Hence, my epistle--skim the Deep--fly o'er
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore!
Haste--lest a friend should grieve for thy delay--
And the Gods grant that nothing thwart thy way!
I will myself invoke the King2 who binds
In his Sicanian ecchoing vault the winds,
With Doris3 and her Nymphs, and all the throng
Of azure Gods, to speed thee safe along.
But rather, to insure thy happier haste,
Ascend Medea's chariot,4 if thou may'st, 10
Or that whence young Triptolemus5 of yore
Descended welcome on the Scythian shore.
The sands that line the German coast descried,
To opulent Hamburg turn aside,
So call'd, if legendary fame be true,
From Hama,6 whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew.
There lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just,
A faithful steward of his Christian trust,
My friend, and favorite inmate of my heart--
That now is forced to want its better part! 20
What mountains now, and seas, alas! how wide!
From me this other, dearer self divide,
Dear, as the sage7 renown'd for moral truth
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth!
Dear, as the Stagyrite8 to Ammon's son,9
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won!
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine10
In young Achilles' eyes, as He in mine.
First led by him thro' sweet Aonian11 shade
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd; 30