Classic Poem

(IN PROFESSOR CONINGTON'S STRICTEST MANNER )

A SAILOR SPEAKS :

Oh you who circled every sea
Who knew each mile of foreign strand,
Oh, Archytas, and can it be
That for the lack of grains of sand,
Your soul from Heaven's realm is banned
To haunt the shore eternally.
Aye, though in life your spirit flew
In fancy over earth and sky,
What good was it, since even you
Were doomed to die.
And thus did Pelops' father lie—
He who was Heaven's favored guest;
And thus Tithonus faced the sky
Although Aurora loved him best;
And Minos, though he was possessed
Of Jove's own secrets, lived to die.
Aye, in some bleak Tartarean hole,
The son of Panthous is confined—
Of what avail his warlike soul,
His noble mind?
The selfsame night awaits us all;
The road of Death all mortals tread.
On fields of carnage many fall,
The sport and toy of Mars, the dread;
Others in ocean caves lie dead.
For, in a mingled funeral,
The young and old together lie;
No mortal cheats the fates—not one;
Proserpine's all-watchful eye
Is blind to none.
THE SHADE REPLIES :

The South wind, warm Orion's mate,
Has sunk me 'neath th'Illyrian wave,
And here in this unhallowed state
I seek the comfort of a grave.
Oh scatter sand on me and save
My spirit ere it be too late.
So shall your soul be comforted
And ne'er a wind shall do you harm,
But blessings be upon your head
While you lie warm.
So shall you profit by the winds
And reap what fortunes you may please;
For he who has Jove's favor finds
The love of Neptune on the seas.
But do not flout these obsequies
Or you will blast your children's minds;
For such a grave iniquity
No expiation can atone …
So sprinkle sand thrice over me—
And then begone.