by Miron Costin (1633-1691)
Epilogue Many have been, many're still and come shall many moreThe world our golden season will never quite restore.The beautiful and moral perforce will fade away,In time, all creatures living will fall into decay.Let's now carouse, past generations commemorateOur death tomorrow others will thus commiserate.As soon as we are born, we die, and turn to ashThe world's revolving door ejects us in a flash.Today potent and mighty, thou strut magnificent,Tomorrow gaunt and wilted, thou slip in ailment.To dreaded carrion thy youthful silken skin will shrink,And busy worms and maggots thy essence'll turn to stink.Remember, in this world what place 'tis good to claim,Since thou but floating mist art with nothing to thy name.Good deeds as sure as preaching thy mettle will enhance,In bliss through heaven's gate thy spirit will advance. English version by Alina CÂRÂC
by Miron Costin (1633-1691)
by Miron Costin (1633-1691)