Q3 



Perpetual sunbeams round him stream ; 

 His bronzed limbs shine with golden gleam ; 

 The spicy spray from his wheels that showers, 

 Makes the sense ache with its odorous powers. 



Myriads of monsters, who people the caves 



Of ocean, attendant plough the waves ; 



Sharks and crocodiles bask in his blaze, 



And whales spout the waters which dance in his rays. 



And as onward floats that triumph gay, 

 The light sea-breezes around it play ; 

 While at his royal feet lie bound 

 The Ouragans, hush'd in sleep profound. 



Dark Genius, hear a stranger's prayer, 

 Nor suffer those winds to ravage and tear 

 Jamaica's savannas, and loose to fly, 

 Mingling the earth, and the sea, and the sky. 



From thy locks on my harvest of sweets diffuse, 

 To swell my canes, refreshing dews ; 

 And kindly breathe, with cooling powers, 

 Through my coffee walks and shaddock bowers. 



Let not thy strange diseases prey 



On my life ; but scare from my couch away 



The yellow Plague's imps ; and safe let me rest 



From that dread black demon, who racks the breast: 



Nor force my throbbing temples to know 

 Thy sunbeam's sudden and maddening blow ; 

 Nor bid thy day-flood blaze too bright 

 On nerves so fragile, and brain so light : 



And let me, returning in safety, view 

 Thy triumph again on the ocean blue; 

 And in Britain I '11 oft with flowers entwine 

 The Tropic Sovereign's ebony shrine ! 



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