(Continued below)
(Pencil drawing, with discrete Photoshop tinting.)
In this vein I wrote a little paraphrasis on a Poem attributed to Emperor Hadrian:
And now ye sail away
the breeze is good and raw,
the river running one way down
and no change of course is needed.
Is there another shore out there?
Or is it sweet just to go?
Soon we have lost you in the fog
and for you we're but mist
and dampness.
The best translation of Hadrian's original is, in my opinion, this one by Reverend James Ford (early 19th c.)
Say, fleeting Spirit, gentle, dear,
The body’s guest and comrade here,
Whither, Oh whither, now away?
Into what regions wilt thou stray?
Pale, numb, and desolate; no more
To jest and trifle, as before.
It is flowing, yet as I understand true to the original. Nothing can match, though, its melody and rhythm; falling gently as maple leaves:
Animula vagula blandula
hospes comesque corporis
Quae nunc abibis in loca
pallidula, rigida, nudula?
Nec ut soles dabos iocos.