MOONLIGHT AND CALM AT SEA.
When every breeze is hush'd to rest,
And the soft zephyr of the dappled west
Its voice does lose;
When Dian's silver light does sleep,
O'er the smooth bosom of the deep,
How sweet to muse!
When ocean's swelling bosom bright,
Seems studded o'er with golden light,
Of many a star;
And the wild sea fowls' harsh shrill strain
Echoing along th' unruffled main
Is heard afar;
'Tis then each rising care does sleep
With the soft stillness of the deep,
In sympathetic power.
'Tis then each swelling pulse does thrill,
And sweetest bliss the heart does fill,
In such an hour.
The soul too fond is soothed to rest;
By mild serenity possess'd,
Nor thinks the storm is nigh;
But soon the placid scene is o'er,
And swelling ocean round does roar,
Contesting with the sky.
'Tis thus on life's deceitful tide,
With placid course we seem to glide,
All free from care;
But soon the too delusive charm,
Flies fast away with every calm,
And prospect fair!
Then happy they, who list'ning hear,
The voice that speaks the tempest near.
And arms for every ill;
The whirlwind blast is then disarmed,
Of many a shaft that would have harm'd
And half the storm is still.