Classic Poem

When still winds gently creep ore the blue Main,
The calm allures me to the liquid plain;
And less the Muses, then the Sea invite;
But when the billows roar, when they grow white
With breaking one another, and swell high,
To land and trees back from the Sea I fly:
Then trees, and safer land best please my mind;
Where tall Pines sing, inspired by the wind;
A dangerous life a Fisher leads! to float
For so small purchase in his house a boat;
Me sleep in shades by purling streams delights,
Whose noise the labourer pleaseth, not affrights.