XLIX.

"Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle, Stunn'd with th' eternal turbulence of waves, Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile, And trembling hands, the famish'd native craves Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves, Or scorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day; But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray, And to a happier land wafts merrily away!