But now, beneath the lofty vessel’s stern, A shoal of sportive dolphins they discern Beaming from burnished scales refulgent rays, Till all the glowing ocean seems to blaze: In curling wreaths they wanton on the tide, Now bound aloft, now downward swiftly glide; Awhile beneath the waves their tracks remain, And burn in silver streams along the liquid plain. Soon to the sport of death the crew repair, Dart the long lance, or spread the baited snare. One in redoubling mazes wheels along, And glides unhappy near the triple prong: Rodmond, unerring, o’er his head suspends The barbed steel, and every turn attends; Unerring aimed, the missile weapon flew, And, plunging, struck the fatal victim through; Th’ upturning points his ponderous bulk sustain, On deck he struggles with convulsive pain: But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills, And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills, What radiant changes strike th’ astonished sight! What glowing hues of mingled shade and light! Not equal beauties gild the lucid west With parting beams all o’er profusely drest, Not lovelier colours paint the vernal dawn, When orient dews impearl th’ enamelled lawn; Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow, That now with gold empyreal seem to glow; Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view, And emulate the soft celestial hue; Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye, And now assume the purple’s deeper dye: But here description clouds each shining ray; What terms of art can Nature’s powers display! The lighter sails, for summer winds and seas, Are now dismissed, the straining masts to ease; Swift on the deck the stud-sails all descend, Which ready seamen from the yards unbend; The boats then hoisted in are fixed on board, And on the deck with fastening gripes secured. The watchful ruler of the helm no more With fixed attention eyes th’ adjacent shore, But by the oracle of truth below, The wonderous magnet, guides the wayward prow. The powerful sails, with steady breezes swelled, Swift and more swift the yielding bark impelled: Across her stem the parting waters run, As clouds, by tempests wafted, pass the sun. Impatient thus she darts along the shore, Till Ida’s mount, and Jove’s are seen no more; And while aloof from Retimo she steers, Maleca foreland full in front appears. Wide o’er yon Isthmus stands the cypress grove, That once inclosed the hallowed fane of Jove; Here too, memorial of his name! is found A tomb in marble ruins on the ground: This gloomy tyrant, whose despotic sway Compelled the trembling nations to obey, Through Greece for murder, rape, and incest known, The Muses raised to high Olympus’ throne; For oft, alas! their venal strains adorn The prince, whom blushing virtue holds in scorn: