Odes 1.14 (Martin): O Navis, Referent

O BARK, fresh waves shall hurry thee,
Yet once again, far out to sea;
Beware, beware; and boldly seize
The port, where thou may'st ride at ease!
Dost thou not see, thy side is shorn
Of all its oars, thy mainmast torn,
And hear thy lanyards moan and shriek,
And all thy straining timbers creak,
Too frail to meet the surge around,
Though plank to plank with cables bound.
Thy sails are rent; nor gods hast thou,
When danger threats, to hear thy vow;
Although thou art a Pontic pine,
A woodland child of noble line,
Vain, vain amid the tempest's rage
Such vaunted name and lineage!
No trust hath fearful marinere
In gilded prow; so thou beware!
Unless it be thy doom to form
The sport and pastime of the storm.
O thou, that erewhile wert to me
A heavy-sad anxiety,
And now my fond ambition art,
The care that chiefly fills my heart,
O, be advised, and shun the seas,
That wash the shining Cyclades!