"'Sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge,
A shipwrecked sailor, waiting for a sail.'
"I am sure Tennyson saw our island with poetic eye, for he goes on—
"'No sail from day to day, but every day
The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts
Among the palms and ferns and precipices;
The blaze upon the waters to the east;
The blaze upon his island overhead;
The blaze upon the waters to the west;
Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven,