XIII.

But thou, fair world! whose fresh unsullied charms Welcomed Columbus from the western wave, Wilt thou receive the wanderer to thine arms,[15] The lost descendant of the immortal brave? Amidst the wild magnificence of shades That o’er thy floods their twilight-grandeur cast, In the green depth of thine untrodden glades Shall he not rear his bower of peace at last? Yes! thou hast many a lone, majestic scene, Shrined in primeval woods, where despot ne’er hath been.