Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire To banish caution and to wake desire; 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 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, 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, Dry shelly sand that made the summer-seat; The wondering mews flew fluttering o'er the head, And waves ran softly up their shining bed. Some form'd a party from the rest to stray, Pleased to collect the trifles in their way; These to behold they call their friends around, No friends can hear, or hear another sound; Alarm'd, they hasten, yet perceive not why, But catch the fear that quickens as they fly. For lo! a lady sage, who paced the sand With her fair children, one in either hand, Intent on home, had turn'd, and saw the boat Slipp'd from her moorings, and now far afloat; She gazed, she trembled, and though faint her call, It seem'd, like thunder, to confound them all. Their sailor-guides, the boatman and his mate, Had drank, and slept regardless of their state: "Awake!" they cried aloud; "Alarm the shore! Shout all, or never shall we reach it more!" Alas! no shout the distant land can reach, Nor eye behold them from the foggy beach: Again they join in one loud powerful cry, Then cease, and eager listen for reply; None came--the rising wind blew sadly by: They shout once more, and then they turn aside, To see how quickly flow'd the coming tide; Between each cry they find the waters steal On their strange prison, and new horrors feel; Foot after foot on the contracted ground The billows fall, and dreadful is the sound; Less and yet less the sinking isle became, And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame. Had one been there, with spirit strong and high, Who could observe, as he prepared to die, He might have seen of hearts the varying kind, And traced the movement of each different mind: He might have seen, that not the gentle maid Was more than stern and haughty man afraid; Such, calmly grieving, will their fears suppress,