The weary boatman rests his oar,
Glides slowly, that his eye may seek
The shelter of some friendly creek.
Abroad the night winds freely rove,
And countless fire-flies deck the grove.
Swift-winged brilliants! gems of light!
Bright jewels of the tropic night,
Than which the diamond of the mine
In richer lustre ne’er could shine!
Now sparkling forth from nook and bay,