Ah wretched Isle! ah murderous, murderous race!
The guilt, the memory of this ruffian deed
What pains can expiate, or what time efface?
Henceforth no ship shall spread her canvas wing
To visit that inhospitable strand;
Save that in after times if chance shall bring
Some bark storm driven near the hateful land;
Ev’n then the hardy mariner shall mourn;
And as he views it rising from the main,
Far from the inhuman shore his prow shall turn,