From Horace: The Third Ode of the First Book

So may th' auspicious Queen of Love,
And the Twin Stars, (the seed of Jove,)
And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O sacred ship, be kind;
And gentle breezes fill thy sails,
Supplying soft Etesian gales:
As thou, to whom the Muse commends
The best of poets and of friends,
Dost thy committed pledge restore,
And land him safely on the shore;
And save the better part of me
From perishing with him at sea;
Sure he, who first the passage tried,
In harden'd oak his heart did hide,
And ribs of iron arm'd his side!
Or his at least, in hollow wood
Who tempted first the briny flood;
Nor fear'd the winds' contending roar,
Nor billows beating on the shore;
Nor Hyades portending rain;
Nor all the tyrants of the main.
What form of death could him affright,
Who unconcern'd, with steadfast sight,
Could view the surges mounting steep,
And monsters rolling in the deep!
Could thro' the ranks of ruin go,
With storms above, and rocks below!
In vain did Nature's wise command
Divide the waters from the land,
If daring ships and men profane
Invade th' inviolable main;
Th' eternal fences overleap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.
No toil, no hardship can restrain
Ambitious man, inur'd to pain;
The more confin'd, the more he tries,
And at forbidden quarry flies.
Thus bold Prometheus did aspire,
And stole from heaven the seed of fire:
A train of ills, a ghastly crew,
The robber's blazing track pursue;
Fierce Famine with her meager face,
And Fevers of the fiery race,
In swarms th' offending wretch surround,
All brooding on the blasted ground:
And limping Death, lash'd on by Fate,
Comes up to shorten half our date.
This made not Dedalus beware
With borrow'd wings to sail in air;
To hell Alcides forc'd his way,
Plung'd thro' the lake, and snatch'd the prey.
Nay, scarce the gods, or heav'nly climes,
Are safe from our audacious crimes;
We reach at Jove's imperial crown,
And pull the unwilling thunder down.