Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Epitaph 2

For works with similar titles, see Epitaph and Epitaphs translated from Chiabrera.



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.