human
The morn was lovely, every wave was still, When the first perfume of a cedar-hill Sweetly awaked us, and, with smiling charms, The fairy harbour woo'd us to its arms. Gently we stole, before the languid wind, Through plantain shades, that like an awning twined And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales; While, far reflected o'er the wave serene, Each wooded island shed so soft a green, That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play, Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way! Never did weary bark more sweetly glide, Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide! Along the margin, many a shining dome, White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, Brighten'd the wave;--in every myrtle grove Secluded, bashful, like a shrine of love, Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade; And, while the foliage interposing play'd, Wreathing the structure into various grace, Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch, And dream of temples, till her kindling torch Lighted me back to all the glorious days Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount.