Or on the right, with a whole vintage red,
Storm-beat Madeira waves her woody head.
Still o'er the pathless waste, with rapid force,
Led by th' encreasing ray, we urge the course.
Surrounding dolphins gambol o'er the tide,
And deck the blue-green wave with silver pride:
Swift from the beautious tyrant, the weak fry
Forsake the flood, and arid ether try,
Spread the moist wing—attempt th' untoward height,
And in short soarings urge their trembling flight.