But with redoubling force the tempests blow,
And watery hills in dread succession flow;
A dismal shade o’ercast the frowning skies,
New troubles grow; fresh difficulties rise;
No season this from duty to descend,
‘All hands on deck’ must now the storm attend.
His race performed, the sacred lamp of day
Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray:
His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze,
Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;