A RUSTIC SEAT NEAR THE SEA.

By William Lisle Bowles

To him, who, many a night upon the main,

At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side,

Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide,

Oh, how delightful smile thy views again,

Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill

That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill

That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky,

Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower,

That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower;

And hedge-rows, where the small birds’ melody

Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad!

O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad

At thought of many evils which do press

On wide humanity!— Look up; address

The GOD who made the world; but let thy heart

Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part,

That, sheltered from the human storms’ career,

Thou meetest innocence and quiet here.