And on the sloping beach to bear the spray
Dash 'gainst some hoary vessel's broken side;
Whilst, far illumin'd by the parting ray,
The distant sail is faintly seen to glide.

Yes, 'tis Reflection's chosen hour; for then,
With pensive pleasure mingling o'er the scene,
Th' erratic mind treads over life again,
And gazes on the past with eye serene.

Those stormy passions which bedimm'd the soul,
That oft have bid the joys it treasur'd fly,
Now, like th' unruffled waves of Ocean, roll
With gentle lapse--their only sound a sigh.

The galling wrong no longer knits the brow,
Ambition feels the folly of her aim;
And Pity, from the heart expanding, now
Pants to extend relief to ev'ry claim.

Thus, as I sit beside the murm'ring sea,
And o'er its darkness trace light's parting streak,
I feel, O Nature! that serenity
Which vainly poetry like mine can speak!

O'er the drear tract of Time, Remembrance views
Some dear, some long-departed, pleasure gleam;--
So o'er the dark expanse the eye pursues
Upon the wat'ry edge a transient beam.