Up from old ocean climbs the orb of day.
Then the drear hatchway morning hands disclose,
And point the sufferers to a change of woes.
Soon as the gorged cell of dim disease
Opes the sick passage to a quicker breeze,
From the rank maw, belched up in morbid stream,
The hot mist thickens in the side-long beam;
When from the noisome cave, the drooping crowd,
In fetter'd pairs, break through the misty cloud.
With keen despair they eye the morning's glow,