As lightning glances on th’ electric wire:
Yet ah! the languid colours vainly strive
To bid the scene in native hues revive.
But lo! at last, from tenfold darkness born,
Forth issues o’er the wave the weeping morn:
Hail, sacred Vision! who, on orient wings,
The cheering dawn of light propitious brings;
All nature smiling hailed the vivid ray
That gave her beauties to returning day,
All but our ship! which, groaning on the tide,