Borne on the tempest’s wings the isle she past:
With longing eyes, and agony of mind,
The sailors view this refuge left behind;
Happy to bribe with India’s richest ore
A safe accession to that barren shore—
When in the dark Peruvian mine confin’d,
Lost to the cheerful commerce of mankind,
The groaning captive wastes his life away,
For ever exiled from the realms of day,
Not half such pangs his bosom agonize