Odes 1.28 (Creech): Te Maris Et Terra

A Narrow Grave by the Matinian Shore
Confines Thee now, and thou can'st have no more,
Ah learn'd Architas, ah how small for Thee
Whose wond'rous Mind could measure Earth and Sea!
What Sands make up the Shore minutely teach,
And count as far as Number's self could reach!
What did it profit that thy nimble Soul
Had travell'd Heaven, and oft ran round the Pole,
Pursu'd the motions of the rowling Light
When Death came on, and spread a gloomy Night!
Wise Tantalus the guest of Gods is dead,
And on strange wings the chang'd Tithonus fled:
Jove's Friend just Minos hath resign'd his Breath,
And Wise Pythagoras felt a second Death;
Althô his Trojan Shield, and former State
Did prove his Soul above the force of Fate;
Withdrew the Mind from Death's black conquering hand,
And left but Skin and Bones at Fate's Command;
In thy Opinion He did most excell,
Discover'd Truth, and follow'd Nature well:
But once o're all long Night her shades will spread,
And all must walk the Valleys of the Dead:
Some Rage spurs on, and Death attends in Wars;
The Sea destroys the greedy Marriners:
The Young and Old confus'd by Numbers fall,
And Death with equal hand doth strike at all:
A boysterous Storm my feeble tackling tore,
And lest one naked on th' Illyrian shore:
But, Seaman, pray be just, put near the Land,
Bestow a Grave, and hide my Limbs in Sand:
So may the threat'ning East winds spare the Floods,
And idely spend their Rage on Hills and Woods;
Whilst you ride safely; so from every Shore
May Gain flow in, and feed thy growing Store:
May Jove and Neptune soft Tarentum's Guard
Conspire to Bless, and joyn in one Reward:
Perhaps you scorn, and are design'dly base,
Thy Crime shall Dam thy undeserving Race;
Thy Pride, vain Man, shall on thy self return,
Thou naked lie, and be the Publick scorn:
My Prayers shall mount, and pull just Vengeance down,
No Offerings shall release, now Vows attone:
Thô hasty now, driven by a prosperous gale,
('Tis quickly done) thrice strew the sand, and sail.