Then anchor'd vessels in the way appear, And sea-boys greet them as they pass--"What cheer?" The sleeping shell-ducks at the sound arise, And utter loud their unharmonious cries; 170 Fluttering, they move their weedy beds among, Or, instant diving, hide their plumeless young. Along the wall, returning from the town, The weary rustic homeward wanders down; Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew, And feels his envy rising at the view; He the light speech and laugh indignant hears, And feels more press'd by want, more vex'd by fears. Ah! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home, Nor fancy these escape the general doom; 180 Gay as they seem, be sure with them are hearts With sorrow tried; there's sadness in their parts. If thou couldst see them when they think alone, Mirth, music, friends, and these amusements gone; Couldst thou discover every secret ill That pains their spirit, or resists their will; Couldst thou behold forsaken Love's distress, Or Envy's pang at glory and success, Or Beauty, conscious of the spoils of Time, Or Guilt, alarm'd when Memory shows the crime-- 190 All that gives sorrow, terror, grief, and gloom: Content would cheer thee, trudging to thine home[62]. There are, 'tis true, who lay their cares aside, And bid some hours in calm enjoyment glide; Perchance some fair-one to the sober night Adds (by the sweetness of her song) delight; And, as the music on the water floats, Some bolder shore returns the soften'd notes; Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire To banish caution and to wake desire; 200 The day's amusement, feasting, beauty, wine, } These accents sweet and this soft hour combine, } When most unguarded, then to win that heart of thine: } But see, they land! the fond enchantment flies, And in its place life's common views arise. Sometimes a party, row'd from town, will land On a small islet form'd of shelly sand, Left by the water when the tides are low, But which the floods in their return o'erflow: There will they anchor, pleased awhile to view 210 The watery waste, a prospect wild and new; The now receding billows give them space On either side the growing shores to pace; And then, returning, they contract the scene, Till small and smaller grows the walk between, As sea to sea approaches, shore to shores, Till the next ebb the sandy isle restores. Then what alarm! what danger and dismay, If all their trust, their boat should drift away; And once it happen'd--gay the friends advanced; 220 They walk'd, they ran, they play'd, they sang, they danced; The urns were boiling, and the cups went round, And not a grave or thoughtful face was found; On the bright sand they trod with nimble feet,