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With sunset and its
gorgeous ministers, And solemn midnight's tingling silentness ; If autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood, And winter robing with pure snow and crowns Of starry ice the grey grass and bare boughs ; If spring's voluptuous pantings when she breathes Her first sweet kisses, have been dear to me; If no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast I consciously have injured, but still loved And cherish'd these my kindred : then forgive This boast, beloved brethren, and withdraw No portion of your wonted favour now !
Mother of this unfathomable world !
I have loved
heart ever gazes on the depth
most innocent love, until strange tears Uniting with those breathless kisses, made Such magic as compels the charmèd night To render up thy charge ; . . . and, though ne'er yet Thou hast unveil'd thy inmost sanctuary, Enough from incommunicable dream, And twilight phantasms, and deep noon-day thought,
Has shone within me, that serenely now
To one who has been long in city pent,
sweet to look into the fair
face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
wavy grass, and reads a debonair
Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye
He mourns that day so soon has glided by :
From Childe Harold, iv. 178.
THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll !
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,
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
lay] lie, a vulgar solecism that invaded our public schools.
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
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
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
The Gleaming Sea When winds that move not its calm surface sweep The azure sea, I love the land no more ; The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep Tempt my unquiet mind.—But when the roar
Of Ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam
sea, and vast waves burst, I turn from the drear aspect to the home Of Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed, When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody. Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot Has chosen.-But I my languid limbs will fling Beneath the plane, where the brook's murmuring Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not.
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,
the wideness of the Sea ; Oh ye! whose ears are dinn'd 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!
'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber; as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,
Stands up before its mother bright and mild,