Horace's "Sailor And Shade."

Sailor.     You, who have compassed land and sea     Now all unburied lie;     All vain your store of human lore,     For you were doomed to die.     The sire of Pelops likewise fell,     Jove's honored mortal guest--     So king and sage of every age     At last lie down to rest.     Plutonian shades enfold the ghost     Of that majestic one     Who taught as truth that he, forsooth,     Had once been Pentheus' son;     Believe who may, he's passed away     And what he did is done.     A last night comes alike to all--     One path we all must tread,     Through sore disease or stormy seas     Or fields with corpses red--     Whate'er our deeds that pathway leads     To regions of the dead.     Shade.     The fickle twin Illyrian gales     O'erwhelmed me on the wave--     But that you live, I pray you give     My bleaching bones a grave!     Oh, then when cruel tempests rage     You all unharmed shall be--     Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land     And Neptune's on the sea.     Perchance you fear to do what shall     Bring evil to your race.     Or, rather fear that like me here     You'll lack a burial place.     So, though you be in proper haste,     Bide long enough I pray,     To give me, friend, what boon will send     My soul upon its way!