A golden haze
Has made the bright sea dreamy; and near coasts
Look far, and faint as sunshine-faded ghosts.
From neighbouring bays
A mingled sense of odoriferous wood
And fallen blossoms floats upon the flood
That scarcely heaves, save where the dolphins play;
While some few sea-gulls motionlessly brood.
And o’er that sea,
Bright, tepid, calm, the sunset breezes waft
A chant of sailors from a home-bound craft;
The white gulls flee
At its approach; while from the beach, where run
The tidings of return and riches won,
Come other chants to welcome distantly
The ship that seems to sail from out the sun.
Oh ply the oar,
Ye sun-tanned youths! does patient love not wait
With tight-strained heart, intent upon your fate?
The old loved shore
Is close, close, close! ye hear the lyre’s loud strings--
Ye almost hear the words that gladness sings.
Oh ply the oar with might, and each shall pour
Into Love’s lap the treasures that he brings!