FIRST POEM. While Paulinus was still living in the world, he sends birds to Gestidius. PAULINUS to GESTIDIUS, deservedly to be esteemed as lord. It is indeed an affront to a head of household abounding in the delicacies of the sea to offer something earthly and rustic; but I, so that I might have occasion to converse something with your kindred heart, and that I might seem to add some service to this discourse, have sent a very few from the very fewest figpeckers which the little serving-boys bring in at evening: and since I blushed at their scantiness, I have woven still more words into the little verses, as though indeed I would make up the number by loquacity. But because both are blameworthy, you, by pardoning both kindly and familiarly, will bring it about that neither the scantiness seem inhuman nor the garrulity odious.
Take then the birds fed in the thorny countryside, which the cunning fowler, lurking beneath the shelter of a flint, while he counterfeits and deceives the birds with a like whisper, hangs up, credulous, upon limed twigs. Then, bringing back his slender prey with no small gain, he arranges his catch on the boards, and the first row of fat ones shines, gradually thinning toward the bottom of the little board, so that the leanness may give less offence; the grace preferred to fatness gladdens, with a plump bird, eyes that were forestalled. SECOND POEM. While still living in the world he sends oysters to the same Gestidius. So that the dear gift of a poor friend may please you, do not reckon as gifts what rich things you send to us. For what worthy thing should I render to you in return for those fish, which the neighbouring shore with its wealthy gulf supplies to you, set apart in wondrous appearance and form?
But for me, scarcely in the deep, over the rocky shallows, is a rare spondylus bred in the dark seaweed. Sharing it with you from here, I have sent across to you twice five and twice three shells, fragrant with sea-nectar, which a most sweet flesh fills with two-coloured marrow. I pray you take them willingly; nor disdain as worthless things which are now small but measured out with great love. FRAGMENT OF THE THIRD POEM. On the kings collected from Suetonius.
Europe and Asia, the two or greatest members of the earth, to which Sallust doubtfully adds Libya, joined to Europe, since it might be called the third—ruled by many whom fame has blotted out, and whom barbarous names do not hand down to the Roman tongue: Illibanus, and Numidian Avelis, and Parthian Vonones, and Caranus, who gave the Pellaean kings their names, and Nechepsus, who taught the empty mysteries of the magi; and Sesoostris, who soon reigned without a name. ................................. And bold the one who gave his name to the Icarian sea, and he who sailed temperately to the Chalcidian citadels. FOURTH POEM. A MORNING PRAYER TO GOD.
A little after his conversion from the world, in this prayer he asks of God an honourable character, and entreats a happy posterity for himself and his own. Almighty Father of things, to whom belongs supreme power, hear me if I pray for just things, let no day be sorrowful to me, let no night break my peaceful rest. Let things belonging to others not please me, nay rather let my own things profit suppliants, and let no one have toward me prayers of doing harm—or have things that would harm me. Let there be no power to will evil, and let a tranquil power of being able to do good be present. Let a mind content with its own, and not given over to base gain, conquer the bodily enticements, chastely well-conscious of an untainted bed; and let it, harmful, hate base jests and obscene words, and let my tongue, ever guilty, much pleasing to malignant ears, hate its poison ever poured out.
