Your search returned 58 results in 29 document sections:
And the first person known to us by tradition as having established a navy is Minos. He made himself master of what is now called the Hellenic sea, and ruled over the Cyclades, into most of which he sent the first colonies, expelling the Carians and appointing his own sons governors; and thus did his best to put down piracy in those waters, a necessary step to secure the revenues for his own use.
You will say that Sparta was wrong, but what should she have done? Answer that. Suppose that a Lacedaemonian had seized a little SeriphianA small and insignificant island, one of the Cyclades, allied with the Athenians, like months of these islands previous to and during the first part of the Peloponnesian War. dog on any pretext and had sold it, would you have endured it quietly? Far from it, you would at once have sent three hundred vessels to sea, and what an uproar there would have been through all the city! there 'tis a band of noisy soldiery, here a brawl about the election of a Trierarch; elsewhere pay is being distributed, the Pallas figure-heads are being regilded, crowds are surging under the market porticos, encumbered with wheat that is being measured, wine-skins, oar-leathers, garlic, olives, onions in nets; everywhere are chaplets, sprats, flute-girls, black eyes; in the arsenal bolts are being noisily driven home, sweeps are being made and fitted with leathers; we he
ON HIS PINNACE Yonder Pinnace ye (my guests!) behold Saith she was erstwhile fleetest-fleet of crafts, Nor could by swiftness of aught plank that swims, Be she outstripped, whether paddle plied, Or fared she scudding under canvas-sail. Eke she defieth threat'ning Adrian shore, Dare not denay her, insular Cyclades, And noble Rhodos and ferocious Thrace, Propontis too and blustering Pontic bight. Where she (my Pinnace now) in times before, Was leafy woodling on Cytórean Chine For ever loquent lisping with her leaves. Pontic Amastris! Box-tree-clad Cytórus! Cognisant were ye, and you weet full well (So saith my Pinnace) how from earliest age Upon your highmost-spiring peak she stood, How in your waters first her sculls were dipt, And thence thro' many and many an important strait She bore her owner whether left or right, Where breezes bade her fare, or Jupiter deigned At once propitious strike the sail full square; Nor to the sea-shore gods was aught of vow By her deemed needful, when
That pinnace which you see, my friends, says that it was the speediest of boats, that it could gain the lead of any craft skimming the surface, whether the task were to fly with oarblades or sail. And she denies that the shore of the menacing Adriatic denies this, or the Cyclades awkward [to navigate], or noble Rhodes and bristling Thracian Propontis, or the frim Pontic gulf, where she afterwards was a pinnace, beforehand was bearded forest; and often on Cytorus' ridge she gave out a rustling with speaking foliage. And you, Pontic Amastris, and to boxwood bearing Cytorus, the pinnace declares that this was and is most well-known to you; she says that from its origin it stood upon your topmost peak, dipped its oars in your waters, and bore its master from there through so many seas
O luckless bark! new waves will force you back To 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 born Of noble forest breed, You boast your name and lineage—madly blind Can painted timbers quell a seaman's fear? Beware! or else the wind Makes 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 shine The thick-sown Cyclades
Ere this, a flying rumor had been spread That fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled, Expell'd and exil'd; that the coast was free From foreign or domestic enemy. We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea; By Naxos, fam'd for vintage, make our way; Then green Donysa pass; and sail in sight Of Paros' isle, with marble quarries white. We pass the scatter'd isles of Cyclades, That, scarce distinguish'd, seem to stud the seas. The shouts of sailors double near the shores; They stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars. ‘All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!’ they cry, And swiftly thro' the foamy billows fly. Full on the promis'd land at length we bore, With joy descending on the Cretan shore. With eager haste a rising town I frame, Which from the Trojan Pergamus I name: The name itself was grateful; I exhort To found their houses, and erect a fo