“And sung the short-hour’d night away;
“And oft, upon the top-mast’s head,
“Hail’d the red Eye of coming day.
“The Tanyan’s back my mother bore;
“And oft the wavy Ganges’ roar
“Lull’d her to rest, as on she past—
“’Mid the hot sands and burning blast!
“And oft beneath the Banyan tree
“She sate and fondly nourish’d me;
“And while the noontide hour past slow,