Translated by John Milton
What slender youth bedewed with liquid odours
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave，
Pyrrha？ For whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair，
Plain in thy neatness？ O how oft shall he
On faith and changd gods complain： and seas
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire：
Who now enjoys thee credulous1， all gold，
Who always vacant always amiable2
Hopes thee； of flattering gales3
Unmindful？ Hapless they
To whom thou untried seem'st fair. Me in my vowed4
Picture the sacred wall declares t' have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of the sea.
