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!