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THERE never breathed a man who, when his life
Was closing, might not of that life relate

Toils long and hard.

The Warrior will report

Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field,

And blast of trumpets. He who hath been doomed
To bow his forehead in the courts of kings,
Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate,
Envy and heart-inquietude, derived

From intricate cabals of treacherous friends.
I, who on Shipboard lived from earliest youth,
Could represent the countenance horrible
Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage
Of Auster and Boötes. Forty years
Over the well-steered Galleys did I rule:
From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars,
Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown;
And the broad gulfs I traversed oft- and
Of every cloud which in the Heavens might stir
I knew the force; and hence the rough sea's pride
Availed not to my Vessel's overthrow.
What noble pomp and frequent have not I
On regal decks beheld! yet in the end

I learnt that one poor moment can suffice
To equalise the lofty and the low.

We sail the sea of life- -a Calm One finds,
And One a Tempest — and, the voyage o'er,
Death is the quiet haven of us all.

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If more of my condition ye would know,
Savona was my birth-place, and I sprang
Of noble parents: sixty years and three
Lived I

then yielded to a slow disease.




DESTINED to war from very infancy
Was I, Roberto Dati, and I took
In Malta the white symbol of the Cross.
Nor in life's vigorous season did I shun
Hazard or toil; among the Sands was seen
Of Libya, and not seldom, on the Banks
Of wide Hungarian Danube, 'twas my lot
To hear the sanguinary trumpet sounded.
So lived I, and repined not at such fate;
This only grieves me, for it seems a wrong,
That stripped of arms I to my end am brought
On the soft down of my paternal home.
Yet haply Arno shall be spared all cause
To blush for me. Thou, loiter not nor halt
In thy appointed way, and bear in mind
How fleeting and how frail is human life!



Nor without heavy grief of heart did He
On whom the duty fell (for at that time
The Father sojourned in a distant Land)
Deposit in the hollow of this Tomb

A Brother's Child, most tenderly beloved!
FRANCESCO was the name the Youth had borne,

POZZOBONNELLI his illustrious House


And, when beneath this stone the Corse was laid,
The eyes
of all Savona streamed with tears.
Alas! the twentieth April of his life

Had scarcely flowered: and at this early time,
By genuine virtue he inspired a hope

That greatly cheered his Country: to his Kin
He promised comfort; and the flattering thoughts
His Friends had in their fondness entertained, *
He suffered not to languish or decay.

Now is there not good reason to break forth
Into a passionate lament? — - O Soul!
Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world,
Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air;
And round this earthly tomb let roses rise,
An everlasting spring! in memory

Of that delightful fragrance which was once
From thy mild manners, quietly exhaled.



- Balbi supplicates

PAUSE, Courteous Spirit!.
That Thou, with no reluctant voice, for him
Here laid in mortal darkness, wouldst prefer
A prayer to the Redeemer of the world.
This to the Dead by sacred right belongs;
All else is nothing. - Did occasion suit

* In justice to the Author, I subjoin the original : —
e degli amici

Non lasciava languire i bei pensieri.

To tell his worth, the marble of this tomb
Would ill suffice for Plato's lore sublime,
And all the wisdom of the Stagyrite,
Enriched and beautified his studious mind:
With Archimedes also he conversed

As with a chosen Friend, nor did he leave

Those laureat wreaths ungathered which the Nymphs Twine on the top of Pindus.


Himself above each lower thought uplifting,
His ears he closed to listen to the Song
Which Sion's Kings did consecrate of old;
And fixed his Pindus upon Lebanon.
A blessed Man! who of protracted days
Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep;
But truly did He live his life. — Urbino,
Take pride in him! — O Passenger, farewell!



Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr Fox was hourly expected.

LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up

With which she speaks when storms are gone,
A mighty Unison of streams!

Of all her Voices, One!

Loud is the Vale; this inland Depth

In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load!*
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

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A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss ;
But when the Mighty pass away
What is it more than this,

That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return?

Such ebb and flow must ever be,

Then wherefore should we mourn?







To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
Yet for one happy issue; and I look
With self-congratulation on the Book

* Importuna e grave salma.


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