THE PHŒNIX.
Beyond the Ind, in ocean's utmost flood
Embosom'd rests a fair and verdant wood;
First spot that feels the breath of Phœbus' steeds,
As through the dewy gates his car proceeds,
And hears his lash, when rosy tints betray
The near arrival of the breaking day:
And, shrouded deep in pallid garb, the Night
Seeks her far refuge from the wheels of light.
In that fair region, to mankind denied,
The bird of Titan dwells in blissful pride:
From noxious contact with our world debarr'd,
The Sun's fierce splendours his unfailing guard.
A god-like bird—coeval with the skies—
Whom weary Time with life still new supplies—
Who not on common aliment is fed,
Who quaffs no draught from earthly fountain-head:
The sun's pure warmth sustains him, and the breeze
That wafts refreshment from the gentle seas.
