And turn each pleasure passed to present woe.

But lo! The sun beneath the waves retires;

Night speeds apace her empire to restore:

Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires,

Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.

Oh! breathe not, winds! Still be the water’s motion!

Sleep, sleep, my bark, in silence on the main!

So when tomorrow’s light shall gild the ocean,

Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.

Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning,

Fresh blows the gale, and high the billows swell:

Far shall we be before the break of morning;

Oh! then forever, native Spain, farewell!