Holds thy light wing in slumber furl’d?
Awake! o’er glittering seas to rove:
Awake! to guide the bark of love!
Swift fly the midnight hours, and soon
Shall fade the bright propitious moon;
Soon shall the waning stars grow pale,
E’en now—but lo! the rustling sail
Swells to the new-sprung ocean gale!
The bark glides on—their fears are o’er;
Recedes the bold romantic shore,