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!