Woe!  Woe Inward warmth,
Spirit-warmth,
Central-point! 
Glow, and vie with
Phoebus Apollo! 
Coldly soon
His regal look
Over thee will swiftly glide,—­

Envy-struck
Linger o’er the cedar’s strength,
Which, to flourish,
Waits him not.

Why doth my lay name thee the last? 
Thee, from whom it began,
Thee, in whom it endeth,
Thee, from whom it flows,
Jupiter Pluvius! 
Tow’rd thee streams my song. 
And a Castalian spring
Runs as a fellow-brook,
Runs to the idle ones,
Mortal, happy ones,
Apart from thee,
Who cov’rest me around,
Jupiter Pluvius!

Not by the elm-tree
Him didst thou visit,
With the pair of doves
Held in his gentle arm,—­
With the beauteous garland of roses,—­
Caressing him, so blest in his flowers,
Anacreon,
Storm-breathing godhead! 
Not in the poplar grove,
Near the Sybaris’ strand,
Not on the mountain’s
Sun-illumined brow
Didst thou seize him,
The flower-singing,
Honey-breathing,
Sweetly nodding
Theocritus.

When the wheels were rattling,
Wheel on wheel tow’rd the goal,
High arose
The sound of the lash
Of youths with victory glowing,
In the dust rolling,
As from the mountain fall
Showers of stones in the vale—­
Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar—­
Glowing?  Poor heart!

There, on the hill,—­
Heavenly might! 
But enough glow
Thither to wend,
Where is my cot!

1771.
-----
The sea-voyage.

Many a day and night my bark stood ready laden;
Waiting fav’ring winds, I sat with true friends round me,
Pledging me to patience and to courage,
In the haven.

And they spoke thus with impatience twofold: 
“Gladly pray we for thy rapid passage,
Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune
In the distant world is waiting for thee,
In our arms thoult find thy prize, and love too,
When returning.”

And when morning came, arose an uproar,
And the sailors’ joyous shouts awoke us;
All was stirring, all was living, moving,
Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.

And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling,
And the sun with fiery love invites us;
Fill’d the sails are, clouds on high are floating,
On the shore each friend exulting raises
Songs of hope, in giddy joy expecting
Joy the voyage through, as on the morn of sailing,
And the earliest starry nights so radiant.

But by God-sent changing winds ere long he’s driven
Sideways from the course he had intended,
And he feigns as though he would surrender,
While he gently striveth to outwit them,

To his goal, e’en when thus press’d, still faithful. 
But from out the damp grey distance rising,
Softly now the storm proclaims its advent,
Presseth down each bird upon the waters,
Presseth down the throbbing hearts of mortals. 
And it cometh.  At its stubborn fury,
Wisely ev’ry sail the seaman striketh;
With the anguish-laden ball are sporting
Wind and water.