SHADE

The fickle twin Illyrian gales

Overwhelmed me on the wave;

But you that live, I pray you give

My bleaching bones a grave!

Oh, then when cruel tempests rage

You all unharmed shall be;

Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land

And Neptune's on the sea.

Perchance you fear to do what may

Bring evil to your race?

Oh, rather fear that like me here

You'll lack a burial place.

So, though you be in proper haste,

Bide long enough, I pray,

To give me, friend, what boon shall send

My soul upon its way!