And Phœbus in the north declines no more,
The watchful mariner, whom Heaven informs,
Oft deems the prelude of approaching storms.—
No dread of storms the master’s soul restrain,
A captive fettered to the oar of gain:
His anxious heart, impatient of delay,
Expects the winds to sail from Candia’s bay,
Determined, from whatever point they rise,
To trust his fortune to the seas and skies.
Thou living ray of intellectual fire,