Book I: Ode XIV: O Navis, Referent
O LUCKLESS bark! new waves will force you backTo sea. O, haste to make the haven yours!E'en now, a helpless wrack,You drift, despoil'd of oars;The Afric gale has dealt your mast a wound;Your sailyards groan, nor can your keel sustain,Till lash'd with cables round,A more imperious main.Your canvass hangs in ribbons, rent and torn;No gods are left to pray to in fresh need.A pine of Pontus bornOf noble forest breed,You boast your name and lineage--madly blind!Can painted timbers quell a seaman's fear?Beware! or else the windMakes you its mock and jeer.Your trouble late made sick this heart of mine,And still I love you, still am ill at ease.O, shun the sea, where shineThe thick-sown Cyclades!
Words in this poem
- luckless a.
- Being without luck; unpropitious; unfortunate; unlucky; meeting with ill success or bad fortune; as, a luckless gamester; a luckless maid.
- wrack n.
- Wreck; ruin; destruction. [OE. wrak wreck. See Wreck.]
- imperious a.
- Commanding; ascendant; imperial; lordly; majestic. [L. imperiosus: cf. F. impérieux. See Imperial.]
- quell v. t.
- To take the life of; to kill. [OE. quellen to kill, AS. cwellan, causative of cwelan to die; akin to OHG. quellen to torment, Icel. kvelja. See Quail to cower.]
- beware v. t.
- To avoid; to take care of; to have a care for.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Book I: Ode XIV: O Navis, Referent is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Odes and Carmen Saeculare, Project Gutenberg ebook #5432, the John Conington translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Horace, Book I: Ode XIV: O Navis, Referent, in The Odes and Carmen Saeculare (1863), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #5432, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/horace-odes/book-i-ode-xiv-o-navis-referent.html, id L13910.
Form and metre
Book I: Ode XIV: O Navis, Referent is 20 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABABCDCDEFEFGHGHIJIJ. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 94%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.1 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABCDCDEFEFGHGHIJIJ backA · yoursB · wrackA · oarsB · woundC · sustainD · roundC · mainD · tornE · needF · bornE · breedF · blindG · fearH · windG · jeerH · mineI · easeJ · shineI · cycladesJ
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| O LUCKLESS bark! new waves will force you back | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| To sea. O, haste to make the haven yours! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| E'en now, a helpless wrack, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| You drift, despoil'd of oars; | 6 | ······ |
| The Afric gale has dealt your mast a wound; | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Your sailyards groan, nor can your keel sustain, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Till lash'd with cables round, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| A more imperious main. | 7 | ··˘/˘˘· |
| Your canvass hangs in ribbons, rent and torn; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| No gods are left to pray to in fresh need. | 10 | ·········· |
| A pine of Pontus born | 6 | ······ |
| Of noble forest breed, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| You boast your name and lineage--madly blind! | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Can painted timbers quell a seaman's fear? | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Beware! or else the wind | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Makes you its mock and jeer. | 6 | ······ |
| Your trouble late made sick this heart of mine, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And still I love you, still am ill at ease. | 10 | ·········· |
| O, shun the sea, where shine | 6 | ······ |
| The thick-sown Cyclades! | 6 | ···˘/˘ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.