A poem by Alcaeus of Mytilene (c. 625/620 – c. 580 BC)


Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep,

Whilst we, betwixt them o’er the deep,

In shatter’d tempest-beaten bark,

With laboring ropes are onward driven,

The billows dashing o’er our dark

Upheaved deck–in tatters riven

Our sails–whose yawning rents between

The raging sea and sky are seen.

. . . . .

Loose from their hold our anchors burst,

And then the third, the fatal wave

Comes rolling onward like the first,

And doubles all our toil to save.

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