Classic Poem

" NOW whosoe'er would make comparison
Between that garden square, whose little gate
Was closed with bars, wherein the Lover saw
Sir Mirth and all his meinie caroling,
And Fairfield Park I've just described to you
Would err as greatly if he thought them like
As one who should consider fable truth.
Whoe'er might come into this paradise,
Or even glance therein, would dare assert
That garden to be nothing as compared
To this enclosure, which is not square built
But subtly round, so that no ivory sphere
Or beryl ever had more perfect shape.
What would you have me tell you? Let us talk
Of all the things the Lover saw at first
Within the garden and without. In brief
I'll summarize, omitting the details.
" He saw the ugly images portrayed
Outside — but if a man should scan this wall
He'd find the infernal demons pictured here,
Most foul and fearful, and each outrage vile
That's suffered by the inhabitants of Hell,
And Cerberus, who keeps them under guard.
Here would he see depicted the whole earth
With all its worldly wealth of ancient things.
Here would he see the ocean faithfully
Portrayed with all its store of things marine —
The fishes that inhabit the salt seas
Or live in rivers fresh, muddy, or clear,
And all things great and small the lakes contain —
The sky, with all that make the air resound —
The birds and butterflies and even gnats —
The fire that girdles all the furniture
And tenements of other elements.
Here would he see the constellations bright
All fastened in their spheres. Here would he see,
Excluded from the garden, all these things
Pictured as plainly as in fact they appear.
" Let us once more the garden enter now
And name the things within. The Lover saw
Delight conduct a dance upon the grass,
And all her fellows decked with odorous flowers
A-caroling with her. He says he saw
Grass, trees, and beasts and birds, fountains and brooks
Rippling and splashing over gravel beds —
Especially the stream beneath the pine
Of which he boasts that such another tree
Has ne'er been seen since old King Pepin's time,
Nor any fountain with such beauty filled.
" For love of God, lords, be upon your guard
If you are looking for the naked truth.
These things are fables — vain imaginings —
No stable facts, but fictions that will fade.
Dances will reach their end and dancers fail.
So all he saw within the garden walls
Inevitably must crumble and decay;
For Atropos, the nurse of Cerberus,
Whose practices mankind cannot prevent
Or her attack avoid when 'tis her will
To use her strength, as she does ceaselessly,
And nothing spares, lies in wait for all
Except the gods, whom she cannot destroy,
For things divine never descend to death.
" But now let's talk of all the lovely things
The Shepherd's Park includes. I must be brief;
For I this sermon shortly must conclude.
Though I'd proceed aright, I do not know
How properly to speak; for there's no heart
That can conceive — no human tongue describe —
The mighty worth and beauty of the things
Contained therein, nor the delightful games,
The everlasting joys, sincere and great,
That are experienced by those within.
All things delightful, permanent, and true
Have those who in this park take their delight;
And right it is, for they all good imbibe.
From that same spring of wealth and happiness
That is so precious, fair, and clear, and pure,
And waters all the place, a flowing brook
From which the sheep who enter Fairfield Park,
Forsaking the black flock thus to deserve
Admission to these precincts, gladly drink.
Soon as they're watered, no more thirst they have,
But live together as they will, nor feel
The blight of illness or the sting of death.
In lucky hour they pass within these gates;
In lucky hour they see the Lamb of God,
Whom they may follow in the narrow path,
While the Good Shepherd guards, whose only wish
Is to purvey them harborage with Him.
None who once drink from that pure stream can die;
For this is not the fountain 'neath the tree
The Lover saw enclosed in marble verge.
He should be ridiculed who praised that spring —
The bitter, poisonous Fountain Perilous
That killed the fair Narcissus, who therein
Admired himself until he pined away.
The Lover himself was not ashamed, indeed,
To recognize and testimony give
About that fountain's character, nor hide
Its cruelty, when he applied the name
Of Mirror Perilous to it, and said
That when he looked therein he felt a throb
Of painful grief, and heaved a heavy sigh.
You see what sweetness in the spring he found!
Fine fountain this, that makes well people ill!
What good turn was he doing for himself
When he therein on his reflection gazed?
" The water flows, he says, in welling waves
From two deep, hollow sources. Well I know
That in itself the spring has no supply
Of water, but whatever qualities
It has all come to it from somewhere else.
Then he says further that it never fails,
And that its surface shines like silver fine.
Behold what trumpery he's telling you!
The water is so troubled and so dark
That one who bends his head above, to see
Himself reflected there, sees naught at all,
And might grow crazy with bewilderment
Because he could not recognize himself.
A double crystal in the depths, he says,
Reflects the sun when it is shining bright
And shows one half the park to him who peers
Within; whereas the other moiety
Can from the other side be clearly seen,
So magical and fair the crystals are.
But, truly, they seem cloudy and most dull,
Or why do they not at a single view
Show all the garden when the sun is bright?
And since they don't, my faith! it seems to me
That some obscurity must them becloud
So that they cannot all reveal to him
Who gazes in them when they borrow light
From sources not themselves. And if the sun
Shed not its rays upon the crystals there,
They have no power to show forth anything.
Now prick your ears and hear the marvelous tale
That I shall tell about the beauteous fount
Which I have mentioned formerly to you.
" This fountain fair, which so much virtue has
To cure, with its sweet waters, ailing sheep,
Flows from a Triple Well, unfailing, clear.
These sources are so close together set
That all together gather in one stream
So that when one sees all he can perceive
But one, or three in one — a Trinity.
However many times one tries to count,
He'll never make the number up to four;
For it's their common, mystic property
Forever to be three, forever one.
The like of such a fountain ne'er was seen,
For 'tis itself the source from which it flows;
Whereas all other springs have their supply
Through veins from alien sources far away.
'Tis its own conduit; extraneous veins
It never needs. More sure than native rock,
The living stream depends upon itself.
It needs no marble curb, no sheltering tree;
Its waters issue from so high a source
That they can never fail. No tree could grow
So high that 'twould surmount this fountain jet.
" But on the slope, as though 'twere coursing down
The hill, a little olive tree is seen,
Beneath which all the waters gently flow;
And when the tiny olive feels the stream
Moisten its roots with liquid fresh and sweet,
It sucks up such life-giving nourishment
That it grows strong and puts forth leaves and fruit;
Then it becomes so broad and towering
That not the pine the Lover has described
E'er stretched so high from earth into the sky
Or spread its branches in so fair a screen.
This olive standing there extends its boughs
Above the fountain and o'ershadows it.
There come the lambkins to enjoy its shade
And suck the moisture that the spray spreads round
Upon the flowers and the tender grass.
Written in tiny letters on a scroll
Upon the olive an inscription hangs,
Which those who, coming there to lie beneath
The branches and enjoy their shade, may read:
" Here flows, beneath this leafy olive tree
Which bear's salvation's fruit, the Fount of Life."
What treasure had the pine compared to this?
" Though foolish folk would hardly credit me
And many will as fable hold my tale,
I tell you that within this fountain shines,
More marvelous than any precious stone,
A round carbuncle, in three facets cut;
So high it hangs that it lights all the park,
And one may see it plainly far away.
No wind or rain or fog can dim its beams,
So bright it is and of such nobleness.
Such is the virtue of this wondrous stone
That every facet's worth the other two,
However bright each by itself appears;
Nor can all one surpass, however fair
Each seems alone. None can distinction make,
By taking thought, among the facets three;
Nor can one in his mind the three unite
So that among them no distinction lies.
No sun illumines it, and yet it has
So fine a color, and it shines so clear,
That the resplendent sun which falls upon
The double crystal in that other spring
Would seem obscure and dull compared to it.
What need I tell you more? No other sun
But this carbuncle ever needs to shine.
It is this garden's sun — its glow more bright
Than any other that e'er shone on earth.
It sends the night to exile — makes the day
Endure forever, never having end,
As no beginning it has ever had,
Spontaneously holding to one point
And never by a minute or degree
Or any other fraction of an hour
Advancing toward another house or sign
Along the zodiac. It has a force
So marvelous that whatsoever man
Beholds it hanging there and then perceives
His face reflected in the spring below
Always, from whatsoever side he looks,
Sees all the things contained within the park
And recognizes each for what it is,
And ever knows its worth. He who has seen
Himself reflected there at once becomes
So wise a master that he nevermore
Can be deceived by aught that may occur.
" Another marvel I'll recount to you:
The rays of this carbuncle never harm
Or daze the eyes of those who on it gaze,
Or make them dizzy; it invigorates
Their eyesight and delights and strengthens it
By its clear beauty and its temperate heat,
Which with a pleasing odor fills the park,
So marvelous a sweetness it exhales.
" I will detain you but for one word more
That you may know that whosoever sees
The form and substance of this beauteous place
Might well assert that Adam was not formed
To occupy a fairer paradise.
" What think you of this park that I've described
And of the Lover's garden? Tell me, lords.
On accident and substance give your votes
And reasonable verdict. By your faith
Declare which seems to you more beautiful.
Consider the two fountains, and decide
Which furnishes the more health-giving stream
And water the more pure and virtuous.
Judging the nature of the conduits,
Say which is more praiseworthy. Judge the pine
And olive which o'ershade the living streams;
And judge the precious stones the fountains hold.
I'll stand by your decision if you give,
According to the evidence I've read,
A verdict just. I say without deceit
From first to last that I have added naught.
Should you speak falsely or withhold the truth,
And thus do wrong (I'll not dissimulate!)
I'd call in others as my jurymen.
That sooner an agreement you may reach
I'll briefly summarize what I have said
About the fountains' virtues and true worth:
The one intoxicates a living man
And brings him to his death; whereas, in truth,
The dead are by the other spring revived.
" Seignors, if you would wisely act, and do
That which you should, you'd from this fountain drink.
That you more easily may keep in mind
My teaching (for the lesson in few words
Contained is that which is remembered best)
Again I will repeat what you should do:
Honor Dame Nature; serve her by good works;
If others' goods you hold, restore them straight,
Or, if you can't restore what you have spent,
Or lost in play, remember willingly
Your creditors when you have means again;
Keep clear of murder; let your hands and lips
Alike be clean; be pitying and leal.
Then you shall walk in that Elysian field
And follow in the footsteps of the Lamb
In everlasting life, and freely drink
The water of that spring which is so fair,
Health-giving, clear, and sweet, that none may die
Who drink thereof, but happily they'll walk,
Singing their everlasting songs and chants
And canzonets, upon the verdant grass.
Or dancing 'neath the olive midst the flowers.
" What's this I pipe to you? High time it is
I put my flute away. The sweetest tune
Ofttimes annoys. I might keep you too long.
So here I'll end my sermon. Now let's see
What you will do when you have mounted high
To preach a pulpit sermon o'er the breach! "
Thus Genius preached, renewing hope and strength
Among the barons. Then amidst the throng
He threw the waxen torch, whose smoking flame
Sets fire to all the world. No woman lives
Who can resist it. Venus spreads the fire
Until aloft it's borne upon the wind
And every female body, heart, and mind
Is as intoxicated with its smell.
News of the charter then did Cupid spread
Until all valiant men were quite agreed thereto.