That burn in sparkling trails along the main—
These fleetest coursers of the finny race,
When threatening clouds th’ ethereal vault deface,
Their route to leeward still sagacious form,
To shun the fury of th’ approaching storm.
III. Fair Candia now no more beneath her lee
Protects the vessel from th’ insulting sea;
Round her broad arms impatient of control,
Roused from the secret deep, to billows roll:
Sunk were the bulwarks of the friendly shore,