Still o'er the pathless waste, with rapid force, Led by th' encreasing ray, we urge the course. Surrounding dolphins gambol o'er the tide, And deck the blue-green wave with silver pride: Swift from the beautious tyrant, the weak fry Forsake the flood, and arid ether try, Spread the moist wing—attempt th' untoward height, And in short soarings urge their trembling flight. The breathing porpus cleaves his pond'rous way, The flouncing skipjacks bound in liquid play;  Bonitoes court the spray on either side, And Albicores in shining mazes glide: While huge Leviathan, in monarch mood, Spooms, like an island, thro' the subject flood. At length assisted by the boreal breeze, And southward urg'd by swift-pursuing seas, Close in our liquid path blue mountains rise, Lifting their misty summits to the skies; The clust'ring isles, (once Fortune's own domain) That break the surges of th' _Atlantic_ main. High on our left, rear'd by volcanic fires, Shading all ocean, _Teneriffe_ aspires; Above the topmost clouds, with giant might, Heaves his _Promethean_ peak to seize the light; And thro' conducting veins, with chemic pow'r, Recruits exhausted nature's fiery store. While from the West ambrosial scents exhale, As _Palma_ shakes her orchards to the gale. Up from the rocky beach the clusters run, And spread their purple ripeness to the sun. The varied scenes we pass with luckless speed, The fleeting beauties rapidly recede. For, from the mazy chambers of the sky, Loos'd by chill _Boreas_, all the breezes fly; From the bright pole with force gigantic hurl'd, Urge the swift passage through the wat'ry world. Unconscious winds, why waft your speeding gales? Why breath your influence on the ruffian sails? Is it yon ensign, waving high in air, With _British_ crimson dy'd, that claims your care? Alas! unconscious winds—yon waving red, With _British_ honours so profanely spread, Is not the hallow'd standard, whose high fame Leads _Albion_'s sons to deeds of proud acclaim; Is not the flag, with whose protecting sway Commerce exulting sweeps the wat'ry way. Beneath that specious banner, the dark pow'r Of savage rigour ripens ev'ry hour: The bloating poison swells the feeble bound, And bursting throws the rankled venom round.