Now in these latest days of May
The boats are out in breezy bay,
Fast by some point that juts its bar,
Its rocky buttresses deep and far;
Or by some river mouth that pours
Its affluent current by the shores,
The fisher casts his baited line,
To tempt the weakfish of the brine.
Long Island! where thy bays extend.
Or where thy ocean borders trend,
What Joyous pastime thou dost yield
To angler o'er thy watery field!
Ah, bright my golden days have sped,
Where Barnegat's salt billows spread.
Many the blissful hours I knew
Amid Virginian waters blue,
When from the pastures of the deep
The finny harvests I would reap.