e yacht.

And not only are all men the victims of insatiable desire, but all are
alike subject to the uncertainties of fate. Insolent Fortune without
notice flutters her swift wings and leaves them. Friends prove
faithless, once the cask is drained to the lees. Death, unforeseen and
unexpected, lurks in ambush for them in a thousand places. Some are
swallowed up by the greedy sea. Some the Furies give to destruction in
the grim spectacle of war. Without respect of age or person, the ways of
death are thronged with young and old. Cruel Proserpina passes no man
by.

Even they who for the time escape the object of their dread must at last
face the inevitable. Invoked or not invoked, Death comes to release the
lowly from toil, and to strip the proud of power. The same night awaits
all; everyone must tread once for all the path of death. The summons is
delivered impartially at the hovels of the poor and the turreted palaces
of the rich. The dark stream must be crossed by prince and peasant
alike. Eternal exile is the lot of all, whether nameless and poor, or
sprung of the line of Inachus:

A_las! my Postumus, alas! how speed_
T_he passing years: nor can devotion's deed_
S_tay wrinkled age one moment on its way_,
N_or stay one moment death's appointed day_;

N_ot though with thrice a hundred oxen slain_
E_ach day thou prayest Pluto to refrain_,
T_he unmoved by tears, who threefold Geryon drave_,
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 the