In summertime it was a paradise Of mountain, frith, and bay, and shining sand; Our outward rowers sang towards the land, Followed by waving hands and happy cries: By the full flood the groups no longer roam; And when, at ebb, the glistening beach grows wide, No barefoot children race into the foam, But pa**ive jellies wait the turn of tide. Like some forsaken lover, lingering there, The boatman stands; the maidens trip no more With loosened locks; far from the billows' roar The Mauds and Maries knot their tresses fair, Where not a foam-flake from th' enamored shore Comes down the sea-wind on the golden hair.