O LUCKLESS bark! (O NAVIS, REFERENT)

     O LUCKLESS bark! new waves will force you back
     To sea. O, haste to make the haven yours!
          E'en now, a helpless wrack,
            You drift, despoil'd of oars;
     The Afric gale has dealt your mast a wound;
       Your sailyards groan, nor can your keel sustain,
          Till lash'd with cables round,
             A more imperious main.
     Your canvass hangs in ribbons, rent and torn;
       No gods are left to pray to in fresh need.
          A pine of Pontus born
            Of noble forest breed,
     You boast your name and lineage—madly blind!
       Can painted timbers quell a seaman's fear?
          Beware! or else the wind
            Makes you its mock and jeer.
     Your trouble late made sick this heart of mine,
       And still I love you, still am ill at ease.
          O, shun the sea, where shine
            The thick-sown Cyclades!

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