Is hatch'd on earth, he dealt in all—Who planted in my rural steadThee, fatal wood, thee, sure to fallUpon thy blameless master's head.The dangers of the hour! no thoughtWe give them; Punic seaman's fearIs all of Bosporus, nor aughtReeks he of pitfalls otherwhere;The soldier fears the mask'd retreatOf Parthia; Parthia dreads the thrallOf Rome; but Death with noiseless feetHas stolen and will steal on all.How near dark Pluto's court I stood,And Aeacus' judicial throne,The blest seclusion of the good,And Sappho, with sweet lyric moanBewailing her ungentle sex,And thee, Alcaeus, louder farChanting thy tale of woful wrecks,Of woful exile, woful war!