Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Death.
See Death to be remember'd. Against the Fear of Death.
Long Night will over all it's Darkness spread,And all must range the Regions of the Dead.
By Rage urg'd on, the Soldier falls in War,
The Sea destroys the greedy Mariner:
The old and young in Heaps together lie,
And from the Stroke of Death there's none can fly—
Or Rich, or Poor, by whom begot,
Or King or Beggar, matters not:
Nor Birth, nor Wealth, nor ought can save
Man from the unrelenting Grave.
Or King or Beggar, matters not:
Nor Birth, nor Wealth, nor ought can save
Man from the unrelenting Grave.
Our Lots are in the Urn of Fate,
And out they come, or soon, or late:
Then pass we to that silent Shore,
From whence there's no returning more.—
Death spurns at Grandeur, and brings down
And out they come, or soon, or late:
Then pass we to that silent Shore,
From whence there's no returning more.—
As well the Monarch as the Clown:
His inevitable Blow
Equals both the High and Low.—
225
Arabia or the Indies hold,
Tho' with thy Vessels Thou explore
The Tyrrhene and the Pontic Shore,
On Thee when Fate with Iron Claws
Shall seize, Thou must obey it's Laws:
No Wealth Thy Mind from Fear can save,
Or keep thy Body from the Grave.—
Hither all tend, hence all things rise, here fall:
Rugged the Road, but must be pass'd by all.
All must the triple headed Dog implore,
In Charon's Boat all must be ferry'd o'er.
Bright Steel and Brass in vain attempt to save:
Death drags the Wearer trembling to the Grave.
Achilles' Force, nor Nerea's charmful Bloom,
Nor Crœsus' Wealth could save them from the Tomb.—
With equal Force pale Death, or soon, or late,
Knocks at the Cottage and the Palace Gate.
Life's Span forbids Us to extend our Cares,
Or stretch our flatt'ring Hopes beyond our Years:
Night urges on, and You must quickly go
To fabled Ghosts, and Pluto's Courts below.—
Knocks at the Cottage and the Palace Gate.
Life's Span forbids Us to extend our Cares,
Or stretch our flatt'ring Hopes beyond our Years:
Night urges on, and You must quickly go
To fabled Ghosts, and Pluto's Courts below.—
Ah! swiftly, swiftly roll the Years away!
Nor can thy Piety, my Friend, delay
Wrinkles, and intruding Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage.
Tho', daily, Thou with Hecatombs invoke
That dreadful Monarch, deaf to all thy cries,
Inexorable, He will give the Stroke,
Even whilst thy Prayers, yet unfinish'd, rise:
That Stroke! which heretofore has laid
The Great, the Strong, the Beauteous in the Dust:
Which all the Dead have felt, and all the Living must;
Nor Prince nor Beggar can it's Force evade.—
Nor can thy Piety, my Friend, delay
Wrinkles, and intruding Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage.
Tho', daily, Thou with Hecatombs invoke
That dreadful Monarch, deaf to all thy cries,
Inexorable, He will give the Stroke,
Even whilst thy Prayers, yet unfinish'd, rise:
That Stroke! which heretofore has laid
The Great, the Strong, the Beauteous in the Dust:
Which all the Dead have felt, and all the Living must;
Nor Prince nor Beggar can it's Force evade.—
Death swift pursues the Man that flies,
Nor spares the coward Youth, nor heeds his Cries:
Stab'd thro' the Back he falls, a trembling Sacrifice.—
Nor spares the coward Youth, nor heeds his Cries:
Stab'd thro' the Back he falls, a trembling Sacrifice.—
227
Death only this mysterious Truth unfolds,
The mighty Soul, how small a Body holds.—
The mighty Soul, how small a Body holds.—
The Sun that sets, again will rise,
And give the Day, and gild the Skies:
But when we lose our little Light,
We sleep in everlasting Night.—
And give the Day, and gild the Skies:
But when we lose our little Light,
We sleep in everlasting Night.—
Whate'er thy Eyes behold is dead, or dying:
The Nights, the Days, pass on, and are no more:
The Stars of Heav'n decay: nor ought avail
Earth's firm Foundations: they must perish too,
And all it's mighty Fabrick be dissolv'd.
And can we then lament that Man must die,
And perish all his mortal fleeting Race?
War cuts off Part, and Part the Seas o'erwhelm:
These luckless Love swift to Destruction brings:
These Rage; and These unsatisfy'd Desire:
Omitting all Distemper's dreadful Train,
Some Winter's penetrating Rigour kills,
Others the baneful Dog-Star's sultry Ray,
And Others sickly Autumn's chilling Showers.
What had Beginning must expect an End.
All, All must die, All to the Grave must go:—
As Æacus shakes the Urn, We hence, by Lot,
Are call'd, to Death's immensurable Shades.—
The Nights, the Days, pass on, and are no more:
The Stars of Heav'n decay: nor ought avail
Earth's firm Foundations: they must perish too,
And all it's mighty Fabrick be dissolv'd.
And can we then lament that Man must die,
And perish all his mortal fleeting Race?
War cuts off Part, and Part the Seas o'erwhelm:
These luckless Love swift to Destruction brings:
These Rage; and These unsatisfy'd Desire:
Omitting all Distemper's dreadful Train,
Some Winter's penetrating Rigour kills,
Others the baneful Dog-Star's sultry Ray,
And Others sickly Autumn's chilling Showers.
What had Beginning must expect an End.
All, All must die, All to the Grave must go:—
As Æacus shakes the Urn, We hence, by Lot,
Are call'd, to Death's immensurable Shades.—
Ye Pow'rs! who under Earth your Realms extend,
To whom all Mortals must one Day descend:
All our Possessions are but Loans from You,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your Due:
Hither we haste to Humankind's last Seat,
Your endless Empire, and our sure Retreat.—
To whom all Mortals must one Day descend:
All our Possessions are but Loans from You,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your Due:
Hither we haste to Humankind's last Seat,
Your endless Empire, and our sure Retreat.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |