No sound is on the summer seas,
But the low dashing of the oar,
And faintly sighs the midnight breeze
Through woods that fringe the rocky shore.
That boat has reach’d the silent bay—
The dashing oar has ceased to play;
The breeze has murmur’d and has died
In forest shades, on ocean’s tide.
No step, no tone, no breath of sound
Disturbs the loneliness profound;