It is time to hasten home . It is time -- it is time ; for as the sun sinks over the western wave the sea grows melancholy and the surf has a saddened tone . The distant sails appear astray and not of earth in their remoteness amid the desolate waste . My spirit wanders forth afar , but finds no resting-place and comes shivering back . It is time that I were hence . But grudge me not the day that has been spent in seclusion which yet was not solitude , since the great sea has been my companion , and the little sea-birds my friends , and the wind has told me his secrets , and airy shapes have flitted around me in my hermitage . Such companionship works an effect upon a man 's character as if he had been admitted to the society of creatures that are not mortal . And when , at noontide , I tread the crowded streets , the influence of this day will still be felt ; so that I shall walk among men kindly and as a brother , with affection and sympathy , but yet shall not melt into the indistinguishable mass of humankind . I shall think my own thoughts and feel my own emotions and possess my individuality unviolated . But it is good at the eve of such a day to feel and know that there are men and women in the world . That feeling and that knowledge are mine at this moment , for on the shore , far below me , the fishing-party have landed from their skiff and are cooking their scaly prey by a fire of driftwood kindled in the angle of two rude rocks . The three visionary girls are likewise there . In the deepening twilight , while the surf is dashing near their hearth , the ruddy gleam of the fire throws a strange air of comfort over the wild cove , bestrewn as it is with pebbles and seaweed and exposed to the `` melancholy main . '' Moreover , as the smoke climbs up the precipice , it brings with it a savory smell from a pan of fried fish and a black kettle of chowder , and reminds me that my dinner was nothing but bread and water and a tuft of samphire and an apple . Methinks the party might find room for another guest at that flat rock which serves them for a table ; and if spoons be scarce , I could pick up a clam-shell on the beach . They see me now ; and -- the blessing of a hungry man upon him ! -- one of them sends up a hospitable shout : `` Halloo , Sir Solitary ! Come down and sup with us ! '' The ladies wave their handkerchiefs . Can I decline ?
No ; and be it owned , after all my solitary joys , that this is the sweetest moment of a XXXXX by the seashore .
Methinks clam-shell day fire fishing-party hermitage humankind noontide resting-place samphire