Nor waits the wave’s return’; and now again
Safe on the shore, and rescued from the main,
Prostrate she falls, and thanks the Sire of life,
Whose arm hath snatched her from the billowy strife.
That duty done, she rose, and gazed around:
Mossed are the rocks, and flowers bestrew the ground.
Not distant far, a group of fragrant trees
Bend with their golden fruit. The ocean-breeze
Shakes a gigantic palm, which o’er a cave
Its dark green foliage spreads, and wildly wave