C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
To Geeraert Vossius: On the Loss of his Son
By Joost van den Vondel (15871679)
W
Its furrows to thy pale brow given?
Seek not to hold thy son from heaven!
’Tis heaven that draws,—resign him, then!
And offer to its Source above,
In gratitude and humble love,
The choicest of thy treasures here.
But not when richly laden she
Comes from the wild and raging sea,
Within a haven safe to land.
Yes, murmur for the odor’s sake;
But not whene’er the glass may break,
If that which filled it be not fled.
The bounding waters in their course,
When hurled from rocks with giant force,
Towards some calm and spacious bay.
His infant’s corse a father mourn,
Or child bedew its parents’ urn,
Death passes neither house nor door.
Nor peevish age, his stroke defers;
He chains the lips of orators,
Nor cares for wisdom, worth, or truth.
To wanton pleasures scorns to yield,
And wards as with a pliant shield
The arrows of adversity.