A_nd Tityus, beneath the darkening wave_.

T_he wave we all must one day surely sail_
W_ho live and breathe within this mortal vale_,
W_hether our lot with princely rich to fare_,
W_hether the peasant's lowly life to share_.

I_n vain for us from murderous Mars to flee_,
I_n vain to shun the storms of Hadria's sea_,
I_n vain to fear the poison-laden breath_
O_f Autumn's sultry south-wind, fraught with death_;

A_down the wandering stream we all must go_,
A_down Cocytus' waters, black and slow_;
T_he ill-famed race of Danaus all must see_,
A_nd Sisyphus, from labors never free_.

A_ll must be left,--lands, home, beloved wife_,--
A_ll left behind when we have done with life_;
O_ne tree alone, of all thou holdest dear_,
S_hall follow thee,--the cypress, o'er thy bier!_

T_hy wiser heir will soon drain to their lees_
T_he casks now kept beneath a hundred keys_;
T_he proud old Caecuban will stain the floor_,
M_ore fit at pontiffs' solemn feasts to pour_.

Nor is there a beyond filled with brightness for the victim of fate to
look to. Orcus is unpitying. Mercury's flock of souls is of sable hue,
and Proserpina's realm is the hue of the dusk. Black Care clings to poor