On 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 whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-balls 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 stare, as if the sea-nymphs quired!