That little kidney bean you see before you, friends,
Says she was once the very fastest of ships
And that no floating plank in onward surge
Could outstrip her whether she made her flight
On hand-like oars or canvas,
And she says neither the shore of the dangerous Adriatic
Denies this nor the Cycladic islands
Nor upstanding Rhodes nor the savage Thracian
Propontis nor the harsh gulf of the Black Sea
Where that yacht to be was formerly
Long-haired forest – for on the ridge of Mount Cytoris
Her whispery hair would whistle.
Pontic Amastris and boxwood-bearing Cytoris,
Yacht says this was – still is – all very familiar to you.
At the very beginning, she says,
She was rooted on your heights
And soaked her hand-like oars in your waters,
And from there she carried her master
Over many unstoppable waves, regardless of whether
The breeze summoned her from port or starboard
Or Jupiter fell favourably upon both her sheets alike.
No vows were made on her behalf to the gods
On the shore when she set out on her last voyage
From the sea all the way to this limpid lake.
But this belongs to the past. Now she has been put away
To grow old peacefully and dedicates herself to you,
Twin Castor and twin of Castor, Pollux.