A few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and
now our friends having departed to their homes, Horace and myself took
a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the
reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments
in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness
over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old
friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion
of the vessel into sweet repose. The events of the former evening, the
novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of Nature, as
she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the
transition ~167~~of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my Muse
to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island
scenery. A delightful pleasure I have endeavoured to convey to my
readers in the following rhymes.
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When o'er the foreland glimmering day
Just breaks above the eastern lulls,
And streaks of gold through misty gray
Dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills;
Then, when the landsman 'gins to mow
The perfumed crop on grounds above,
And sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo,"
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
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