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I.

EPITAPHS

TRANSLATED FROM CHIABRERA.

1.

PERHAPS some needful service of the State
Drew Titus from the depth of studious bowers,
And doomed him to contend in faithless courts,
Where gold determines between right and wrong.
Yet did at length his loyalty of heart,
And his pure native genius, lead him back
To wait upon the bright and gracious Muses,
Whom he had early loved. And not in vain
Such course he held! Bologna's learned schools ·
Were gladdened by the Sage's voice, and hung
With fondness on those sweet Nestorian strains.

There pleasure crowned his days; and all his thoughts
A roseate fragrance breathed.* - O human life,
That never art secure from dolorous change!
Behold a high injunction suddenly
To Arno's side conducts him, and he charmed
A Tuscan audience: but full soon was called
To the perpetual silence of the grave.
Mourn, Italy, the loss of him who stood
A Champion steadfast and invincible,
To quell the rage of literary War!

* Ivi vivea giocondo e i suoi pensieri

Erano tutti rose.

The Translator had not skill to come nearer to his original.

II.

2.

O THou who movest onward with a mind
Intent upon thy way, pause though in haste !
'Twill be no fruitless moment. I was born
Within Savona's walls, of gentle blood.
On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicate
To sacred studies; and the Roman Shepherd
Gave to my charge Urbino's numerous Flock.
Much did I watch, much laboured, nor had power
To escape from many and strange indignities;
Was emitten by the great ones of the World,
But did not fall; for virtue braves all shocks,
Upon herself resting immoveably.
Me did a kindlier fortune then invite
To serve the glorious Henry, King of France,
And in his hands I saw a high reward
Stretched out for my acceptance - but Death came.
Now, Reader, learn from this

my

fate how false, How treacherous to her promise is the World, And trust in God - to whose eternal doom Must bend the sceptred Potentates of Earth.

III.

3.

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 Gallies did I rule:
From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars,
Rises no mountain to mine

unknown;

eyes

And the broad gulfs I traversed oft – and — oft :
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 learn 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.
If more of my condition ye would know,
Savona was my birthplace, and I sprang
Of noble parents : sixty years and three
Lived I. then yielded to a slow disease.

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