Beneath the lengthening days of spring
And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams
From Haemus' top. 590
Blind is the rage of passion's fire,
Will not be governed, brooks no reins,
And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords
It gladly courts.
Spare, O ye gods, be merciful, 595
That lie who tamed the sea may live.
But much we fear, for the lord of the deep
Is wroth that his realm of the second lot
Should be subdued.
The thoughtless youth who dared to drive
His father's sacred chariot,
Was by those fires, which o'er the heavens 600
He scattered in his mad career,
Himself consumed.
The beaten path has never proved
The way of danger. Walk ye then
Where your forefathers safely trod,
And keep great nature's holy laws 605
Inviolate.
Whoever dipped the famous oars
Of that bold bark in the rushing sea;
Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion
Of the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves;
Whoever dared the clashing rocks, 610
And, after countless perils passed,
His vessel moored on a barbarous shore,
Hoping to fare on his homeward way
The master of the golden fleece,
All by a fearful end appeased 615
The offended sea.
First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,
Abandoned to an untrained hand
His vessel's helm. On a foreign shore,
Far from his native land he died;
