I HAVE treasured the scene thou hast colored so bright,
And I muse on its features with earnest delight;
I am with thee in thought, on the oft disturbed deep,
And the soft winds are lulling the billows to sleep.

The sun is declining, it lingers awhile,
As if o'er Atlantic's proud bosom to smile;
I see a proud vessel borne swiftly along,
And I hear the gay notes of the mariner's song.

The sun is declining — how lovely and bright
The rich golden hues as they burst on the sight;
And the delicate clouds lightly floating in air,
Are weaving wild forms fantastic and fair.

'Tis eve — they are gone — they are lost in its shade —
And here must the wings of my fancy be stayed;
But thou can'st portray the emotions of bliss,
That hang like a spell in a moment like this.

Thou hast looked on the splendor of sunset at sea,
As thy vessel has glided majestic and free;
Thou hast watched the pale stars as they smiled from above,
While the voice of the night-wind has whispered of love.

Ah! would that these eyes could a moment behold
The beauties my fancy alone must unfold!
I will treasure the scene thou hast colored so bright,
And will muse on its features with earnest delight.