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In that great hazy harbour of Bombay,
None could discover, though they sought for long,
Where our wee "Lady" had bestow'd herself!

⁠How glorious and amiable some scenes
Of gorgeous loveliness, and human joy,
That pass before mine inner eyes to-night!
For there is unsophisticated joy,
Yea, hardy virtue in rude nature's child;
And there are sins, with poignant miseries,
Our subtler, jaded brains impart to him.
Witness, the desolation and despair¹⁵
Of guileless peoples, beautiful and kind,
Basking in smiles of bounteous mother Earth,
Wrought by pale Spaniards; whom they held divine,
Descended from the crystal firmament,
In silks and flashing armour, on white wings
Of golden galleons; offering on their knees
Flowers and fruits and spices of their isle!
And you, ye murderers of Patteson!
Not poor blind islanders, but English fiends!