Odes 1.14 (Gladstone): O Navis, Referent

Ship! new billows sweep thee out
Seaward. What wilt thou? hold the port,
be stout.
Seest not? thy mast
How rent by stiff south-western blast,

Thy side, of rowers how forlorn?
Thine hull, with groaning yards, with rigging torn,
Can ill sustain
The fierce, and ever fiercer main;

Thy gods, no more than sails entire,
From whom yet once thy need might aid require
O Pontic pine,
The first of woodland stocks is thine,

Yet race and name are but as dust.
Not painted sterns give storm-tost seamen trust.
Unless thou dare
To be the sport of storms, beware.

Of old at best a weary weight,
A yearning care and constant strain of late,
O shun the seas
That gird those glittering Cyclades.