With evil omens from the harbour sails The ill-fated barque that worthless Arnold bears,-- God of the southern winds, call up the gales, And whistle in rude fury round his ears. With horrid waves insult his vessel's sides, And may the east wind on a leeward shore Her cables part while she in tumult rides, And shatter into shivers every oar. And let the north wind to her ruin haste, With such a rage, as when from mountains high He rends the tall oak with his weighty blast, And ruin spreads where'er his forces fly. May not one friendly star that night be seen; No moon, attendant, dart one glimmering ray, Nor may she ride on oceans more serene Than Greece, triumphant, found that stormy day, When angry Pallas spent her rage no more On vanquished Ilium, then in ashes laid, But turned it on the barque that Ajax[A] bore, Avenging thus her temple and the maid. [A] Ajax the younger, son of Oileus, king of the Locrians. He debauched Cassandra in the temple of Pallas, which was the cause of his misfortune on his return from the siege of Troy.--_Freneau's note._ When tossed upon the vast Atlantic main Your groaning ship the southern gales shall tear, How will your sailors sweat, and you complain And meanly howl to Jove, that will not hear! But if, at last, upon some winding shore A prey to hungry cormorants you lie, A wanton goat to every stormy power,[B] And a fat lamb, in sacrifice, shall die. [B] The _Tempests_ were Goddesses amongst the Romans.--_Ib._ [108] First published in the July 10, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's Journal_, under the title "The 10th Ode Horace's Book of Epodes Imitated. Written in December, 1781, upon the departure of General Arnold from New-York." The poem was reprinted verbatim in the 1786 edition. "The capitulation at Yorktown having virtually put an end to the war, and Arnold, finding himself neither respected by the British officers nor likely to be further employed in the service, obtained permission from Sir Henry Clinton to go to England. He sailed from New York with his family in December, 1781."--_Sparks' Life of Arnold._ PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER, TO HIS FRIEND THEON[109] _Semel omnibus calcanda via Lethi._--Hor. Why, Theon, wouldst thou longer groan Beneath a weight of years and woe, Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown, And time proclaims, "'Tis time to go." To willows sad and weeping yews With me a while, dear friend, repair,[110] Nor to the vault thy steps refuse, Thy constant home shall soon be there. To summer suns and winter moons Prepare to bid a long adieu, Autumnal seasons shall return And spring shall bloom, but not for you. Why so perplext with cares and toil To rest upon this darksome road, 'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil, A barren and a bleak abode.