With evil omens from the harbour sails
The ill-fated barque that worthless Arnold bears,—
God of the southern winds, call up the gales,
And whistle in rude fury round his ears.
With horrid waves insult his vessel's sides,
And may the east wind on a leeward shore
Her cables part while she in tumult rides,
And shatter into shivers every oar.
And let the north wind to her ruin haste,
With such a rage, as when from mountains high
He rends the tall oak with his weighty blast,
And ruin spreads where'er his forces fly.
May not one friendly star that night be seen;
No moon, attendant, dart one glimmering ray,
Nor may she ride on oceans more serene
Than Greece, triumphant, found that stormy day,
When angry Pallas spent her rage no more
On vanquished Ilium, then in ashes laid,
But turned it on the barque that Ajax bore,
Avenging thus her temple and the maid.