Where'er he moves Palemon still attends, As if on him his only hope depends; While Rodmond, fearful of some neighbouring shore, 120 Cries, ever and anon, Look out afore! Thus o'er the flood four hours she scudding flew, When Falconera's rugged cliffs they view Faintly along the larboard bow descried, As o'er its mountain tops the lightnings glide; High o'er its summit, through the gloom of night, The glimmering watch-tower casts a mournful light: In dire amazement riveted they stand, And hear the breakers lash the rugged strand; But scarce perceived, when past the beam it flies, 130 Swift as the rapid eagle cleaves the skies: That danger past reflects a feeble joy, But soon returning fears their hope destroy. As in the Atlantic ocean, when we find Some Alp of ice driven southward by the wind, The sultry air all sickening pants around, In deluges of torrid ether drown'd; Till when the floating isle approaches nigh, In cooling tides the aerial billows fly: Awhile deliver'd from the scorching heat, 140 In gentler tides our feverish pulses beat: Such transient pleasure, as they pass'd this strand, A moment bade their throbbing hearts expand; The illusive meteors of a lifeless fire, Too soon they kindle, and too soon expire. III. Say, Memory! thou, from whose unerring tongue Instructive flows the animated song, What regions now the scudding ship surround? Regions of old through all the world renown'd; That, once the poet's theme, the Muses' boast, 150 Now lie in ruins, in oblivion lost! Did they whose sad distress these lays deplore, Unskill'd in Grecian or in Roman lore, Unconscious pass along each famous shore? They did: for in this desert, joyless soil, No flowers of genial science deign to smile; Sad Ocean's genius, in untimely hour, Withers the bloom of every springing flower; For native tempests here, with blasting breath, Despoil, and doom the vernal buds to death; 160 Here fancy droops, while sullen clouds and storm, The generous temper of the soul deform: Then if, among the wandering naval train, One stripling, exiled from the Aonian plain, Had e'er, entranced in fancy's soothing dream, Approach'd to taste the sweet Castalian stream (Since those salubrious streams, with power divine, To purer sense the soften'd soul refine); Sure he, amid unsocial mates immured, To learning lost, severer grief endured; 170 In vain might Phoebus' ray his mind inspire, Since fate with torrents quench'd the kindling fire: If one this pain of living death possess'd, It dwelt supreme, Arion! in thy breast;