Upon his battlements he stood,
And downward gazed in joyous mood,
On Samos Isle, that owned his sway,
All this is subject to my yoke;
To Egypts monarch thus he spoke,-
That I am truly blest, then, say!
The immortals favor
thou hast known!
Thy sceptres might has overthrown
All those who once were like to thee.
Yet to avenge them one lives still;
I cannot call thee blest, until
That dreaded foe has ceased to be.
While to these words the king gave
A herald from Miletus sent,
Appeared before the tyrant there:
Lord, let thy incense rise to-day,
And with the laurel branches gay
Thou well mayst crown thy festive hair!
Thy foe has sunk beneath
Im sent to bear the glad news here,
By thy true marshal Polydore-
Then from a basin black he takes-
The fearful sight their terror wakes-
A well-known head, besmeared with gore.
The king with horror stepped aside,
And then with anxious look replied:
Thy bliss to fortune neer commit.
On faithless waves, bethink thee how
Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now-
How soon the storm may scatter it!
But ere he yet had spoke the word,
A shout of jubilee is heard
Resounding from the distant strand.
With foreign treasures teeming oer,
The vessels mast-rich wood once more
Returns home to its native land.
The guest then speaks with startled
Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind;
But thou her fickleness shouldst fear:
The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms,
Now threaten thee with wars alarms;
Een now they are approaching here.
And, ere the word has scaped
A stir is seen amongst the ships,
And thousand voices Victory! cry:
We are delivered from our foe,
The storm has laid the Cretan low,
The war is ended, is gone by!
The shout with horror hears the
In truth, I must esteem thee blest!
Yet dread I the decrees of heaven.
The envy of the gods I fear;
To taste of unmixed rapture here
Is never to a mortal given.
With me, too, everything
In all my sovereign acts and deeds
The grace of Heaven is ever by;
And yet I had a well-loved heir-
I paid my debt to fortune there-
God took him hence-I saw him die.
Wouldst thou from sorrow,
then, be free.
Pray to each unseen Deity,
For thy well-being, grief to send;
The man on whom the Gods bestow
Their gifts with hands that overflow,
Comes never to a happy end.
And if the Gods thy prayer
Then to a friends instruction list,-
Invoke thyself adversity;
And what, of all thy treasures bright,
Gives to thy heart the most delight-
That take and cast thou in the sea!
Then speaks the other, moved by
This ring to me is far most dear
Of all this isle within it knows-
I to the furies pledge it now,
If they will happiness allow-
And in the flood the gem he throws.
And with the morrows earliest
Appeared before the monarchs sight
A fisherman, all joyously;
Lord, I this fish just now have caught,
No net before eer held the sort;
And as a gift I bring it thee.
The fish was opened by the cook,
Who suddenly, with wondering look,
Runs up, and utters these glad sounds:
Within the fishs maw, behold,
Ive found, great lord, thy ring of gold!
Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!
The guest with terror turned away:
I cannot here, then, longer stay,-
My friend thou canst no longer be!
The gods have willed that thou shouldst die:
Lest I, too, perish, I must fly-
He spoke,-and sailed thence hastily.