Cowper—Task.
36. When the moon
Bends her new silver bow, as if to fling
Her arrowy lustre through some vapor's wing.
Park Benjamin.
37. Be it the summer noon; a sandy space
The ebbing tide has left upon its place,
While the broad basin of the ocean keeps
An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps,
Then, slowly sinking, curling to the strand,