To Cousin Kronos, the Coachman

(in a post-chaise, Oct.10, 1774)

Crack on, coachman!

Whip up a rattling trot!

Downhill glides the road;

My skull swims, sick-dizzy

With your dilly-dallying

Quick, never mind the bumps—

Over sticks and stones

Trot on, trot on into Life!

Again, again,

The gasping plod

Up the irksome hill!

Up then, don’t dawdle,

Hopefully, hard-striving, upward!

All around now opens

Life’s grand panorama,

Mountain to mountain

Floats the eternal spirit,

Foretaste of life eternal.

Under the eaves

A shadow beckons,

Fresh glance of promise,

Girl on the threshold.

Go get yourself a drink!

A foamy one for me too, girl!

A fresh health to my friend!

*

Down then, downhill faster!

See where sinks the sun!

Quick, before it sinks, before

Gray-headedness grips me—

Fog-scent of the fens,

Toothless jaws achatter,

A dangle of clattering bones.

Drunk with the last day-ray,

Tear me away, fire-sea

In my flaming eye,

Blinded, dizzy, into

Hell’s midnight gates.

Sound your horn, coachman,

Rattle the ringing trot,

Let Orcus hear it; we come, we come,

And there at the threshold

The host welcomes us in.

1774