The speaker wrestles with a restless inner tug-of-war. On days when the sea is glassy and blue, its serene stillness pulls him away from the shore—it stirs something unquiet in him that longs for that deep calm. But the moment a storm churns the water into a gray, roaring abyss with waves that gather and burst, the sea’s mood turns threatening. Instantly, he turns his back on it and retreats to the safety of land, where wind humming through pines in deep woods sounds like music. He pauses to think about the fisherman, whose whole life is a lonely boat and an unforgiving ocean, and calls that an evil fate. Then he makes his own choice plain: he’ll stretch out beneath a plane tree by a murmuring brook. The water’s soft sound doesn’t rattle his spirit—it just gently stirs him into a deeper, settled peace. The poem moves from longing and unease toward a quiet, rooted contentment, trading the sea’s dangerous beauty for a shaded, melodic rest.
From the Greek of Moschus — Summary
Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle--k.t.l.
When winds that move not its calm surface sweep The azure sea, I love the land no more; The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep Tempt my unquiet mind.--But when the roar Of Ocean's gray abyss resounds, and foam Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst, I turn from the drear aspect to the home Of Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed, When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody. Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot Has chosen.--But I my languid limbs will fling Beneath the plane, where the brook's murmuring Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not.