Serene and mild the untried light And, as in Summer's northern light The evening and the dawn unite, The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. I sit alone in foam and spray Wave after wave Breaks on the rocks which, stern and Beneath like fallen Titans lay, grey, Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. What heed I of the dusty land And noisy town? I see the mighty deep expand From its white line of glimmering sand To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down! In listless quietude of mind, I yield to all The change of cloud and wave and wind, And passive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore In shadow lie; The night-wind warns me back once more To where my native hill-tops o'er Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky! So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! No token stone nor glittering shell, But long and oft shall Memory tell Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the sea. J. G. WHITTIER. THE SEA. It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh, ye who have your eyeballs vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the sea; Oh, ye whose ears are dinned with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody, Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired! KEATS. APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths,- thy fields And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields And dashest him again to earth :—there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Their clay creator the vain title take These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :- - not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed - in breeze, or gale, or storm, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Were a delight; and if the freshening sea And trusted to thy billows far and near, -as I do here. BYRON. THE ocean looketh up to heaven, They kneel upon the sloping sand A beautiful and tireless band, The priesthood of the sea. The sky is as a temple's arch, Is glorious with the spirit-march Of messengers at prayer. J. G. WHITTIER. |