IMINUAT ne sera dies præsentis honorem
Quis, qualisque fui, percipe Posteritas Cambria me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus
Subjacet aeriis montibus Isca pater. Inde sinu placido suscepit maximus arte Herbertus, Latiæ gloria prima scholæ Bis ternos, illo me conducente, per annos Profeci, et geminam contulit unus opem, Ars et amor, mens atque manus certare solebant, Nec lassata illi mensve, manusve fuit. Hinc qualem cernis crevisse : sed ut mea certus Tempora cognoscas, dura fuera, scias. Vixi, divisos cum fregerat horesis Anglos Inter Tysiphonas presbyteri et populi. His primum miseris per amœna furentibus arva Prostravit sanctam vilis avena rosam, Turbarunt fontes, et fusis pax perit undis, Moestaque cœlestes obruit umbra dies. Duret ut integritas tamen, et pia gloria, partem Me nullam in tanta strage fuisse, scias;
1 As explained in the Note prefixed to ' Olor Iscanus', this poem "Ad Posteros" in the criginal edition faces the engraved title page, but it has been thought expedient to place it with the others here. G
Credidimus nempe insonti vocem esse cruori,
Et vires quæ post funera flere docent.
Hinc castæ, fidæque pati me more parentis
Commonui, et lachrymis fata levare meis
Hinc unsquam horrendis violavi sacra procelli
Nec mihi mens unquam, nec manus atra
Si pius es, ne plura petas; satur ille recedat
Qui sapit et nos non scripsimus insipidis."
TO POSTERITY: A TRANSLATION BY THE
EST that the after-time should e'er
The honour of these days impair,
Posterity! I thee confide
From whence I came, and whom beside.
Wales gave me birth, where Father Usk
Winds now in light and now in dusk,
Oe'r-hung by the great mountains old,
That fling their shadows manifold
Far cross the valleys: and the sky
Seems pillar'd by their majesty.
Thence plac'd in gentle Herbert's care,
-In learning ripe, a master rare—
Six years I gather'd classic lore,
And by his skill rich spoils I bore:
Twofold his training-love and art,—
That of the mind, this of the heart:
Unwearied in brain and hand,
Renown'd he stood in all the Land.
To Herbert's skill and love I owe
Even what of worth I have.
That you may judge of me in truth,
I liv'd in an age withouten ruth.
'Twas when, by the fell Fury driv'n
Of Party-our Fatherland was riv'n :
War rag'd, and Church, and State, and all
Became some horrid Fury's thrall.
Our fair fields spoil'd, the sacred Rose
Fell the vile Weed aneath. Our woes
Confusion crown'd: and everywhere
The pleasant founts polluted were.
Peace by the flood was swept afar,
And darkness with Heav'n's light made war.
Yet mark-since Truth and Piety
I seek to guard my memory—
In all this deadly strife and woe,
No share had I, for well I know
In innocent blood a voice is found,
Crying still from the redden'd ground:
Yea, holding its shedder as distraught
Till penitential peace is wrought.
Therefore I taught myself to weep
As some true mother, where in sleep
Rest dead ones: through the long sad years
I sought thus to relieve my fears.
Neer rais'd I sacriligious hand:
Free of such guilt I fearless stand-
Nor suffer'd heart nor hand to be,
Stain'd with the dye of enmity.
Then, gentle Reader, seek no more:
If thou art wise take from my store;
For Fools' I write not but for you,
Read then and welcome.
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