The Moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve!

Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand;

Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe[eg]:

Such be our fate when we return to land!

Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand[eh]

Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;

A circle there of merry listeners stand

Or to some well-known measure featly move,

Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.