Odes 1.28 (Gladstone): Te Maris Et Terra

For sea and land, and countless sand,
Archytas, thou hadst drawn the lines;
Of earth a crust thy mite of dust
Now by the Matine shore confines.

It boots thee nought, what thou hast wrought
Through vast supernal realms to fly,
And traverse all this earthly ball
In spirit: for thou hadst to die.

From Fate's great odds, the guest of gods
And sire of Pelops could not hide;
Tithonus fair enthroned in air,
And Minos, Jove's adviser, died.

From Trojan field his dinted shield
Euphorbus may for witness call,
Yet yields his breath, aye twice, to death,
His nerves, his flesh; though not his all.

Nor mean, in sooth, for quest of truth
And nature thou esteemedst him.
One path we tread, to join the dead,
And pass within the regions dim.

The Furies grant in war no scant;
Devouring seas o'er sailors roll;
Young funerals hold their place with old;
Proserpine spares no breathing soul.

Me too, as wet Orion set,
The tempest drowned on Adria's strand.
My limbs, my head unburied,
Begrudge them not of shifting sand

Some handfuls, O thou shipman. So
When Eurus shatters at his worst
Venusian woods, yet thou, thy goods,
Shall live, thy profit stand the first;

All saved with thee, by Jove's decree,
And Neptune's, who Tarentum guards.
O fail not! lest thy sons, distressed
By vengeance which such crime rewards,

In coming day the forfeit pay;
Perchance thyself the lot shall draw,
The debt of right thy life may blight
To vindicate the lofty law.

Be sure my word of prayer is heard:
No offering could thy guilt atone.
And yet I ask no irksome task;
Thrice strew the dust; and then begone.