When on the wave the breeze soft kisses flings,
I rouse my fearful heart and long to be
Floating at leisure on the tranquil sea;
But when the hoary ocean loudly rings,
Arches his foamy back and spooming swings
Wave upon wave, his angry swell I flee.
Then welcome land and sylvan shade to me,
Where, if a gale blows, still the pine-tree sings.
Hard is his life whose nets the ocean sweep,
A bark his house--shy fish his slippery prey;
But sweet to me the unsuspicious sleep
Beneath a leafy plane--the fountain's play,
That babbles idly, or whose tones if deep
Delight the rural ear and not affray.