Playest thou beneath with Proteus’ flock,

Or with the far-bound sea-bird wouldst thou fly?

OLD SELF.

I sit upon this sea-girt rock

With downward look and dreaming eye;

But neither do I sport with Proteus’ flock,

Nor with the far-bound sea-bird would I fly.

I list the splash, so clear and chill,

Of yon old fisher’s solitary oar;

I watch the waves, that rippling still,