But long time pass'd not, ere that brighter Cloud
Returned more bright: along the Plain it swept;
And soon from forth its bursting sides emerg'd415
A dazzling Form, broad-bosom'd, bold of Eye,
And wild her hair save where by Laurels bound.
Not more majestic stood the healing God
When from his Bow the arrow sped, that slew
Huge Python. Shriek'd Ambition's ghastly throng,420
And with them those, the locust Fiends that crawl'd
And glitter'd in Corruption's slimy track.
Great was their wrath, for short they knew their reign.
And such Commotion made they and Uproar
As when the mad Tornado bellows thro'425
The guilty Islands of the western main,
What time departing for their native shores,
Eboe,[1] or Koromantyn's plain of Palms,
The infuriate Spirits of the Murder'd make
- ↑ Line 428. The Slaves in the West-India Islands consider Death as a passport to their native Country.—This Sentiment is thus expressed in the Introduction to a Greek Prize Ode on the Slave-Trade, of which the Ideas are better than the Language or Metre, in which they are conveyed:
