Heaven’s blessing on his gallant name!—
My vision’d sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode[238] of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted[239] dream beguile?[240]
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!