“There, by the murmurs of the sea’s hoarse wave,
    Scorch’d on the rock, or shivering in the cave,
    Long, long I stay’d:  Fate yet prolong’d my day,
    And Grief and Famine spared their willing prey. 
    A roving bark at length approach’d, and bore
    The suppliant stranger to fair India’s shore.

      “With wondering steps I traced the sunny strand,
    And mark’d each giant work of nature’s hand;
    Saw towering oaks th’ aerial tempest brave,
    And mighty rivers roll the sea-like wave. 
    Amaze, unmix’d with joy, my soul possess’d;
    What beauteous scene can charm an Exile’s breast? 
    Sadly I saw primeval forests frown,
    And, in each foreign stream, still sought my own.

      “No bright success my rising labours crown’d;
    The sunbeam wither’d, or the deluge drown’d,
    Each growing hope:  my frame seem’d worn with care,
    And Death still hover’d in the feverish air. 
    Stern Famine o’er my solitary gate
    Spread her cold wings, and watch’d in sullen state. 
    Life yet was dear—­Each visionary night
    Restored my ancient dwelling to my sight;
    And every gale, that swept the valley o’er,
    Appear’d to point me to my native shore.

      “Soon as the morning waved her banner red,
    With bounding heart the winged sail I spread. 
    Again the tempest roars, the meteors play,
    And struggling clouds repel the rising ray. 
    Yet nought disturb’d my unprophetic soul;
    Resign’d to joy, impatient of control,
    I seem’d new-born:  Creative Hope again
    Restored the sense of pleasure, and of pain;
    Tumultuous transport, now no more suppressed,
    Shone from my eyes, and wanton’d in my breast.

      “Soon did the storm subside:  before the breeze
    Smooth flew the boat, across the summer seas. 
    The brightening sunbeam on the waters danced,
    From the blue clouds a stream of radiance glanced.

      “As the fleet swallow, eager to attain
    Her well-known regions, scuds o’er land and main;
    So, wing’d with hope, I flew:  my eager sail
    Stemm’d many a sea, and waved in many a gale,
    While, ardent still one object to pursue,
    I shunn’d the rock, and thro’ the tempest flew: 
    And still, with rapture’s mingled tear and smile,
    Mark’d, as it pass’d, each dim receding isle. 
    From each fair view my swimming eyes declined,
    And fairer views rose imaged in my mind.

      “Swift o’er the waves I flew; and many a day
    On the smooth wings of joy had roll’d away,
    When, half-discover’d ’mid the clouds of night,
    My native cliffs rose beauteous to my sight. 
    With beating heart I furl my sail, and sweep
    With rapid oar the smooth-dividing deep. 
    The well-known bay a ready entrance gave,
    And safe return’d me from the stormy wave.