The floods recoil! the ground appears below! 750 And life's faint embers now rekindling glow; Awhile they wait the exhausted waves' retreat, Then climb slow up the beach with hands and feet. O Heaven! deliver'd by whose sovereign hand Still on destruction's brink they shuddering stand, Receive the languid incense they bestow, That, damp with death, appears not yet to glow: To thee each soul the warm oblation pays With trembling ardour of unequal praise; In every heart dismay with wonder strives, 760 And hope the sicken'd spark of life revives; Her magic powers their exiled health restore, Till horror and despair are felt no more. Roused by the blustering tempest of the night, A troop of Grecians mount Colonna's height; When, gazing down with horror on the flood, Full to their view the scene of ruin stood-- The surf with mangled bodies strew'd around, And those yet breathing on the sea-wash'd ground: Though lost to science and the nobler arts, 770 Yet nature's lore inform'd their feeling hearts; Straight down the vale with hastening steps they hied, The unhappy sufferers to assist and guide. Meanwhile those three escaped beneath explore The first adventurous youth who reached the shore. Panting, with eyes averted from the day, Prone, helpless, on the tangly beach he lay. It is Palemon! oh, what tumults roll With hope and terror in Arion's soul!-- "If yet unhurt he lives again to view 780 His friend, and this sole remnant of our crew, With us to travel through this foreign zone, And share the future good or ill unknown?" Arion thus; but ah, sad doom of fate! That bleeding memory sorrows to relate; While yet afloat, on some resisting rock His ribs were dash'd, and fractured with the shock: Heart-piercing sight! those cheeks so late array'd In beauty's bloom, are pale with mortal shade; Distilling blood his lovely breast o'erspread, 790 And clogg'd the golden tresses of his head; Nor yet the lungs by this pernicious stroke Were wounded, or the vocal organs broke. Down from his neck, with blazing gems array'd, Thy image, lovely Anna! hung portray'd; The unconscious figure, smiling all serene, Suspended in a golden chain was seen. Hadst thou, soft maiden! in this hour of woe Beheld him writhing from the deadly blow, What force of art, what language could express 800 Thine agony, thine exquisite distress? But thou, alas! art doom'd to weep in vain For him thine eyes shall never see again. With dumb amazement pale, Arion gazed, And cautiously the wounded youth upraised: Palemon then, with equal pangs oppress'd,