Classic Poem

Be brave in trial and in pain;
With placid mind thy griefs defy,
And let not Fortune make thee vain,
O Dellius, for thou must die.

Whether thy life must all be sad,
Or days of festive joy be thine,
While grassy lollings make thee glad,
And draughts of old Falerian wine.

Where giant pine and poplar white
Weave lovingly their wooing shade,
And where the rill takes mazy flight
With silvery laughter down the glade,

There order wines and perfumes sent,
With sweet rose blooms too quickly fled,
While life and youth to thee are lent,
And ere the dark Three snap thy thread.

Thou must depart that villa fair,
Those lawns by tawny Tiber's side;
Thou must depart, and then an heir
With thy vast wealth will glut his pride.

Art rich, and sprung from ancient kings?
Or poor, and made of vilest clay?
No difference such distinction brings,
For all are cruel Orcus' prey.

The same end waits for all; or late
Or soon thy lot must leave the urn,
When Charon's bark must be thy fate —
An exile, never to return.