LYRICAI? PIgCESo When the moon is softly bright,.. The rippling tide we stem, And 'tis we, who.draw the iine? of light. � Round the horizon's. hem.. 241 In the wake of the .glancing boat, We sport, where the wave is riven, Round the'foam of the oar in brightness float, Like stars, o'er the ocean's heaven. When the storm is raging loud,. And down sinks the bark in the wave, Of sea-weed we weave the sailor's shroud, And dig deep his sandy grave: Or to warn him, erethe shock Stifle his dying groan, We kindle a flame, on the cold barren rock, Where earthly flame never shone; When bright is the western blaze, Where Phoebus his goal has won, We wed the waves to his golden rays, The bridal of sea and .sun.