There is a glamour all about the bay,
As if the nymphs of Greece had tarried here.
The sands are golden, and the rocks appear
Crested with silver; and the breezes play
Snatches of song they humm'd when far away,
And then are hush'd, as if from sudden fear.
V.
They think of thee. They hunt; they meditate.
They will not quit the shore till they have seen
The very spot where thou did'st stand serene