Let me not be afflicted by anyone's death, nor let us grow great by a funeral. Let me never envy anyone, nor ever lie. Let a glad household be present, let a well-fed home-born servant sport at unbought feasts, and a faithful companion, and a neat attendant, and a complaisant wife, and children from a dear wife. May God grant these things to chaste characters; these characters pledge to you perpetual life in the age to come. FIFTH POEM. ANOTHER PRAYER TO GOD. He enumerates various attributes of God, and prays for grace from God whereby he may avoid sins, so that he may meet God's judgment secure. Almighty One whom I worship with my mind, sole Father of things, unknown to the wicked, and to none of the godly unknown; lacking beginning and end, more ancient than the age, than what has been or will be: whose form and measure neither mind can grasp nor tongue declare:
whom only the One has the right to behold and to hear face to face as He commands, and to sit at the right hand near the Father—Himself the Maker of things, Himself the cause of things to be created; Himself the Word of God, the Word God, anticipating the world which He was about to make: begotten in that time when time as yet was not; brought forth before the radiance and the ruddy Dawn-star lit the heaven; without whom nothing was done, through whom all things were made, whose throne is in heaven, to whom, as He sits, the earth is subject, and the sea, and the insuperable chaos of dark night; restless, Himself moving all things, the quickener of inert things; God not begotten from the Begetter, who, offended by the deceit of a proud people, called the nations into the kingdom: to be worshipped by the better stock of an adopted lineage. Whom it was permitted our forefathers to behold:
by which Godhead being seen, it was granted also to have seen the Father—He who bore our contagions, and, suffering the mockeries of dread death, taught that there is a passable way back to eternal life. And that not the soul alone returns, but with the whole body enters the heavenly regions, and leaves the void of the sepulchre, its secret laid bare, covered over by the empty earth. Son of the most high Father, and bringer of salvation to our age: to whom the Begetter handed over all the Father's powers, retaining nothing out of envy, and full of gifts, open a way to my prayers, and bear these things to the Father's ears. Grant, Father, a mind unconquered against all crimes, and turn away the serpent's wickedness of a poison that would harm: let it be enough that the serpent ruined ancient Eve, and joined the deceived Adam to her.
Let us, the late seed of descendants, the age foretold by truthful prophets, avoid the snares which the death-bearing serpent entangles. Open the way by which, after the chains of this sick body, I may bear myself on high: by which the milky path of pure heaven surpasses the wandering lights of the windy moon: by which the godly chiefs departed, and by which once Elias, untouched, was caught up and penetrates above the ether in a four-horsed chariot, and Enoch, going before, with his solid body. Grant, Father, the hoped-for breath of eternal light, if I swear not that stones are gods, and revering a single altar of the holy rite, I bring undefiled offerings of life: if I acknowledge You as Father of the Lord and only-begotten God, and the Spirit, mingled with the two, who hovered over the watery waves.
Grant, Father, pardon, and purge my tormented breast, if I seek You not by the entrails of cattle, nor by shed blood: nor do I conjecture the deity beneath secret innards. If I abstain from wickedness, myself liable to error: and if I wish rather than trust to be approved good and pure, deign to acknowledge the soul that confesses: if I execrate the perishable limbs, and if I am silently penitent, and a deep dread torments my senses, and anticipates the late torments of Gehenna, and my wounded mind suffers its own shades. Grant, Father, that these vows be made ratified by my prayer: let me fear nothing, and desire nothing: let me reckon this enough, which is enough: let me will nothing base, nor be to myself a cause of shame: nor do to anyone what at the same time I would not wish done to me: nor let me be wounded by a true crime, nor stained by a doubtful one:
the suspected seems to differ but little from the truly guilty. Let there be no power to be able to do evil, and let a tranquil power of being able to do good be present. Let me be of slender fare and dress, let me be dear to friends: and ever a father without wound to that name. Let me grieve neither in soul nor in body, let all my limbs discharge the offices of rest: nor, wounded in any parts, let use long for anything lost. Let me enjoy peace, let me pass my days secure, let me deem the earth's marvels as nothing: when my last hour comes, let a life well-conscious neither fear death nor desire it. Pure from hidden faults, when by Your indulgence I shall appear, let me despise all things, when the sole pleasure shall be to hope for Your judgment:
which, while it defers its own times, and the day delays, drive far off the savage serpent that lies in wait with its alluring errors. These pious vows, but trembling with sorrowful guilt, do You, O Christ, before the eternal placable Father, espouse, Saviour, God and Lord, mind, glory, Word, Son, and true Light from true Light, abiding with the eternal Father, reigning unto the ages; whom the people celebrate with measured song, and strike the air with answering voices: Amen. SIXTH POEM. (Concerning Saint John the Baptist, the Forerunner of Christ.) Highest Father of things, and eternal power of heaven, with whom is our salvation, O Christ, glory of the saints, and Spirit cleaving alike to the Father and the Son, who rule minds and tongues, and minister strength, which faith alone has merited:
to whom belongs full power to pour intelligence into brutes, and a voice into the mute, grant that John, drawn from the Gospel fountain, may run down into our songs with an arid stream. He indeed was so great as he could give to the world, who by new miracles commanded such a one to be born: but it is permitted to spend slender cares on great things, nor do heavenly things disdain humble praise: it is part even of merit to celebrate the merit of the godly: nor do I now sing new things, or my own: the prophets foretold all beforehand, and the holy men in loosened speech consecrated the promised one's rising, his life and death: if that was a death which by blood merited heaven. We have only vowed to unfold the sayings in tuneful measures, and to relax the minds of readers with verse:
Thus (for it is allowed to compare great things with small, ancient with new, perfect with unlearned, eternal with perishable) whatever the men of old, with God inspiring, declared, the venerable name David fitted to harps, composing harmonious measures with a heavenly plectrum: us too it is right to be mindful of God, although our breasts, beset with many crimes, are slow to admit the heavenly sense. Zacharias, once a priest from the Syrian race, tended the entrusted temples with solemn array. The man's life was worthy of God by piety, faith, gravity, modesty, and observance; his wife was kindly Elisabeth, sprung from the ancient stock of holy men, and equal to so great a husband in virtues.
