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eyes; While others scoff'd his augur'd miseries, Sneer'd at the prospect of his pigmy sail, And the slight bark so laden and so frail. The tender nautilus, who steers his prow, The sea-born sailor of his shell canoe, The ocean Mab, the fairy of the sea, Seems far less fragile, and, alas! more free.

He, when the lightning-wing'd tornadoes sweep

The surge, is safe (his port is in the deep) And triumphs o'er the armadas of mankind,

Which shake the world, yet crumble in the wind.

VIII

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