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{133-134 B/C} 
EPIGRAMMA 
DE BEATO JOANNE ET EJUS APOCALYPSI 

Esul ab humano dum pellitur orbe Joannes 
Et vetitus Coici est cernere regna soli 
Intrat ovans coeli Domino dilectus in aulam 
Regis et altithroni gaudet adesse choris. 
Hic ubi subjectum sacra lumina vertit in orbem, 
Currere fluctivagas cernit ubique rates, 
Et Babel ac Solymam mistis confligere castris, 
Hinc atque hinc vicibus tela fugamque capi. 
Sed mitem sequitur miles qui candidus agnum, 
Cum duce percipiat regna beata poli. 
Squameus est anguis, per Tartara caeca maniplos 
Submergit flammis, peste fameque suos. 
Hujus quae facies studiumve ordove duelli, 
Ars quae, quaeve phalanx, palma vel arma forent, 
Pandere dum cuperem, veterum sata lata peragrans 
Excerpsi campis germina pauca sacris, 
Copia ne potior generet fastidia mensis, 
Conviviam aut tenuem tanta parare vetet. 
Nostra tuis ergo sapiant si fercula labris, 
Regnanti laudes da super astra Deo. 
Sin alias, animos tamen amplexatus amicos, 
Quae cano corripiens, pumice frange, rogo. 
 
 

 {10} EPIGRAM OF BEDA 
ON THE BLESSED JOHN AND HIS APOCALYPSE. 
 

An exile from the busy haunts of men, 
Forbidden now to see his country’s soil, 
He, loved of God, to heaven triumphant soars, 
And joins the choir around the high-throned King. 
His sacred eye the world below surveys, 
As o’er its waters pass the fleeting ships. 
Babel and Solyma in conflict join 
Their several hosts. In quick succession here 
They turn in flight, and here the strife renew. 
The white-robed soldier of the gentle Lamb 
May with his leader gain the realms of joy; 
The scaly serpent in the dark abyss 
O’erwhelms in hunger, flame, and pestilence, 
His gathering bands. This warfare’s dread array, 
And art, and numbers, and its victories 
Desirous to unfold, I’ve wandered through 
The sacred plains, where those of old have sown, 
Collecting thence some fruits. But few they are, 
That no profusion cause to loathe the feast, 
Nor e’en forbid the meaner guest to attempt 
A preparation all too great. And now, 
If these my scanty morsels please thy taste, 
Give praise to God, Who reigns above the skies; 
Or else, accept a friendly heart’s intent, 
And, armed with pumice, this my verse erase. 
 

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 This page last revised 20 June 1998.