sospetto d' Herode, and others. G. NON ACCIPIMUS BREVEM VITAM, SED FACIMUS. Ergo tu luges nimium citatam Circulo vitam properante volvi? Tu Deos parcos gemis, ipse cum sis Prodigus aevi? Ipse quod perdis, quereris perire? Ipse tu pellis, sed et ire ploras? Vita num servit tibi? servus ipse Cedet abactus. Est fugax vitae, fateor, fluentum: Prona sed clivum modo det voluptas, Amne proclivi magis, et fugace Labitur unda. Fur Sopor magnam hinc, oculos recludens, Surripit partem, ruit inde partem Temporis magnam spolium reportans Latro voluptas. Tu creas mortes tibi mille, et aeva Plura quo perdas, tibi plura poscis...... TRANSLATION. WE DO NOT RECEIVE, BUT MAKE, A SHORT LIFE.