Mervyn Wilson , commended (Open category)

from The Consolation of Philosophy

O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas
Terrarum caelique sator qui tempus ab aevo
Ire iubes stabilisque manens das cuncta moveri,
Quem non externae pepulerunt fingere causae
Materiae fluitantis opus, verum insita summi
Forma boni livore carens, tu cuncta superno
Ducis ab exemplo, pulchum pulcherrimus ipse
Mundum mente gerens similique in imagine formans
Perfectasque iubens perfectum absolvere partes.
Tu numeris elementa ligas ut frigora flammis
Arida conveniant liquidis, ne purior ignis
Evolet aut mersas deducant pondera terras.
Tu triplicis mediam naturae cuncta moventem
Conectens animam per consona membra resolvis.
Quae animas paribus vitasque minores
Provehis et levibus sublimes curribus aptans
In caelum terramque seris quas lege benigna
Ad te conversas reduci facis igne reverti.
Da pater augustam menti conscendere sedem,
Da fontem lustrare boni, da luce reperta
In te conspicuous animi defigere visus.
Dissice terrenae nebulas et pondsera molis
Atque tuo splendore mica! Tu namque serenum,
Tu requies tranquilla piis, te csernere finis,
Principium vector, dux, semita, terminus idem.

from The Consolation of Philosophy

O you who rule the world in reason sure
for ever; maker too of earth and heaven,
you ordered time’s age long march; still yourself
you set all else in motion; not compelled
by force outside you, you formed creation
from formless matter, from within yourself.
Ungrudging you, the very form of good,
bring forth all things from heaven’s high pattern.
You hold in mind, you the loveliest,
A lovely world: you shape its images.
You order it perfect to articulate
Itself in perfect parts; you bind by law
The elements; the ice with fire; the dry
With wet, that fire too pure may not
Fly off, nor heavy mass submerge the earth.
And in the midst of threefold nature you
Place the soul, maker of all things, which joins
And orders each constituent part; the soul
Which when divided gathers in two spheres
its motions, is moved to return to itself;
encircles the inmost mind; in its image
conforms the sky, while you in purpose sure
lead forth the lesser souls and lives; you fit
them with airy chariots and spread them wide
through earth and heaven; you make in your kind law
them turned to you, return, through flame restored.
Grant, Father, that I in mind may rise to your
Majestic seat; may I walk by the spring
Of goodness; may the light new found direct
My soul’s clear sight on you, dispel the clouds,
The heaviness of this world’s mass, and shine
In your own splendour; you the true serene,
You peace, deep rest to the devout; your sight
The end, beginning, way and final goal.

Translated from the Latin by Mervyn Wilson
  [Commentary on the poem by the translator]   

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