Charon

There Chairon stands, who rules the dreary coast -
A sordid god: down from his hairy chin
A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
…
An airy crowd came rushing where he stood,
Which fill'd the margin of the fatal flood:
…
Such, and so thick, the shiv'ring army stands,
And press for passage with extended hands.
Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore:
The rest he drove to distance from the shore.

- Virgil (Aeneid, translated by John Dryden)

Charon herds the sinners onto his boat 

The god described by Virgil has now changed,
No longer garbed in foul obscene attire.
See now his dapper uniform arranged
To show command and set young hearts afire.

Tired travelers stand ready for his sign
Of seven blasts plus one of longer tone.
Then gather they on deck three in a line
While tardy souls back to the dock are shown.

His passengers no longer wear their cash
For passage on their mouths or on their eyes;
Prostheses made of plastic store their stash
And virtual coins beam hell-ward through the skies.

His craft is crammed with creditworthy scores
All heading for inevitable shores.