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.

But know,

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.

Now adieu !