Not on the land could Lycus die,
Nor in his native Naxos lie,
But on the main by tempest tost,
His life and ship together lost,
When first he left Æ gina's shore,
And o'er him now the surges roar:
An empty marble only keeps
His name from the devouring deeps.
Obey my words and shun the seas,
Ye mariners, in times like these,
When to the main the goat declines,
Nor in the sky with Phoebus shines.