| |
| THE WILD and windy morning is lit with lurid fire; | |
| The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre,— | |
| Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland roars, | |
| And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores, | |
| And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long desire: | 5 |
| “Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?” | |
| |
| Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand, | |
| No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land, | |
| And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown, | |
| Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown; | 10 |
| And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire, | |
| To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships of Tyre. | |
| |
| Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the waves,— | |
| Thou that thyself exaltedst, till kings became thy slaves? | |
| Thou that didst speak to nations, and saw thy will obeyed,— | 15 |
| Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore afraid,— | |
| Who laid’st thy deep foundations, and thought them strong and sure, | |
| And boasted midst the waters, Shall I not aye endure? | |
| |
| Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart? | |
| The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art; | 20 |
| The silken goats of Kedar; Sahara’s spicy store; | |
| The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore, | |
| When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the sea | |
| With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery? | |
| |
| Howl, howl, ye ships of Tarshish! the glory is laid waste: | 25 |
| There is no habitation; the mansions are defaced. | |
| No mariners of Sidon unfurl your mighty sails; | |
| No workmen fell the fir-trees that grow in Shenir’s vales, | |
| And Bashan’s oaks that boasted a thousand years of sun, | |
| Or hew the masts of cedar on frosty Lebanon. | 30 |
| |
| Rise, thou forgotten harlot! take up thy harp and sing: | |
| Call the rebellious islands to own their ancient king: | |
| Bare to the spray thy bosom, and with thy hair unbound, | |
| Sit on the piles of ruin, thou throneless and discrowned! | |
| There mix thy voice of wailing with the thunders of the sea, | 35 |
| And sing thy songs of sorrow, that thou remembered be! | |
| |
| Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments | |
| The pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence: | |
| The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now; | |
| The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow, | 40 |
| And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire: | |
| “Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?” | |
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