So when primeval bliss through _Eden_ stream'd And young-ey'd innocence on pleasure beam'd, With heedless joy the unsuspecting pair, Revell'd in guiltless rapture, void of care. Stung with the sight, the soul-ensnaring fiend, _Slav'ry's first author_, with fell rancour grinn'd; Fermenting envy swell'd the villain-thought— How soon his kindred mates, with malice fraught, _Sin_, _Pain_, and _Death_, would throw their shades between, And blast with horror the delightful scene, Change the lov'd converse and th' enchanting air, To shrieks of woe and howlings of despair! Now tost beneath the vessel's ample side, The last boat lingers on the breaking tide. The bending deck receives the parting crowd; And shades of sorrow ev'ry face o'ercloud; Associates, friends, compress the burning hand; In pale dejection weeping maidens stand— Presageful, eye the liquid, wild abyss, And wet with tender tears the trembling kiss; Sink from the nerveless arm, in lost dismay, As the dread signal speeds the boat away. Three soul-expanding shouts the skies divide; Three wild, responsive cheers re-echo wide— The sweet vibrations tremble on the ear, The last delightful sounds they'll ever hear! And now the refluent boat evades the sight, High-mounting waves the vessels disunite. Still the white signal, fading, strains the eyes, Still the lorn lover with his hand replies; Till melting into air—the object lost— And duty sternly calling to his post, 'Twixt him and joy th' eternal curtain's drawn, No more of bliss to know returning dawn. Swift from the breezy north, assisting gales Impel the course, and swell the yielding sails. Before the sightless breeze the vessel flies, Clambers the mountain sea, and braves the skies; Or thund'ring down the depths that foam below, Ploughs up the surging brine with dashing prow. The rattling cordage whirls, the sail-yards strain, The winding pipe re-echoes o'er the main: Firm in their stations, ply th' obedient crowd, Trim the directing lines, and strain the shroud; Tug at the beating sheets with sinew'd force, And give the vast machine its steady course. Now, all that meets the vainly straining eye, Is boundless ocean and unmeasur'd sky. Unless perchance, beyond the wat'ry trace, _Iberia_'s purple hills th' horizon grace, Or on the right, with a whole vintage red, Storm-beat _Madeira_ waves her woody head.