Death then is nothing to us, nor one jot
Does it concern us, since the nature of mind
Is thus proved mortal. And as in times long past
We felt no unhappiness when from every side
Gathering for conflict came the Punic hosts,
And all that was beneath the height of heaven,
Shaken by the tumult and dismay of war,
Shuddered and quaked, and mortals were in doubt
To whose empire all human things would fall
By land and sea, so when we are no more,
When body and soul, whereof we were composed
Into one being shall have been divorced,
’Tis plain nothing whatever shall have power
To trouble us, who then shall be no more,
Or stir our senses, no, not if earth with sea
In ruin shall be mingled, and sea with sky.
And even though the powers of mind and soul
After they have been severed from the body
Were still to feel, yet that to us is nothing,
Who by the binding marriage tie between
Body and soul are formed into one being.
Nor if Time should collect our scattered atoms
After our death, and should restore them back
To where they now are placed, and if once more
The light of light were given us, not even that
Would in the least concern us, once the chain
Of self-awareness had been snapped asunder.
So too now what we may have been before
Concerns us not, nor causes us distress.
For when you look back on the whole past course
Of infinite time, and think how manifold
Must be the modes of matter’s flux, then easily
May you believe this too, that these same atoms
Of which we now are formed, have often before
Been placed in the same order as they are now.
Yet this can no remembrance bring us back.
For a break in life has since been interposed,
And all our atoms wandering dispersed
Have strayed far from that former consciousness.
For if a man be destined to endure
Misery and suffering, he must first exist
In his own person at that very time
When evil should befall him. But since death
Precludes this, and forbids him to exist
Who was to endure distress, we may be sure
That in death there is nothing we need dread,
That he who exists not cannot become miserable,
And that it makes no difference at all
Whether he shall already have been born
In some past time, when once he has been robbed
By death that dies not of his life that dies.

Therefore if you should chance to hear some man
Pitying his own lot, that after death
Either his body must decay in the earth,
Or be consumed by flames or jaws of beasts,
Then may you know that his words ring not true,
That in his heart there lurks some secret sting,
Though he himself deny that he believes
Any sense will remain with him in death.
For in fact he grants not all that he professes,
Nor by the roots does he expel and thrust
Self forth from life, but all unwittingly
Assumes that of self something will survive.
For when a living man forbodes that birds
And beasts may rend his body after death,
Then does he pity himself, nor can he quite
Separate and withdraw from the outcast body,
But fancying that that other is himself,
With his own sense imagines it endued.
So he complains because he was born mortal,
Nor sees that there will be in real death
No other self which living can lament
That he has perished, none that will stand by
And grieve over his burnt and mangled corpse.
For if it be an evil after death
To be mauled by teeth of beasts, why should it seem
Less cruel to be laid out on a pyre
And scorched with hot flames, or to be embalmed
In stifling honey, or to lie stiff and cold
Couched on the cool slab of a chilly stone,
Or to be crushed down under a weight of earth?

“Now no more shall thy home, nor thy chaste wife
Receive thee in gladness, nor shall thy sweet children
Run forth to meet thee and snatch kisses from thee,
And touch thee to the heart with silent joy.
No more canst thou be prosperous in thy doings,
A bulwark to thy friends. Poor wretch!” men cry,
“How wretchedly has one disastrous day
Stript thee of all life’s many benefits!”
Yet this withal they add not: “Nor henceforth
Does craving for these things beset thee more.”
This truth, could men but grasp it once in thought
And follow thought with words, would forthwith set
Their spirits free from a huge ache and dread.
“Thou, as thou art, sunk in the sleep of death,
Shalt so continue through all time to come,
Delivered from all feverish miseries:
But we who watched thee on thy dreadful pyre
Change into ashes, we insatiably
Bewept thee; nor shall any lapse of days
Remove that lifelong sorrow from our hearts.”
Of him who spoke thus, well might we inquire,
What grief so exceeding bitter is there here,
If in the end all comes to sleep and rest,
That one should therefore pine with lifelong misery.

This too is oft men’s wont, when they lie feasting
Wine-cup in hand with garland-shaded brows:
Thus from the heart they speak: “Brief is life’s joy
For poor frail men. Soon will it be no more,
Nor ever afterwards may it be called back.”
As though a foremost evil to be feared
After their death were this, that parching thirst
Would burn and scorch them in their misery,
Or craving for aught else would then beset them.
No, for none feels the want of self and life,
When mind and body are sunk in sleep together.
For all we care, s

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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