And shun the winds that sweep the waltering waves.
Proud fortune overslips[277] the safest roads,
And seeks amidst the surging seas those keels,
Whose lofty tops and tacklings touch the clouds.
4.
O base, yet happy boors! O gifts of gods
Scant yet perceiv’d! when powd’red ermine robes
With secret sighs, mistrusting their extremes,
In baleful breast forecast their foultring[278] fates,
And stir, and strive, and storm, and all in vain;