To call Arion this ill-fated swain;
For like that bard unhappy, on his head
Malignant stars their hostile influence shed:
Both, in lamenting numbers, o’er the deep
With conscious anguish taught the harp to weep:
And both the raging surge in safety bore
Amid destruction, panting to the shore:
This last, our tragic story from the wave
Of dark oblivion, haply, yet may save;
With genuine sympathy may yet complain,