Ere yet your stay be spent,
And music shall be struck—shall charm and please
You to contented ease.”
Then dropt a quiet o’er the enhancéd glee,
As when a Boreal night dusks o’er a frigid sea.
Next grew a hymning sonnet, worded well,
Up ’mid the oaken boles, whose listening green
Tented the Dryad scene,
Wavering across the silence with a spell
Worthy to sink the yesty broil of waves,