Until the foremost with exulting roar,
Rose proudly crested o’er his brother slaves,
And dashed triumphant to the groaning shore.”
The ocean finally passes from her sleeping vision and the winged travellers fly into a different scene—
“We look on England’s woodland fresh and green,”
and a beautiful picture is presented of the rural scenery of Great Britain, until the scene changes again to some romantic resting-place of the dead, to some Père la Chaise, or Laurel Hill, or Mount Auburn, to a—
“heath
Where yew and cypress seemed to wave
O’er countless tombs, so beautiful, that death
Seemed here to make a garden of the grave.”