But (which the men of old set down as a reproach to mothers, being childless) she led a sad and barren old age, and the time now past had shut out all hope of offspring. By chance all the people were bearing the solemn holy rite to God, and the priest had above the rest burned the sacred fires, adorning the inmost altars with divine flames: behold, beside the holy altar a heavenly messenger stood, and remarkable in vesture, venerable in face, by countenance and bearing he proved himself sent from heaven, then loosed his holy breast into such words. Receive, O priest beloved of the heavenly Lord, the commands of the eternal God, whose care for the godly is perpetual, the unceasing guardian who in a pure breast knew how to bestow well-earned love upon the saints. And first:
He does not will that your lineage perish with the seed extinguished, and has made fruitful the bowels of your wife, who already was ceasing in a worn-out age. Why nevertheless do you, you too with mortal sense, doubt that God can do all things? But you will believe; He will prove it. There will be born, worthy of so great a sponsor, a blessed and ever-perpetual boy, who, straightway from his earliest age greater than you, by the Author's gift more than the begetter's will have sacred powers in an unconquered breast. Nor indeed is it of your judgment and right what first names you should set for the new-born: God Himself assuredly, who bids him be born, the same bids him be John. This is the title of his name, the boundless offspring of his merits, which, not yet begotten, He alone could foreknow, who will give him, and grant you joys in so great a son:
Nor indeed will He grant only this much to you—small is a glory enclosed within one house; but as far as it stretches from the rising to the bounded twilight of the late light, the whole world will rejoice with you through your offspring. What wonder? He will be wholly free from the dregs of vices, leading a heavenly life without stain and without crime, keeping an abstemious breast from raging wine, and avoiding all cups of ill-counselling juice. And when he shall pledge salvation to the human race even after their errors—to whoever shall be renewed from the holy water—he himself will have nothing in himself by which he might be purified.
And lest I tell you more in various roundabout ways, you, a learned priest, cannot fail to know the merit of Elias, who, with the law of hateful death remitted, leads an eternal life with his own body, whom a fiery chariot bore aloft to the lofty ether, gathered up by the swift effort of flaming horses: him your son will equal in the lineage of his merits, and will have just as much of praise at once and of virtue. Therefore, to fitting thanks for so great a gift, do not hang up your faith in doubt, lest the moved anger of the favouring God appoint a deserved punishment after the rewards. Thus he spoke, and the winged one slips away into the thin air, and pours forth from afar a fragrant air with holy perfume.
The priest grew stiff, confused with trembling mind, and while his hesitant heart turns over the promise, while he distrusts that he has merited so great a favour—that he should be the care of the most high God, that a messenger sent from high heaven should report to a servant such clear commands from his Lord—and he fears it is mockery, and thinks those things dreams, while he too sparingly esteems his own character, and does not confess himself to have merited it: faith itself makes him faithless, while he will not believe himself worthy, and earns penalties by his unbelief. Straightway the tongue is bound fast against the hesitating palate, and, forgetful of its own motion and the labour of the voice, the articulate sound clings in sluggish numbness. And while he longs to recount the marvels to his people, having striven in vain, he fell silent with fixed mouth.
