’Twas done, detected—I am here.”
· · · · ·
Her haven the stately ship has won,
The convict crew to their toils have gone.
There’s a grove of palms in that southern isle,
Through their coronaled tops the moonbeams smile
On a fairy hut, where vine-boughs throw
Their cluster’d wealth o’er the lattice low,
And dim the silvery rays that pour
Their brightness aslant the humble floor.