What slender boy, bathed in many a rose,
Woos you with pure scents,
Pyrrha, from a welcomed cave?
For whom you bind your tawny hair,
Plain in your appearance? Alas, how often
He will lament faith and the mutable gods
And will marvel at the sharp waters,
Made black by the winds,
Who now, gullible, will delight you with gold,
Who hopes, always free of fancy, always delightful,
For you, unaware of deceitful wind.
Pitiable people, to whom
You, untried, shine! Sacred wall shows
Me with votive tablet, dripping
Garments, suspended by the
Powerful god of the sea.