When still and slow the murmuring swell
Of ocean, rising from his throne,
O'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell
To prayer invites the college drone;
Then, when the pennant floats on high,
And anchor's weigh'd again to rove,
And tuneful larks ascend the sky,
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When, by unerring nature's power,
Creation breaks the spell of night,
And plants their leaves expand and flow'r,
And all around breathes gay delight;
Then when the herdsman opes his fold
To let the merry lambkin rove,
And distant hills are tipt with gold,
Then young hearts wake to life and love,
~168~~
NOON IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When toiling 'neath meridian sun
The boatman plies the lab'ring oar,
And sportive nymphs the margin shun
Of ocean's pebble-parched shore;
Then when beneath some shadowy cliff,
O'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale,
The trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When Nature, languid, seems to rest,
Nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave,
And Zephyrs sleep, by Sol caress'd,
And sportive swallows skim the lave;
Then, when by early toil oppress'd,
The peasant seeks the glen or dale,
Enjoys his frugal meal and rest,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
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