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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 ^old 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 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.

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 ship-board lived from earliest Youth,

Could represent the countenance horrible

Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage

Of Auster and Bootes. Forty years

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
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 equalize 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 birth-place, and I sprang
Of noble Parents: sixty years and three
Lived I then yielded to a slow disease.

IV.

4.

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 Lybia, 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.

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