His prowess under Troy, and bade grim deathO'er skin and nerves alone exert its power,Not he, you grant, in nature meanly read.Yes, all “await the inevitable hour;”The downward journey all one day must tread.Some bleed, to glut the war-god's savage eyes;Fate meets the sailor from the hungry brine;Youth jostles age in funeral obsequies;Each brow in turn is touch'd by Proserpine.Me, too, Orion's mate, the Southern blast,Whelm'd in deep death beneath the Illyrian wave.But grudge not, sailor, of driven sand to cast