Oh fly these shores, unfurl the gather’d sail, 

Lo, heaven, thy guide, commands the rising gale;

Hark, loud it rustles, see, the gentle tide

Invites thy prows; the winds thy lingering chide. 

Here such dire welcome is for thee prepared

As × Diomed’s unhappy strangers shared;

His hapless guests at silent midnight bled, 

On their torn limbs his snorting coursers fed. 

Oh, fly, or here with strangers blood 

Busiris’ altars thou shalt find renew’d:

Amidst his slaughter’d guests his altars stood

Obscene with gore, and bark’d with human blood:

Then thou, beloved of heaven, my counsel hear; 

Right by the coast thine onward journey steered, [continued]

× Diomede, a tyrant of Thrace, who fed his horses with human flesh; a thing, says the grave Castera, presque incroyable, almost incredible. Busiris was a king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers.

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