When I obtained the volume a grandee
Of noble lineage and conspicuous worth,
Still in his youth, a paladin by birth,
Possessing prudence, wit, and energy,
A lord of counsel and of modesty,
To hear whose gentle accents was my joy,
Said unto me: “What means can I employ
To make thee give thy life to poetry?
I will do all and hide thy poverty.”
He used to tender me as one would tend
Ripe apples, lest a breath of wind should spoil;
Thus through that noble and kind-hearted friend
I soared to Saturn from our grimy soil.
In his eyes gold and silver were as dust
While rank gained lustre. Earth seemed vile
indeed
Before him. He was brave and one to trust,
And when he perished was as in a mead
A lofty cypress levelled by a gust.
I see no trace of him alive or dead;
By murderous Crocodiles his life was sped.
Woe for that girdle and that girdlestead,
That royal mien, that high imporial head!
Bereft of him my heart's hopes ceased to be,
My spirit quivered like a willow-tree;