Happy, happy; happy theyWhose living love, untroubled by all strife,Binds them till the last sad day,Nor parts asunder but with parting life!O luckless bark! new waves will force you backTo sea. O, haste to make the haven yours!E'en now, a helpless wrack,You drift, despoil'd of oars;The Afric gale has dealt your mast a wound;Your sailyards groan, nor can your keel sustain,Till lash'd with cables round,A more imperious main.Your canvass hangs in ribbons, rent and torn;No gods are left to pray to in fresh need.A pine of Pontus bornOf noble forest breed,You boast your name and lineage—madly blindCan painted timbers quell a seaman's fear?Beware! or else the windMakes you its mock and jeer.