'Neath cavernous rocks for a moment to hide,
Then calmly through winding valleys to glide.
No lake nestles there, with its fairy skiffs,
Half silvered by moonlight, half shaded by cliffs.
Our desolate choice hath no charms like these,
Sad hearts to comfort, or glad ones to please.
The sea casteth pearls on Araby's strand.
Shells, corals, and sea-moss, and ruby sand;
And emerald, scarlet, and gold fish there
Flash through his waters transparent as air.
His wavelets are laughing all night on that shore.
Tossing their jewels at touch of the oar.*
But angry and hoarse is the voice of the tide.
As he lashes our island's trembling side,
And rolls up the ooze from his slimy bed,
The pale thin meadows to overspread.
Then leaves, as he slowly sinketh back.
The muscle, the crab, and the ray in his track.
*The brilliant flashes of phosphoric light, seen when the waves dash
upon the reefs, or are broken by the oar or otherwise, are called by the
Arabs "the jewels of the deep."