It changed, of course--a heavenly chameleon,

The airy child of vapour and the sun, Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion, Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, And blending every colour into one.

As morning broke, the light wind died away,
When he who had the watch sung out and swore;
If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray,

He wish'd that land he never might see more.
And the rest rubbed their eyes, and saw a bay,

Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore

For shore it was, and gradually grew
Distinct, and high, and palpable to view.

And then of these some part burst into tears,
And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,
And seemed as if they had no further care;
While a few pray'd-the first time for some years-
And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep they shook them by the hand and head,
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.
-BYRON.