Alcaeus Poems : The Ship of State under Myrsilus
The winds' fierce strife I understand no longer;
The rolling billows e'er are towering stronger,
Now here, now there. We, tempest-tossed,
In the black ship between are lost.
The fury of the storm our limbs is chilling,
The ship with water to the mast-hole filling.
Great rifts in every sail are torn,
To shreds our slackening cables worn.
* * *
Now comes a wave o'ertopping those before,
Upon the ship its waters piling o'er,
And we to bail must labor evermore.
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Friday, April 15, 2011 - 00:16
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Alcaeus
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