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.
When close beneath the forest's pride
The upland's group of cattle throng,
And sultry heat dissevers wide
The feather'd host of tuneful song;
Then when a still, dead, settled calm
O'er earth, and air, and sea prevail,
And lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.

~169~~

EVENING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

When twilight tints with sober gray
The distant hills, and o'er the wave
The mellow glow of parting day
Crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave;
Then when the sea-bird seeks the mast,
And signal lights illume the tower,
And sails are furl'd, and anchors cast,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When o'er the beach the rippling wave
Breaks gently, heaving to and fro,
Like maiden bosoms, ere the knave
Of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe;
Then, when the watch their vigils keep,
And grog, and song, and jest have power
To laugh to scorn the peril'd deep,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When Cynthia sheds her mystic light
In silv'ry circles o'er the main;
And Hecate spreads her veil of night
O'er hearts that ne'er may meet again;
Then, Anna, blest with thee, I stray
'Mid scenes of bliss--through nature's bower;
While eve's star guides us on our way,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.

It has often been