Swift and more swift the yielding bark impelled:
Across her stem the parting waters run,
As clouds, by tempests wafted, pass the sun.
Impatient thus she darts along the shore,
Till Ida’s mount, and Jove’s are seen no more;
And while aloof from Retimo she steers,
Maleca foreland full in front appears.
Wide o’er yon Isthmus stands the cypress grove,
That once inclosed the hallowed fane of Jove;
Here too, memorial of his name! is found