The clust'ring isles, (once Fortune's own domain)
That break the surges of th' Atlantic main.
High on our left, rear'd by volcanic fires,
Shading all ocean, Teneriffe aspires;
Above the topmost clouds, with giant might,
Heaves his Promethean peak to seize the light;
And thro' conducting veins, with chemic pow'r,
Recruits exhausted nature's fiery store.
While from the West ambrosial scents exhale,
As Palma shakes her orchards to the gale.