Horace II, 3.

Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray;     For though you pine your life away     With dull complaining breath,     Or speed with song and wine each day--     Still, still your doom is death.     Where the white poplar and the pine     In glorious arching shade combine     And the brook singing goes,     Bid them bring store of nard and wine     And garlands of the rose.     Let's live while chance and youth obtain--     Soon shall you quit this fair domain     Kissed by the Tiber's gold,     And all your earthly pride and gain     Some heedless heir shall hold.     One ghostly boat shall some time bear     From scenes of mirthfulness or care     Each fated human soul!--     Shall waft and leave his burden where     The waves of Lethe roll.     So come, I pri' thee, Dellius, mine--     Let's sing our songs and drink our wine     In that sequestered nook     Where the white poplar and the pine     Stand listening to the brook.