TO THE SHIP OF STATE

O ship of state

Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea?

What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee

Ere‘ t is too late!

Do you bemoan

Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast?

Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast;

The sailyards groan.

Of cables bare,

Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave.

Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save,

Or answer pray'r.

Though Pontic pine,

The noble daughter of a far-famed wood,

You boast your lineage and title good,—

A useless line!

The sailor there

In painted sterns no reassurance finds;

Unless you owe derision to the winds,

Beware — beware!

My grief erewhile,

But now my care — my longing! shun the seas

That flow between the gleaming Cyclades,

Each shining isle.