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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 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.



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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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 origin 1
, e degli amici
Non lasciava languire i bei pensieri.

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.

VI. 6. Pause, courteous Spirit P—Balbi supplicates

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

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.—Finally,

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!

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