O’er Ida flaming with meridian ray;
Relaxed from toil, the sailors range the shore,
Where famine, war, and storm are felt no more;
The hour to social pleasure they resign,
And black remembrance drown in generous wine.
On deck, beneath the shading canvass spread,
Rodmond a rueful tale of wonders read
Of dragons roaring on th’ enchanted coast;
The hideous goblin and the yelling ghost:
But with Arion, from the sultry heat