Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air For me with sighs be troubled. Not from life Have I been taken; this is genuine life And this alone, the life which now I live...
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...
Perhaps some needful service of the State Drew TITUS from the depth of studious bowers, And doomed him to contend in faithless courts, Where gold determines between right and wrong....
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,...
Pause, courteous Spirit! 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....
Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air For me with sighs be troubled. Not from life Have I been taken; this is genuine life And this alone the life which now I live...
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...
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!...
O flower of all that springs from gentle blood, And all that generous nurture breeds to make Youth amiable; O friend so true of soul To fair Aglaia; by what envy moved,...
True is it that Ambrosio Salinero With an untoward fate was long involved In odious litigation; and full long, Fate harder still! had he to endure assaults Of racking malady. And true it is...
Epitaph To The Memory Of A Worthy Man, The Rev. Mr. Sleep, Curate Of Kingswear Church, Devon, Whose Devotional Elocution Was Remarkably Impregnated With Soporific Qualities.
Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,...
Thy relics, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust, And sacred place by Dryden's awful dust: Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies, To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes....
Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense: No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired, No arts essay'd, but not to be admired....
Yes, we have lived--one pang, and then we part! May Heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart. Yet ah! how once we loved, remember still, Till you are dust like me.
Of manners gentle, of affections mild; In wit, a man; simplicity, a child: With native humour tempering virtuous rage, Form'd to delight at once and lash the age: Above temptation in a low estate,...