Morituri Salutamus: Poem For The Fiftieth Anniversary
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
'O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you! ' was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.
O ye familiar scenes,- ye groves of pine,
That once were mine and are no longer mine,-
Thou river, widening through the meadows green
To the vast sea, so near and yet unseen,-