POETRY.
THE SHIP OF STATE. (HO RACE.—Boos. I., On 14 ).
AD PATRIAM.
Slur of the State, beware !
Grapple the port : fling all thine anchors down.
New floods, new eddies, bear Thy frail and shattered hull to shores unknown.
See how the rower faints upon his oar !
Hark to the groaning of the mast Sore-stricken by the Lybian blast !
Thy shrouds are burst ; thy sails are And through thy gaping ribs foi bra The floods remorseless pour.
Dare not to call for aid to Powers Divine ; Dishonoured once they hear no more : Nor boast, majestic Pine, Daughter of Pontic forest, thy great name, Old lineage, well-earned fame, The honours of thy sculptured prow :— Sport of the mocking winds, nor feared, nor trusted now 1 Alas, may country, long my anxious care, Source now of bitter pain, and fond regret !
Thy stars obscured, thy course beset By rocks unseen ; beware !
Trust not soft winds and treacherous sea', Or the false glitter of the Cyclades.
STEPHEN E. DE VERE.
Previous page
