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 changèd 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.