A.D. 1184. PROPHECIES BY A MONK. me ! alas ! what mil be my lot ? Behold ! the sword is gleaming, which will the whole world destroy. Behold the hand of the Lord ! Ah wretched me ! whither shall I fly ? Behold the wrath of the Lord ! shall I take to flight, or here conceal myself? Whither shall I fly from God, for God is everywhere? If the Divine will cannot be moved by prayer, then the seed with the chaff will the wrath of God beat down. That all things must return unto their ancient Chaos, the opinions of the philosophers prove. Still, thus it cannot be, as it is clear that whatever has been, and most things that now are, must remain as they are.43 Now, above the stars am I borne, and though my eyes are closed, lifted up to the stars, either house of the Sun do I behold. There is night without the stars and Moon, and day without the Sun : but though so it is, why so it is I cannot teU. The stars of Mercury, of Venus, and of Jove, now lie concealed. They exist not, or if they do exist, they have forsaken the sky. Through the whole Zodiac they roam at large, both Mars and the noxious star of the scythe-bearing old man who wields the scythe.44 Mars smites with his sword, Saturn smites with his hurtful scythe ; 4 5 he strives to inflict ruin on the interests of men. Hence am I now borne to the dubious realms of the Stygian tyrant, in which there is, and will be, everlasting gloom. Amid gloom so great, neither Sun, nor Moon, nor fire, in this place of wretchedness are able to direct the eyes. Here is toil, and grief, and anxiety inextricable : here for the wretched guilty are grievous punishments prepared. Here resounds everlastingly the direful dirge, woe ! woe ! The gloom how great ! woe, woe is me ! woe ! woe ! 4 8 Cerberus is raging before the gates, and is yawning with his three throats ; three dreadful sounds from his mouth at the same instant does he send. Three Furies guard the portals, Alecto, Megasra, and Tisiphone, on whose features horror is impressed. Horrid is their aspect, and foul the breath of 4 3 These lines are in their present state incapable of being reduced to sense—perhaps,indeed, it was never intended they should have any. They are as follows ;— " Sic taraen esse nequit, quia constat quaeque fuisse, Pluraque quae veluti sunt modo, semper erunt." *• Saturn. 4 5 "Falce;" more properly "sickle." 4 6 This pentameter is worth preserving as a curiosity : " Quantse sunt tenebra ! vas mihi, vas mini, vse !"