A Distant sound of water rippling
A faint disturbance
That moves the foggy air
From the caverns that rise before me
A shadow dances through the murk
As one who dares
To traverse these waters
I too must pay to cross these shores
A dark procession of orderly souls
One by one they board the sacred boat
A journey far across those whirlpools
Beyond the reach of Apollo's light
Waters as filthy as the old man himself
His beard and clothes reek of ages old
But sail upon the wind of lamentation
My friends, and about your head row
With your hands rapid stroke
In conveyance of the dead
(Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes)
I see him there at the oars
Of his little boat in the lake
The Ferryman of the Dead, Rharon
With his hand upon the oar
And he calls me now
"What keeps you? Hurry!"
(Euripides, Alceslis)
A faint disturbance
That moves the foggy air
From the caverns that rise before me
A shadow dances through the murk
As one who dares
To traverse these waters
I too must pay to cross these shores
A dark procession of orderly souls
One by one they board the sacred boat
A journey far across those whirlpools
Beyond the reach of Apollo's light
Waters as filthy as the old man himself
His beard and clothes reek of ages old
But sail upon the wind of lamentation
My friends, and about your head row
With your hands rapid stroke
In conveyance of the dead
(Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes)
I see him there at the oars
Of his little boat in the lake
The Ferryman of the Dead, Rharon
With his hand upon the oar
And he calls me now
"What keeps you? Hurry!"
(Euripides, Alceslis)