To him, who, many a night upon the main, <br />At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side, <br />Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide, <br />Oh, how delightful smile thy views again, <br />Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill <br />That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill <br />That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky, <br />Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower, <br />That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower; <br />And hedge-rows, where the small birds' melody <br />Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad! <br />O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad <br />At thought of many evils which do press <br />On wide humanity!--Look up; address <br />The GOD who made the world; but let thy heart <br />Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part, <br />That, sheltered from the human storms' career, <br />Thou meetest innocence and quiet here.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-rustic-seat-near-the-sea/