Sad he departs, and turns over the grief shut in his mind, and in his secret heart he prays pardon for his faults. How great is God's mercy! and how entreatable the Deity! To have repented is enough. He who grants ratified things—the order of time rolls on, and (a marvel) Elisabeth is distended with gravid womb, and her pious bowels bear the holy burden, and a youthful gift comes beneath a worn-out age. Then another, holy Gabriel, who had been the same messenger to Zacharias, pondering far greater things, fashions his journey to Mary, who, betrothed to a husband but rather chosen by God, about to bring forth the salvation of the world, a chaste virgin kept her purity inviolate: before whose eyes, after a form distinguished by heavenly grace had stood, with downcast modest face, she dyed her ruddy cheeks with suffused blood. He says:
'O maiden more blessed in the world than all virgins whom the sun's circle encompasses—those who were before, those who are, those who will follow after—chosen by the great God, that you may be called His mother, whose Father He also is! Happy, come, conceive a burden, unpolluted by man and free from all union, made fruitful by the Word of God: let your bowels furnish a body to Him who made heaven, lands, sea, stars: who ever was, and now is, and in all time will ever be: Lord of the world, and creator of light, and Himself the light of heaven, will through you put on mortal limbs; and will come beneath the eyes of men, and the assemblies of men.
Lift up undisturbed spirits to the rewards of such great praises; He will give you both strength and faith, who willed (for He rules all things and governs by His nod) to be your Son, though He was the Son of the Lord.' He had spoken, and at the same time left both the lands and the sight, and seeks the ether accustomed to him with an easy effort. The commands of God are fulfilled, and the maiden straightway believes, and prompt faith augments her merit and her former life: the latent elements, with silent causes, form the divine body, and the burden to be consecrated grows: the pious womb cherishes the heavenly Lord. Meanwhile the offspring, though not yet brought forth, urges holy Mary, that, going forth, she revisit Elisabeth, who, now venerable through a long age, was bearing a boy beloved of the Lord, about to bring him forth.
The mother hearkens to her son—so great is the force of faith—and comes whither she was bidden: John moved his mother's bowels, and filled her breast with a divine sense. Already a seer, not yet begotten, enclosed in the womb, and now a prophet, he was beholding deeds past and things to come. When she from afar caught sight of Mary shining with the conceived light, with swift step driven on from afar she advances to meet her, and, reverent, stretching out her arms: 'Hail, O mother,' she says, 'of the Lord, hail, pious virgin, free from the bridal chamber and ignorant of manly union, yet about to bring forth God: so much was it worth to be chaste, that, untouched, you should bear the titles and rewards of a wife. Why is the honour of duty paid to me, undeserving and not worthy of so great a gift?
Why does the glory of heaven, brought down to our dwelling and lowly roofs, bring so great a light into the obscure inner chambers? But let Him, gentle and placid, be present to His worshippers, and let Him, the begotten, furnish also this favour which He bestowed before.' She spoke, and, encircled in arms, joined embraces, and now, having reverenced God, gave kisses to the pious womb. Come, say now, guilty Judaea, defiled with the blood of your king: if no faith is to be lent to the words of those of old, if you believe that the sacred seers deceive, and Moses himself, if the impious harshness of a perverse nation thinks David deceives—believe those not yet born: shut in the maternal womb, what John sees, he teaches by his mother's holy mouth.
Who, I pray, taught him whom a virgin contains in her chaste womb, how great an offspring awaits the new ages? But hidden things lie open to the holy, nor are they seen by the profane. But, having gone beyond measure, my track seeks the broad plains, and, forgetful of myself, dares to run on too far. I hope that it will be possible for me one day, with strength confirmed, to drive a four-horse chariot through this space too. Now let us return to the path begun: let the mortal page speak mortal things; let things divine speak of the Lord. And now, the time being thus accomplished as much as nature required, the renowned boy is brought forth from the mature womb, and a sure faith fulfils the great promises of God, which were not believed under threat of punishment, and the new-born infant confirms it.
