The boat’s stern-cables touched the sands,Has past from youth to oldness, —When under Ilion rushed the ship-borne bands. And from my eyes I learn —Being myself my witness — their return.Yet, all the same, without a lyre, my soul,Itself its teacher too, chants from withinErinus’ dirge, not having now the wholeOf Hope’s dear boldness: nor my inwards sin —The heart that’s rolled in whirls against the mindJustly presageful of a fate behind.But I pray — things false, from my hope, may fallInto the fate that’s not-fulfilled-at-all! Especially at least, of health that’s greatThe term’s insatiable: for, its weight— A neighbour, with a common wall between —Ever will sickness lean;And destiny, her course pursuing straight,Has struck man’s ship against a reef unseen.Now, when a portion, rather than the treasure,Fear casts from sling, with peril in right measure,It has not sunk — the universal freight,(With misery freighted over-full)Nor has fear whelmed the hull.Then too the gift of Zeus,Two-handedly profuse,Even from the furrows’ yield for yearly useHas done away with famine, the disease; But blood of man to earth once falling-deadly, black —In times ere these, —