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· HYMN TO THE SEA.
of idle fow hasty sunshind the old
Ah ! meagre happiness! and hopes that reach
To some dull dream, a vapor of the sense
And, on the plain of the old Permanence,
Mid slavish fears, while thou dost girth
All continents and isles with mirth, And music of unconquerable hope That Light and Freedom shall be earth’s, as they are
Oh, old Consoler! that dost tenderly
In thy great longing merge my day-born pain,
Uplift me to the stature of your strain,
Appeal to men's applause or wonder,
Warn him away with thy deep thunder!
Mild, herald beams, wooing the folded sight,
Shed warmth far down in many a sunless nook.
Thank God, there are no eyes in which we look, But some heart's love doth lend them beauteous light! Dreams that prefigure hopes, and hopes that take Fresh courage from all life— from starlight bold,
Sung softly in by whippoorwills —
From sunset's broad’ning sails, o'er hills Afar -- and from the earth that grows not old, Float lightly o'er our heads, whether we sleep or wake. Alas! to her high place, through sea-deep tears,
Earth wins her long, slow, agonizing way;
The base, triumphant despot of a day
Unto all faithful souls, Doubt not,
Aspire to lead earth's struggling thought Still up ;--- bring what from full hearts gushes free; He, who doth blend and shape the whole, finds nothing
mean. When morning, loosing from its crimson drifts,
O’ertakes some panting melody, most tender
Of such weak rivalship, and prone to render
And rosy mists, winds it at will —
Unites and separates, and still Wreathes it and builds anew beyond despair ; Till song is light — light, song — through all heaven's
O know how all things change! Night's violet star
Erewhile bloomed red; and thou, Sea, wear'st away
The glorious realm of a forgotten day,
Or aught that simply blooms or strives
To make more beautiful our lives,
THE SOUND OF THE SEA.
Thou art sounding on, thou mighty sea,
For ever and the same !
Oh! many a glorious voice is gone,
From the rich bowers of earth, And hush'd is many a lovely one
Of mournfulness or mirth.
The Dorian flute that sighed of yore
Along thy wave, is still;
On Zion's awful hill.
And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord
That breath'd the mystic tone, And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pour'd,
Are with her eagles flown.
And mute the Moorish horn, that rang
O'er stream and mountain free, And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang,
Hath died in Galilee.
But thou art swelling on, thou deep,
Through many an olden clime, Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.
Thou liftest up thy solemn voice
To every wind and sky,
In that one harmony.
It fills the noontide's calm profound,
The sunset's heaven of gold;
Even as when first it rollid.
Let there be silence deep and strange,
Where sceptred cities rose ! Thou speak’st of One who doth not change - So may our hearts repose.
HYMN OF THE SEA.
The sea is mighty, but a Mightier sways