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The pilot heard — " Oh ! spring of life," he cried, 

 fi< How bright and beauteous seems the world untried ! 

 I too, like you, in youth's romantic bowers 

 Dreamt not of wasps in fruit, nor thorns in flowers ; 

 And when on banks of sand the sunbeams shone, 

 I deemed each sparkling flint a precious stone. 

 Ah ! noble lady, learn, that isle so fair, 

 The fields all roses, and all balm the air, 

 That isle is one, where every leaf's a spell, 

 Where no good thing e'er dwelt, nor e'er shall dwell. 

 No fisher, forced from home by adverse breeze, 

 Would slake his thirst from yon infernal trees : 

 No shipwrecked sailor from the following waves 

 Would seek a shelter in those haunted caves. 

 There flock the damned ! there Satan reigns, and revels ! 

 And thence yon isle is called " The Isle of Devils ! " 

 Nor think, on rumour's faith this tale is given : 

 Once, hot in youthful blood, when hell nor heaven 

 Much claimed my thoughts, (the truth with shame I tell ; 

 Holy St. Francis, guard thy votary well ! ) 

 In quest of water near that isle I drew : 

 When lo ! such monstrous forms appalled my view, 

 Such shrieks I heard, sounds all so strange and dread, 

 That from the strand with shuddering haste I fled, 

 Plyed as for life my oars, nor backward bent my head. 

 And though since then hath flown full many a year, 

 Still sinks my heart, still shake my limbs with fear, 

 Soon as yon awful island meets mine eye ! 

 Cross we our breasts ! say, ' Ave ! ' and pass by ! " 



IV. 



The isle is past. And still in tranquil pride 

 Bears the rich bark its treasures o'er the tide. 

 And now the sun, ere yet his lamp he shrouds, 

 Stains the pure western sky with crimson clouds: 

 Now from the sea's last verge he sheds his rays, 

 And sinks triumphant in a golden blaze. 



