Parerga/From Juvenal
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That something in us must outlive the tomb;The ghostly realms of subterranean gloom,Old Charon's punt-pole, and th' amphibious raceThat in the Styx their croaking concert place;And that so many thousand spirits canBe rowed across by that grim Ferryman;All this old-fashion'd creed our age of witDerides—the veriest stripling 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 theyWho fell at Cannæ in their proud array,The Hero-souls so many wars purveyed,How gaze abhorrent, when a modern shadeOf our degenerate times is wafted o'er,Defiling with its touch the Stygian shore.