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Serene and mild the untried light
May have its dawning;
The evening and the dawn unite,
I sit alone: in foam and spray
Wave after wave
Beneath like fallen Titans lay,
What heed I of the dusty land
And noisy town?
From its white line of glimmering sand
In listless quietude of mind,
I yield to all
And passive on the flood reclined,
But look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore
In shadow lie;
To where my native hill-tops o'er
So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell !
I bear with me
But long and oft shall Memory tell
J. G. WHITTIER.
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 yè near some old cavern's mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired !
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
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
His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth :- there let him lay.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Their clay creator the vain title take
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mạr
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee -
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, · Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
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,
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
As 't were a living thing;
In ceaseless worshipping.
They kneel upon the sloping sand
As bends the human knee,
The priesthood of the sea.
The sky is as a temple’s arch,
The blue and wavy air
J. G. WHITTIER.