Was filled with ships, whose plethoric pinions bore
The treasures of an hundred sister lands to her heroic shore.
Even while I gazed, slowly along the quay,
Moving in melancholy march, to strains
Of heavy harmony, whose solemn sounds made pity in my veins,
A long procession, like a funeral,
Approached the shore. There, moored, a galley lay,
Black as the wings of night, like an eclipse blighting the light of day.
The crowd closed round: some stood, with lifted hands,
Adjuring heaven; some turned aside to hide