The storm redoubles, and the whirlwinds blend
The rising snow-drift with descending skies:
And oft the crags a friendly shelter lend
His breathless bosom, and his sightless eyes;
But, when the transient gust its fury spends,
Amid the storm again his way he wends.
XL.
Still truly does his course the magnet keep—
No toils fatigue him, and no fears appal;
Oft turns he at the glimpse of swampy deep,