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To fearless luft of blood, the favage race Roam, licens'd by the shading hour of guilt, And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut His facred eye. The tyger darting fierce Impetuous on the prey his glance has doom'd: The lively-shining leopard, speckled o’er With many a spot, the beauty of the waste; And, scorning all the taming arts of Man, The keen hyena, fellest of the fell. These, rushing from th’inhospitable woods Of Mauritania, or the tufted illes, That verdant rise amid the Lybian wild, Innumerous glare around their shaggy king, Majestic, ftalking o’er the printed sand; And, with imperious and repeated roars, Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks Crowd near the guardian swain ; the nobler herds, Where, round their lordly bull, in rural ease, They ruminating lie, with horror hear The coming rage. Th’awaken’d village starts ; And to her fluttering breast the mother strains Her thoughtless infant. From the Pyrate’s den, Or ftern Morocco's tyrant fang escap’d, The wretch half-wishes for his bonds again : While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds, From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile.
Unhappy he! who from the first of joys, Society, cut off, is left alone Amid this world of death. Day after day, Sad on the jutting eminence he fits, And views the main that ever toils below; Still fondly forming in the farthest verge, Where the round ether mixes with the wave, Ships, dim-discovered, dropping from the clouds' At evening, to the setting fun he turns A mournful eye, and down his dying heart Sinks helpless; while the wonted roar is up, And hiss continual thro' the tedious night. Yet here, even here, into these black abodes Of monsters, unappall’d, from stooping Rome, And guilty Cæfar, LIBERTY retir'd, Her Cato following thro' Numidian wilds : Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains, And all the green delights Ausonia pours ; When for them she must bend the servile knee, And fawning take the splendid robber's boon.
Nor stop the terrors of those regions here. Commiffion'd demons oft, angels of wrath, Let loose the raging elements. Breath'd hot, From all the boundless furnace of the sky, And the wide glittering waste of burning fand,
A fuffocating wind the pilgrim smites
But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave
* Typhon and Ecnephia, names of particular storms or hurri. canes, known only between the tropics.
Falfely serene, deep in a cloudy * speck
* Called by failors the Ox-eye, being in appearance at first no bigger.
+ VASCO DE GAMA, the first who failed round Africa, by the Cape of Good Hope, to the East Indics.
Had flumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep,
Increasing still the terrors of these storms,
When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains
* Don Henry, third son to John the First, king of Portugal. His strong genius to the discovery of new countries was the chief source of all the modern improvements in navigation.