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68 In that great hazy harbour of Bombay, None could discover, though they sought for long, Where our wee "Lady" had bestow'd herself!

How glorious and amiable some scenes Of gorgeous loveliness, and human joy, That pass before mine inner eyes to-night! For there is unsophisticated joy, Yea, hardy virtue in rude nature's child; And there are sins, with poignant miseries, Our subtler, jaded brains impart to him. Witness, the desolation and despair$15$ Of guileless peoples, beautiful and kind, Basking in smiles of bounteous mother Earth, Wrought by pale Spaniards; whom they held divine, Descended from the crystal firmament, In silks and flashing armour, on white wings Of golden galleons; offering on their knees Flowers and fruits and spices of their isle! And you, ye murderers of Patteson! Not poor blind islanders, but English fiends!