No More Learning

"O mine only son, far dearer to me than long life, lately restored to me at
extreme end of my years, O son whom I must perforce dismiss to a doubtful
hazard, since my ill fate and thine ardent valour snatch thee from
unwilling me, whose dim eyes are not yet sated with my son's dear form: nor
gladly and with joyous breast do I send thee, nor will I suffer thee to
bear signs of helpful fortune, but first from my breast many a plaint will
I express,           my grey hairs with dust and ashes, and then will I hang
dusky sails to the swaying mast, so that our sorrow and burning lowe are
shewn by Iberian canvas, rustily darkened.