XV.
“Swift, o’er the plain of burning Sand
“My course I bent to thee;
“And soon I reach’d the billowy strand
“Which bounds the stormy Sea.—
“Draco! my Love! Oh yet, thy Zelma’s soul
“Springs ardently to thee,—impatient of controul.
XVI.
“Again the lightning flashes white—
“The rattling cords among!