The neighbouring kinsfolk assemble after custom, that they may fit to the boy names sought from the comparison of causes, derived from the name of the old parents: but the mother, conscious by her son of the heavenly command, denies that the choice is left to the kinsmen. Therefore it pleases them to consult the father, long silent with voice shut off—the sole means of disclosing the indication which the tongue cannot, if the letter signify it. He is consulted, takes the tablets, and writes 'John.' All marvel, and recall that none of the forebears had a prescribed name from the parents' stock. How greatly the late faith availed! Because the right hand noted what the mind had believed, the penalty of sin was remitted. The loosened bars of the bound tongue are released.
Now the old man answers with his voice, and discloses to his kinsfolk the commands of God long hidden, and pledges the future, while he proves the past accomplished. Who would doubt that such a one would be, whom one might see could have been born by the Lord's commands, with the law of nature remitted, by an unwonted birth? An example to be celebrated by all of unbelief he set before the eyes of all—either the penalty of the parent, or the pardon: and at once fear presses upon the spirits from this side, hope from that. Meanwhile the time of the cradle slips by: in these very things stands forth the manifest appearance of divine vigour. Caresses and laughter are silent, and uncertain murmurs cease: a seriousness, herald of a playful sense, now forms the tender face with future characters. Then, when the boy had fixed his first footsteps with steady effort, and words marked a sure speech:
his custom was either to hearken to the sayings of his holy parent, or to learn by heart the illustrious deeds of the ancients, or those laws which God Himself, with Moses as interpreter, had established, which the page of sacred stone preserves. These, and whatever else might strengthen his tender mind, he was handling, recalling them: for he is not to be believed to have been ignorant of former things, to whom the Lord had granted to know things to come. But after strength accrued to his limbs from age (for a mind full of God had outrun the slow years): even then he resolved that those things must be learned by himself which men cannot teach: likewise that the harmful contagions of foods and drink, hostile to a holy life, must be shunned.
He therefore forsook the dwelling of his holy parent, though it was unstained, and fled the throngs of men and their harmful gatherings; he made his way to lonely, pathless lands, where his unpolluted mind might behold only itself, and, free from cares, might be at leisure for the sacred commandments. His garment was woven from the bristles of the curved-backed camel, that it might harden his soft limbs against luxury and, with his body thus pricked, ward off heavy sleep. A coarse girdle bound this garment to his rugged loins. The forest's honey afforded him an easy nourishment, with fruits and herbs sprung up from the uncultivated rocks, and a running stream relieved his parching thirst. What place is here for vices? What entry could perverse desire find amid these holy things, these inmost recesses of the mind? Wherein should he sin who desires nothing?
Whither should the perverse mind betake itself to its hiding-places, when one lacks nothing? Thus lived the first men, and to the newly-made world the Author had given these manners for the ages to come, until ill-counselling pleasure insinuated itself, and with it riot, and brought in the love of possessing. Hence hatreds, hence strife, hence fraud, hence envy and wrath, slaughter, arms, bloodshed, conflict, battles, deaths; hence the offence against God, which the savage depths of hell shall expiate. But why do I overmuch arraign the faults that are common to all, forgetful of myself, whom it befits not that my own deeds should weigh me down, but that I should hope for pardon?
Rather let us marvel, more fittingly, at that unconquered example of the ancient age, an example imitable by none, who in human toil surpassed mankind—a man half-divine, who, free from every stain, when he so tormented his own body with such cruel pains, prescribed what should befit us even after our sins. But when, by such means strengthening his unconquered mind, he had spent a generous span of time and had established what things ought to have been sought once they were found, a voice was uttered to him from heaven: 'Already enough of time has been spent, beloved prophet, in which to profit yourself; now the time given you is, as you perceive, that you may profit others, and that you may preserve what was already perishing. Go forth therefore to the holy waters of pure Jordan. Here, whoever among men repents of the deeds committed in his former life and at last turns over better things in his understanding—cleanse him as he confesses.'
'Whoever shall have believed with faithful mind that you blot out his sins by the holy washing, he shall be born again, provided such a life follows as may prove that those who are washed have condemned their former life.' John obeyed what he had heard with a servant's mind, and forthwith went down to the banks of the river he was bidden. Here he preaches the commandments of God with awesome speech, and pours new salvation into the hearts of believers. He washes away the sins of believers with the waters poured upon them, frees men from their fears, remits their punishments, and quenches fire with water; he counsels forgetfulness of errors, and grants new bodies for a new life. O Father, O eternal Creator of men and of all things, by how many degrees does your mercy spare us! What father ever endures to forgive his erring son so many times?
You give the nation an understanding by which they may discern both good and evil. That is not enough: you bind upon them the bonds of a law to be kept, and you set forth punishments for the wicked and rewards for the just. Has anyone scorned even this? Whenever he pleases, let him return; pardon is ready at hand. Behold, the holy washing lies open, which renews life, blots out former deeds, and makes men new. What more do we seek? And yet there is still further pardon: should anyone, lapsing with a defiled body, have profaned even this gift—although his error may now have advanced too far—let him cease and return: when he has himself condemned himself, he has earned to be absolved.
If he repents, his guilt is annulled. O how truly is that which you say a light burden, and how truly the yoke that goes with it is sweet, when one and the same man is forgiven so many times! And yet we go astray, and there is no end to the sin of the human race; but your praise increases, for the greater the offender's guilt, the greater the glory of him who spares. Let every mind therefore render thanks to you, and let every tongue sing, and let the human stock, so far as it is able—if it cannot succeed in pleasing—at least labour to become acceptable. An immeasurable deep is opened, if we spread our sails, in your praises, O kindly Father; but the mind, conscious of so great a burden, trembles, and—not unaware of its own powers—consults them, and rather leaves what is worthy to be said to those more worthy. Let us return to what we began. This work is yours, holy John, whereby you renew pure minds when the body has been washed.
It was not the Lord's first decree that gave you this charge, when he admonished you by sending a clear voice through the clouds. Many ages before, God had spoken by the mouth of the holy prophet Isaiah, the greatest of the old age: 'I will send before your eyes, O son, a minister, who, clearing away the tangled obstructions of the thorny paths before your steps, shall make the lofty mountains sink down, and likewise the sunken valleys rise up; he shall make straight what is crooked, and soften what is rough, and smooth the hard, and compel the whole world to become level.' Are you then—I pray—the gift of the most high Father, kindly John, you who come having been promised together with Christ, and whom that One who sent his Son reckons to his own account? Are you that one foretold by the prophets, you who shared the honour of an angel's name? Through you the first clemency of God puts itself forth.
To you was first granted the power of bestowing pardon. When many miracles of the new people sought you out, Christ said concerning you: 'It has been granted to behold such a prophet as no former ages had seen. I declare—I who alone know what has been done and what is yet to be done—that among the mortals whom woman has borne, and those whom she shall bear, born after the wonted manner of men, there shall be none who could set himself before John.' This he reports concerning you, he who clearly perceives whatever lies most inward in the human heart, and all the courses of the ages in their order, just as we see with our eyes the things laid open before them. POEM VII. PARAPHRASE OF PSALM I.
Paulinus, then untrained in the secrets of theology, supposed that all Christians, however wicked, provided they had preserved their faith intact, would obtain some sort of salvation. Blessed is he who shall have set his life far apart from the assemblies of the ungodly, and shall not have remained in the way of sinners, nor sat in the seat of pestilence; but, fixed with his whole heart upon the law of God, turns over the precepts of life by night and by day, and cultivates his mind with chaste ordinances. He shall be like a tree that, planted near a river, is fed by the moisture of the bank that nourishes it, and shall yield its fruit in full at its proper season; and, with foliage never falling away, ever green it shall stand, a living tree with perpetual leaf.
This glory shall not attend the wicked; but as the wind snatches away the cinder of dust, so wrath shall sweep the wicked from the face of God. For this reason the herds of men, scattered throughout the world, shall be divided in such an order that the ungodly shall not rise to be judged—those who have denied to God the worship owed to him—but to be punished; for, seeing his own crime, he shall not need to be uncovered by examination, since they shall bear the impending mark of death, not carrying the sign of salvation upon their foreheads. But the sinner who is yet not ungodly—and that is a great multitude—shall not rise to glory, but shall indeed rise to be assigned to scrutiny. For the judge cannot sit together with the godly, since he must render account for the causes of his own actions, and, according to his various deeds, be either approved or held guilty.