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What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play,
Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore
Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore.
Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields
With meteor standard to the winds unfurl'd,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.
Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles ; Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow;
And waft, across the waves tumultuous roar,
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay;
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep,
The grot that heard his song of other times,
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind,
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam)
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.
Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour,
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power ;
When front to front the banner'd hosts combine,
And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore.
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep,
To wake each joyless morn, and search again
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,
Knows not a trace of Nature but the form;
Pierc'd the deep woods, and, hailing from afar
The moon's pale planet and the northern star ;
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend! ?