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XV.
"Swift, o'er the plain of burning Sand
"My course I bent to thee;
"And soon I reach'd the billowy strand
"Which bounds the stormy Sea.—
"Draco! my Love! Oh yet, thy Zelma's soul
"Springs ardently to thee,—impatient of controul.
XVI.
"Again the lightning flashes white—
"The rattling cords among!
"Now, by the transient vivid light,
"I mark the frantic throng!
"Now up the tatter'd shrouds my Draco flies—
While o'er the plunging prow, the curling billows rise.
XVII.
"The topmast falls—three shackled slaves—
"Cling to the Vessel's side!
"Now lost amid the madd'ning waves—
"Now on the mast they ride—
"See! on the forecastle my Draco stands
"And now he waves his chain, now clasps his bleeding hands.
