Classic Poem

But he of whom I sing was soon afloat,
Viewing these glories with a heedless eye;
Stern, silent spectres, watching for his boat,
His fancy on the island shore could spy,
Which seemed to menace him from drawing nigh.
Poor man! how much he felt no mortal knows;
Despite his hopes and expectations high,
He felt like wretch who to his exit goes,
When first through glittering files, the waiting scaffold shows.