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What marvel if, when all was lost, Still on thy bright, enchanted coast, Though many an omen warn'd him thence, Linger'd the lord of eloquence?11 Still gazing on the lovely sky, Whose radiance woo'd him—but to die: Like him who would not linger there, Where heaven, earth, ocean, all are fair? Who midst thy glowing scenes could dwell, Nor bid awhile his griefs farewell? Hath not thy pure and genial air Balm for all sadness but despair?12 No! there are pangs, whose deep-worn trace Not all thy magic can efface! Hearts, by unkindness wrung, may learn The world and all its gifts to spurn; Time may steal on with silent tread, And dry the tear that mourns the dead; May change fond love, subdue regret, And teach e'en vengeance to forget: But thou, Remorse! there is no charm, Thy sting, avenger, to disarm! Vain are bright suns and laughing skies, To sooth thy victim's agonies: