Charon is here,
The guardian of these mingling waters, Charon,
Uncouth and filthy, on whose chin the hair
Is a tangled mat, whose eyes protrude, are burning,
Whose dirty cloak is knotted at the shoulder.
He poles a boat, tends to the sail, unaided,
Ferrying bodies in his rust-hued vessel.
Old, but a god’s senility is awful
In its raw greenness.

[Portitor has horrendus aquas et flumina servat
terribili squalore Charon, cui plurima mento
canities inculta iacet; stant lumina flamma,
sordidus ex umeris nodo dependet amictus.
Ipse ratem conto subigit, velisque ministrat,
et ferruginea subvectat corpora cymba,
iam senior, sed cruda deo viridisque senectus.]

Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]

The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 6, l. 298ff (6.298-304) (29-19 BC) [tr. Humphries (1951)]
    (Source)

(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:

Charon the horrid ferry-man these deeps,
With dreadful squallidnesse, and river keeps.
His untrim'd cheeks were rough with hoary hair,
Knotty his beard, his fiery eyes did stare,
Tye'd on his shoulders hung a sordid coat;
He trims his sails, drives with a pole his boat,
And in his rusty bark wafts Passengers;
The God was youthful still, though struck in years.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]

There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast --
A sordid god: down from his hoary chin
A length of beard descends, uncomb'd, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers;
The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears.
He look'd in years; yet in his years were seen
A youthful vigor and autumnal green.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

A grim ferryman guards these floods and rivers, Charon, of frightful slovenliness; on whose chin a load of grey hair neglected lies; his eyes are flame: his vestments hang from his shoulders by a knot, with filth overgrown. Himself thrust on the barge with a pole, and tends the sails, and wafts over the bodies in his iron-coloured boat, now in years: but the god is of fresh and green old age.
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

Grim, squalid, foul, with aspect dire,
His eye-balls each a globe of fire,
The watery passage Charon keeps,
Sole warden of those murky deeps:
A sordid mantle round him thrown
Girds breast and shoulder like a zone.
He plies the pole with dexterous ease,
Or sets the sail to catch the breeze,
Ferrying the legions of the dead
In bark of dusky iron-red,
Now marked with age; but heavenly powers
Have fresher, greener eld than ours.
[tr. Conington (1866)]

By these dread rivers waits the ferryman
Squalid and grim, Charon, his grisly beard
Uncombed and thick ; his eyes are flaming lamps;
A filthy garment from his shoulders hangs.
He tends his sails, and with his pole propels
His barge of dusky iron hue, that bears
The dead across the river. Old he seems,
But with a green old age.
[tr. Cranch (1872)]

Charon, the dread ferryman, guards these flowing streams, ragged and awful, his chin covered with untrimmed masses of hoary hair, and his glassy eyes aflame; his soiled raiment hangs knotted from his shoulders. Himself he plies the pole and trims the sails of his vessel, the steel-blue galley with freight of dead; stricken now in years, but a god's old age is lusty and green.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

This flood and river's ferrying doth Charon take in hand,
Dread in his squalor: on his chin untrimmed the hoar hair lies
Most plenteous; and unchanging flame bides in his staring eyes:
Down from his shoulders hangs his gear in filthy knot upknit;
And he himself poles on his ship, and tends the sails of it,
And crawls with load of bodies lost in bark all iron-grey,
Grown old by now: but fresh and green is godhead's latter day.
[tr. Morris (1900), l. 298ff]

Charon there,
Grim ferryman, stands sentry. Mean his guise,
His chin a wilderness of hoary hair,
And like a flaming furnace stare his eyes.
Hung in a loop around his shoulders lies
A filthy gaberdine. He trims the sail,
And, pole in hand, across the water plies
His steel-grey shallop with the corpses pale,
Old, but a god's old age has left him green and hale.
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 41, l. 361ff]

A ferryman of gruesome guise keeps ward
Upon these waters, -- Charon, foully garbed,
With unkempt, thick gray beard upon his chin,
And staring eyes of flame; a mantle coarse,
All stained and knotted, from his shoulder falls,
As with a pole he guides his craft, tends sail,
And in the black boat ferries o'er his dead; --
Old, but a god's old age looks fresh and strong.
[tr. Williams (1910)]

A grim warden guards these waters and streams, terrible in his squalor -- Charon, on whose chin lies a mass of unkempt, hoary hair; his eyes are staring orbs of flame; his squalid garb hangs by a knot from his shoulders. Unaided, he poles the boat, tends the sails, and in his murky craft convoys the dead -- now aged, but a god's old age is hardy and green.
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

A dreadful ferryman looks after the river crossing,
Charon: appallingly filthy he is, with a bush of unkempt
White beard upon his chin, with eyes like jets of fire;
And a dirty cloak draggles down, knotted about his shoulders.
He poles the boat, he looks after the sails, he is all the crew
Of that rust-coloured wherry which takes the dead across --
An ancient now, but a god's old age is green and sappy.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]

Grim Charon is the squalid ferryman,
is guardian of these streams, these rivers; his
white hairs lie thick, disheveled on his chin;
his eyes are firest that stare, a filthy mantle
hangs down his shoulder by a knot. Alone,
he poles the boat and tends the sails and carries
the dead in his dark ship, old as he is;
but old age in a god is tough and green.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 394ff.]

Here the ferryman,
A figure of fright, keeper of waters and streams,
Is Charon, fowl and terrible, his beard
Grown wild and hoar, his staring eyes all flame,
His sordid cloak hung from a shoulder knot.
Alone he poles his craft and trims the sail
And in his rusty hull ferries the dead,
Old now -- but old age in the gods is green.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 407ff]

These are the rivers and waters guarded by the terrible Charon in his filthy rags. On his chin there grows a thick grey beard, never trimmed. His glaring eyes are lit with fire and a foul cloak hangs from a knot at his shoulder. With his own hands he plies the pole and sees to the sails as he ferries the dead in a boat the colour of burnt iron. He is no longer young but, being a god, enjoys rude strength and a green old age.
[tr. West (1990)]

A grim ferryman watches over the rivers and streams,
Charon, dreadful in his squalor, with a mass of unkempt
white hair straggling from his chin: flames glow in his eyes,
a dirty garment hangs, knotted from his shoulders.
He poles the boat and trims the sails himself,
and ferries the dead in his dark skiff,
old now, but a god’s old age is fresh and green.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

The keeper of these waters
Was Charon, the grim ferryman, frightening
In his squalor. Unkempt hoary whiskers
Bristled on his chin,m his eyes like flares
Were sunk in flame, and a filhy cloak hung
By a knot from his shoulder. He poled the boat
Himself, and trimmed the sails, hauling the dead
In his rusty barge. He was already old,
But a god's old age is green and raw.
[tr. Lombardo (2005), l. 367ff]

And here the dreaded ferryman guards the flood,
grisly in his squalor -- Charon ...
his scraggly beard a tangled mat of white, his eyes
fixed in a fiery stare, and his grimy rags hang down
from his shoulders by a knot. But all on his own
he punts his craft with a pole and hoists sail
as he ferries the dead souls in his rust-red skiff.
He’s on in years, but a god’s old age is hale and green.
[tr. Fagles (2006), l. 340ff]

Filthy Charon, wearing rags, ferried ghosts across the sxtream. His lengthy beard was matted stiff, his eyes stared fixed and fierce. A dirty wrap was tied around his neck. He poled the boat himself, tending to the sails, toting bodies in the dingy raft. He was old, but it was the green and raw old age of gods.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]