XLVIII.

'Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle, 'Stunned with the eternal turbulence of waves, 'Lo, with dim eyes, that never learned to smile, 'And trembling hands, the famished native craves 'Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves, 'Or scorched 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.