Parerga/From Juvenal

That something in us must outlive the tomb; The ghostly realms of subterranean gloom, Old Charon's punt-pole, and th'amphibious race That in the Styx their croaking concert place; And that so many thousand spirits can Be rowed across by that grim Ferrman; All this old-fashion'd creed our age of wit Derides-the veriest striping scoffs at it.

Do thou the faith that Heroes held, recall; Be wisely credulous-believe it all.

How must those mighty Warrior-spirits gaze, Manius, Fabricius-what be your amaze, Shades of the SCipios, what, Camillus, thine, How must they feel, boast of the Fabian line, The holy band of Cremera; and they Who fell at Canae in their proud array, The Hero-souls so many wars purveyed, How gaze abhorrent, when a modern shade Of our degenerate times is wafted o'er, Definiling with its touch the Stygian shore.