Classic Poem

To HORATIO

Alas, my friend! the fleeting years
Glide swiftly to increase our fears;
Nor can our anxious thoughts assuage
The terror of approaching age;
For all must yield their precious breath
To stern, unconquerable death.

No not ten thousand bulls so fine,
Will make the ruthless god decline
His visits to thyself, or thine.
Death, mighty leveller! conquers all
The rich, and poor, the great, and small;
And all must cross the stygian lake,
Who now such various figures make;
Whether they're kings, or needy hinds,
The power in one direction binds.

From bloody war we keep in vain,
And raging billows of the main;
In vain we dread the southern gale,
In which infections dire prevail;
The realms of death, we still must tread,
And mingle with the silent dead.

Thou soon must leave the sweets of life,
Thy house, and lands, and charming wife;
Nor shall thy large, thy vast domains,
Thy town abodes, thy woods, and plains,
Avert one moment that decree,
From which no human station's free.

Thy wines, now lock'd up from the taste,
With many keys,...thy heir shall waste,
Thy worthier heir!...who in his pride,
Will spill the purple juice aside;
As rich as that which plies the feasts,
Of pension'd, pamper'd, swollen priests.