Epitaphs IV. There Never Breathed A Man

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 Bootes. Fifty 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 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 learned 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 birth-place, and I sprang Of noble parents; seventy years and three Lived I, then yielded to a slow disease.