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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 smitten 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.



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

swords flashing in the field,

Of wounds, and bright

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

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Over the well-steered Gallies 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—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.



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.



Not 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.

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

Non lasciava languire i bei pensieri.

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