Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/131

 Th'impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, And Mecca saddens at the long delay.

chief at sea, whose every flexile wave Obeys the blast, th' aërial tumult swells. In the dread ocean, undulating wide, Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe, The circling Typhon, whirl'd from point to point, Exhausting all the rage of all the sky, And dire Ecnephia reign. Amid the heavens, Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells. Of no regard, save to the skilful eye, Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs Aloft, or on the promontory's brow Musters its force. A feint deceitful calm, A fluttering gale, the demon sends before, To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once, Precipitant, descends a mingled mass Of roaring winds, and flame, and rushing floods. In wild amazement fix'd the sailor stands. Art is too slow: By rapid fate oppress'd, His broad-wing'd vessel drinks the whelming tide, Hid in the bosom of the black abyss. With such mad seas the daring fought. For many a day, and many a dreadful night, Incessant, lab'ring round the stormy cape; By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst Of gold. For then from ancient gloom emerg'd The rising world of trade: the Genius, then, Of