That coils up a tree from a dusky brake;
It hath touch’d the sails, and their canvass rolls
Away from its breath into shrivell’d scrolls;
It hath taken the flag’s high place in the air,
And redden’d the stars with its wavy glare;
And sent out bright arrows, and soar’d in glee,
To a burning mount midst the moonlight sea.
The swimmers are plunging from stern and prow—
Eudora! Eudora! where, where art thou?
The slave and his master alike are gone.—