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There never breathed a man who, when his lifeWas closing, might not of that life relateToils long and hard. The warrior will reportOf wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field,And blast of trumpets. He who hath been doomedTo bow his forehead in the courts of kings,Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate,Envy and heart-inquietude, derivedFrom intricate cabals of … [Read more...] about Epitaphs IV. There Never Breathed A Man, By: William Wordsworth

O thou who movest onward with a mindIntent upon thy way, pause, though in haste!'Twill be no fruitless moment. I was bornWithin Savona's walls, of gentle blood.On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicateTo sacred studies; and the Roman ShepherdGave to my charge Urbino's numerous flock.Well did I watch, much laboured, nor had powerTo escape from many and strange indignities;Was … [Read more...] about Epitaphs III. O Thou Who Movest Onward With A Mind, By: William Wordsworth

Perhaps some needful service of the StateDrew TITUS from the depth of studious bowers,And doomed him to contend in faithless courts,Where gold determines between right and wrong.Yet did at length his loyalty of heart,And his pure native genius, lead him backTo wait upon the bright and gracious Muses,Whom he had early loved. And not in vainSuch course he held! Bologna's learned … [Read more...] about Epitaphs II. Perhaps Some Needful Service Of The State, By: William Wordsworth

Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the airFor me with sighs be troubled. Not from lifeHave I been taken; this is genuine lifeAnd this alone, the life which now I liveIn peace eternal; where desire and joyTogether move in fellowship without end.Francesco Ceni willed that, after death,His tombstone thus should speak for him. And surelySmall cause there is for that fond wish of … [Read more...] about Epitaphs 1810. Translated From Chiabrera I. Weep Not, Beloved Friends! Nor Let The Air, By: William Wordsworth

By playful smiles, (alas! too oftA sad heart's sunshine) by a softAnd gentle nature, and a freeYet modest hand of charity,Through life was Owen Lloyd endearedTo young and old; and how reveredHad been that pious spirit, a tideOf humble mourners testified,When, after pains dispensed to proveThe measure of God's chastening love,Here, brought from far, his corse found … [Read more...] about Epitaph – In The Chapel – Yard Of Langdale, Westmoreland, By: William Wordsworth