The Consolation of Philosophy · 55 of 78

Book IV, Song I: The Soul’s Flight

Wings are mine; above the pole Far aloft I soar. Clothed with these, my nimble soul Scorns earth’s hated shore, Cleaves the skies upon the wind, Sees the clouds left far behind.

Soon the glowing point she nears, Where the heavens rotate, Follows through the starry spheres Phœbus’ course, or straight Takes for comrade ’mid the stars Saturn cold or glittering Mars;

Thus each circling orb explores Through Night’s stole that peers; Then, when all are numbered, soars Far beyond the spheres, Mounting heaven’s supremest height To the very Fount of light.

There the Sovereign of the world His calm sway maintains; As the globe is onward whirled Guides the chariot reins, And in splendour glittering Reigns the universal King.

Hither if thy wandering feet Find at last a way, Here thy long-lost home thou’lt greet: ‘Dear lost land,’ thou’lt say, ‘Though from thee I’ve wandered wide, Hence I came, here will abide.’

Yet if ever thou art fain Visitant to be Of earth’s gloomy night again, Surely thou wilt see Tyrants whom the nations fear Dwell in hapless exile here.