SONNET
[
43
]
XLIII
.
THE
unhappy
exile
,
whom
his
fates
confine
To
the
bleak
coast
of
some
unfriendly
isle
,
Cold
,
barren
,
desert
,
where
no
harvests
smile
,
But
thirst
and
hunger
on
the
rocks
repine
;
When
,
from
some
promontory's
fearful
brow
,
Sun
after
sun
he
hopeless
sees
decline
In
the
broad
shipless
sea
—
perhaps
may
know
Such
heartless
pain
,
such
blank
despair
as
mine
;
And
,
if
a
flatt'ring
cloud
appears
to
show
The
fancied
semblance
of
a
distant
sail
,
Then
melts
away
—
anew
his
spirits
fail
,
While
the
lost
hope
but
aggravates
his
woe
!
Ah
!
so
for
me
delusive
Fancy
toils
,
Then
,
from
contrasted
truth
—
my
feeble
soul
recoils
.