The moon had circled twice her wayward zone,
To him since young Arion first was known;
Who wandering here through many a scene renown’d,
In Alexandria’s port the vessel found;
Where, anxious to review his native shore,
He on the roaring wave embarked once more.
Oft by pale Cynthia’s melancholy light
With him Palemon kept the watch of night,
In whose sad bosom many a sigh supprest
Some painful secret of the soul confest: