Oh, gentle boy, that from the shore didst loose The baby bark, and to the slender oar Didst set thy unskilled hand; lured by the sea! Late hast thou seen the evil of thy plight. See there the traitor rolls his fatal waves, The prow of thy frail bark, now sinks, now mounts. The soul borne down with anxious cares Prevaileth not against the swollen floods. Thy oars thou yieldst to thy fierce enemy, Waiting for death with calm collected thought, With eyelids closed, lest thou shouldst see him come. If thee no friendly aid should quickly reach Thou surely must the full result soon feel, Of thy inquisitive temerity. My cruel fate is like unto thine own, For I too, lured, enticed by Love, must feel, The rigour keen of this most treacherous one. In what manner and why Love is a traitor and deceiver we have just seen; but as I see the following without figure or legend, I believe that it must have connection with the above. Therefore let us go on and read it. 53. Methought to leave the shelter of my port, And from maturer studies rest awhile: When, looking round me to enjoy my ease, Sudden I saw those unrelenting fates. These have inflamed me with so ardent fires. Vainly I strive some safer shores to reach, Vainly from pitying hands invoke some aid, And swift deliverance from my enemies. Weary and hoarse I yield me, impotent, And seek no more to elude my destiny, Or make endeavour to escape my death: Let every other life to me be null, And let not the extremest torment fail, Which my hard fate for me prescribed. Type of my own deep ills, Is that which thou for pastime didst entrust To hostile breast. Oh, careless boy.