Classic Poem

Tirsis, O Tirsis, turn and seek again
The safety of the port; behold what skies
Descend about thy fragile little bark
And warn thee not to go!

The frigid Boreas, the South Wind's threats,
Have stirred the seas to an appalling rage;
Upon that troubled marge no sail can run
Upon a happy course.

Cry out, unhappy man! — the heavens receive
And hush your bitter moans and shouts with roll
Of thunders shaking o'er the brows
Of their disturbed face!

Ah, do not tell me that thy ardent breast
With passionate disorders so commands
Such rash adventure on thee, but to break
The calmness of thy youth!

See, lad unhappy, how the South Wind's rage
Amid its whirling mocks the fickle wings
In dust and blast of satire, and the head
Too premature and bold!

See ye not how its fiercest breath is stirred
From off the burning mountain, where below
Lie in their living death the boastful twain,
Enceladus and Typheus?

Be warned upon thy fortunes, and repair
Thy threatened ills; in time be wise
Nor let mishaps encroach too near, for all
Their sudden charge.

Why shouldst thou perish? ah, return,
Tirsis, return! On land, yea, on the land
Let thy ship be the prison and the cave,
Of the infuriate winds!

Afar, the vengeance of the sea, afar,
The raging ordnance of fierce Eolus
Upon the heads of hardy mariners
Who dare to brave his powers.

From off the shore let us behold the storm
And watch the angry heavens, where they least
Are furious against the heads that least
Oppose their vaunted strength.