Storm at

Ovid Tristia 1.2.19-36

Woe is me! (lit., Unhappy me!) What great mountains of water are surging up (lit., rolling)! You would think that they were on the point of touching the highest stars. What great valleys sink down when the sea parts! You would think that they were on the point of touching black Tartarus. Wherever I look, there is nothing except sea and sky, the former swelling with waves, the latter threatening with clouds. Between the two, the winds roar with a terrible rumble. The waves of the sea do not know which master they should obey; for now Eurus gathers strength from the purple east, now Zephyrus is here (lit., is present), sent from the late evening, now cold Boreas rages from the dry [constellation of the] Bear, now Notus wages battles in a head-on attack (lit., with an opposing front).

The helmsman is in doubt and is at a loss to know (lit., does not find) either what he should flee from or what he should head for; because of conflicting perils, [his] very skill is powerless. Of course, we are doomed and any hope of being saved is vain (lit., nor [is there] hope of safety except [a] vain [one]), and while I speak, a wave floods over my face. The wave will overwhelm this life [of mine], and with vainly praying mouths we will drink in (lit., admit) the waters that will kill [us].

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