Charon.

Who goes across those waters
On which the Moon ne'er shone,
With the passenger he came for
As in a dream moved on?
Cypress and yews o'ershadow
The verge on either side,
Within whose boughs for ever
The winds of woe abide.
And all the air is haunted
With a wail that seems to flow
From the living lips of Sorrow
As the ages come and go.
The boatman, dumb and hoary,
Pulls with a steady pull,
And the dead man seems to listen
To voices beautiful.
And it may be the weird River
Has sights we cannot see,
And the far shore burns its signals
Of eerie mystery.
And Charon knows each signal —
Above the River's rim
The spectral lights that glimmer
Are pilot-stars for him.
Ay me! he knows the water
As few, few boatmen know;
'Tis not the first he's taking
Down where we all must go!