Palladas, a relatively ancient Greek, wrote this in the early fifth century.
Whose baggage from land to land is despair,
Life’s voyages sail a treacherous sea.
Many founder piteously
With fortune at the helm. We keep
A course this way and that, across the deep,
From here to nowhere. And back again.
Blow foul, blow fair
All come to anchor finally in the tomb.
Passengers armed, we travel from room to room.