Sonnet

“ Hic me, Pater optime, fessum
Deseris heu ! “

ERE yet in Vergil I could scan or spell.
Or through the enchanted portal of that lay
That ravished ancient Rome had found my way,
How oft with heaving breast I heard thee tell
Of horrors that the Trojan fleet befell!
How for a time they were the tempest’s prey,
And how, at last, into a little bay
Their boats came gliding, on the peaceful swell.
There, though thick shade might threaten from above,
Were rest and peace, nor any need to roam.
Alas, I did not dream how soon for thee,
Best father, sweetest friend, the quiet cove
Would stretch its arms, while I, half blind with foam,
Should still be tossing on the open sea.