Among hard rocks and savage winds I try
this life's currents in a frail wooden boat
I no longer have the art or mind for:
how slow they all are to come to my aid.
It took death but a moment to put out
my star, linch-pin, faithful support, my light:
now in the murky waters, swollen air,
there's no help, black tempest, everywhere fear--
not of the pitiless Siren's sweet song,
falling broken mangled down these cliffs, by
shifting sands overwhelmed, sinking, buried--
only of sailing forever alone
where I've sailed too often, now hopelessly,
for death has hidden my sanctuary.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
Visconti LXXII:72. See also B A1:53:29 and R XXXVI:108. Translations: Roscoe 100; Tusiani, 173; Allen 7; Gibaldi 37; Stortoni & Lillie 59. Key