XIII.

The deed was over! All were gone or ta'en, The fugitive, the captive, or the slain. Chained on the deck, where once, a gallant crew, They stood with honour, were the wretched few 360 Survivors of the skirmish on the isle; But the last rock left no surviving spoil. Cold lay they where they fell, and weltering, While o'er them flapped the sea-birds' dewy wing, Now wheeling nearer from the neighbouring surge, And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge: But calm and careless heaved the wave below, Eternal with unsympathetic flow; Far o'er its face the Dolphins sported on, And sprung the flying fish against the sun, 370 Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height, To gather moisture for another flight.