“Sweet strains of gentle melody we breathe,
And call the fishes from our depths beneath;
And gilded with the spring-tide’s golden rays,
We make thee on our merry revels gaze.
“And songs of love we warble in thine ear,
From morning dawn until the stars appear:—
We fondle thee, and on thine aged breast
Our passions lull, and bid them sink to rest.”
The wavelets hasten, moving to and fro,