In Bonum patricium

To Bonum patrician and deputy of the emperor. Heracles once had Eurystheus as overseer of petty labors, as it seems to me; for what common benefit did the slain boar or the strangled lion bring to life? But today, by way of exchange for better things, the world-savior Heracles entrusts to you, his fellow warrior, a cosmic struggle: not as a skilled archer for slaughter does he know you, but as a great craftsman for saving. Hence he rightly decrees that you accomplish these contests, which stand in for all, not from necessity—for how could a soul that has wounded and been wounded by desire suffer compulsion? But rather where labors converge together into the same point, there the warmth of those who yearn is kindled more, and the circumstance of necessities introduces to them a pledge of more secure desire, and labors escape the notice of lovers, having stolen or been stolen in the bond. For if the material union of bodies makes the separated flesh one, how could one express the psychic union, where spirit runs together with spirit and, from the noble intelligible union of immaterial instruments, one soul is present in two bodies? For we know that culpable desires do not hold sway so much, but are like a dream; even if someone kindles them with fire, he quickly extinguishes the torch; and even if it enters swift and winged, like a bird it quickly takes flight, drawing a bow for pleasure, as the saying goes, it inflicts a wound only on the one struck.

But the love that is both steadfast and mind-governing, having united the mutual affection, knows no hesitation, puts forward no fear, does not consider uncertain circumstances, does not shrink from fortune on a sphere, but as if composed within the heart, it often sails along and travels together, and considers everything far as near, and is considered present with those absent, and everywhere shows the common bond; for it is not split, nor is it divided, but it is outside while within, as the master is present in you, even if he seems to be apart. But O bright eye of the world, having the mind as a vehicle of innate light, even if you have departed toward the Persian cloud and entwine with the barbarian hail, be present to us, and the world sees the sun of Rome, and by innovating time, shine in winter, and you direct the spring. Have pity on us, whom you once redeemed, for whom you endured so many birth-pains, having wished to make the world orphaned by a tyrant into your own children by a foreign seed, have pity on us, as blameless infants; for even children often grow bold in the simplicity of childish lispings; yet the bond compels what grieves; for nature, when pricked, has forgiveness, even if the infant does something childish; for the mother is often struck, and turns kindly toward her child, and remembering the former birth-pains again, as it seems, she conceals and covers everything, and has no childish grief at all, but on her face she shapes fear, fashioning anger only for instruction; and a father will also endure blows, and even welcomes them gladly, if he sees his children looking sullen.

But these things are not comparable to your power, you who did not rouse your fear against us even to the point of seeming wrath, but you so kindle the fire of desire that in a short time you traverse the whole world, and you labor unyieldingly through the winter of so many barbarians, and you seem to take delight in that long despondency. For there is no place empty of our concern, but you run through all as in a cycle of cosmic sickness, and you have been appointed the surgeon everywhere for the common wounds of the sick, pressing yourself with others' misfortunes, you who have more of the labors of those who labor. For you have always been substantial to us in labors, bearing the weaknesses of all in their place: danger from barbarians, fear from enemies, enmity from without, cares within, sweat on land, confusion at sea, battles of tyrants, attacks of subjects, winter and summer heat, and the burdensome sleeplessness that falls in between. Simply put, you have nailed your body, your mind, your heart, your whole self to labors, so that the common body might not bear labors. And you labor much and fight against the disease, stealing, drawing away the cause of the corruptions. And you did not spare the disease-breeding places, here burning, there cutting with the sword; but you preserve the vital heart, performing purifications from unseen passages, and diverting the necessity of the disease, and wishing to draw the confluence of the passion to the sting of harmless places. Yet now be a helper to the vital part, and guard the clear pupil of the whole world, the renowned City.

For when a double labor, as they say, enters, the intense labor overshadows the other. Your branches will persuade you, master, the soul-guiding pearls of life, pouring forth tears like pearls; for being, as they were sown, rational, they have one consolation of hope: your swift presence with God. Receive from them the groans from the depths, ambassadors of cosmic salvation, ambassadors absent, but persuading more by not being present and being longed for more greatly; for their face-to-face meeting, as needed, time did not permit. For it feared, as the commonality of two eyes loving two luminaries, lest by the deprivation of the clear sun and the moon luminous through it, the City suffer a double eclipse into one. But O you who reach the course of the mid-heaven sun, leaping forth from reconciliation with speed, for even if you paint an angry face, you flee the image and do not wish to tarry, you who are so raised in gentleness as even to seem to slacken your authority, give a hand to those crying out and, arriving before time, raise up those hastening to fall; make our deserts into cities, for wherever you appear, all become cities; pity in due time the motherly milk, you who now through us are old even before time, and now having departed from the eastern places, make dawn in the western part, and hasten, if need be, to outrun the sun before the turning of the day, so that every barbarian fortune may shudder at you, and every land and City may marvel at you, and the whole world, with immaterial colors, may paint you in a perpetually visible image, crowning you a second time with words.

And these words indeed the time of necessity contrived to utter with labor, but the Word that forms everything by reason, the Word that makes all things expediently as it wills, may it mold and direct your mind, as it itself knows, as it deems beneficial, and may it show a cleansing of your errors in return for the whole outpouring of sweat you have shed. But O, may the decline of past illnesses remain, bringing all to recovery, and may it bring strength to the power that gave you birth. May it be possible to come more swiftly, the [enemy-runner?] [...] of him pouring forth the stream of tears [...] of him who drew forth for you a second and more godly birth from the dew of fire.