| |
| HOW 1 beautiful!—from his blue throne on high, | |
| The sun looks downward with a face of love | |
| Upon the silent waters—and a sky, | |
| Lovelier than that which lifts its arch above, | |
| Down the far depths of Ocean, like a sheet | 5 |
| Of flame, is trembling!—the wild tempests cease | |
| To wave their cloudy pinions!—Oh, ’tis sweet | |
| To gaze on Ocean in his hour of peace. | |
| |
| Years have gone by, since first my infant eyes | |
| Rested upon those waters. Once again, | 10 |
| As here I muse, the hours of childhood rise | |
| Faint o’er my memory, like some witching strain | |
| Of half-forgotten music. Yon blue wave | |
| Still, still rolls on in beauty—but the tide | |
| Of years rolls darkling o’er the lonely grave | 15 |
| Of Hopes, that with my life’s bright morning died! | |
| |
| Look! look!—the clouds’ light shadows from above, | |
| Like fairy Islands, o’er the waters sweep!— | |
| Oh I have dream’d my spirit thus could love | |
| To float for ever on the boundless deep, | 20 |
| Communing with the elements;—to hear, | |
| At midnight hour, the death-wing’d tempest rave, | |
| Or gaze, admiring, on each starry sphere, | |
| Glassing its glories in the mirror wave;— | |
| |
| To dream—deep-mingling with the shades of eve— | 25 |
| On Ocean’s spirits, caves, and coral halls, | |
| Where, cold and dark, the eternal billows heave, | |
| No zephyr breathes, nor struggling sunbeam falls;— | |
| As round some far Isle of the burning zone, | |
| Where tropic groves perfume the breath of morn, | 30 |
| List to the Ocean’s melancholy tone, | |
| Like a lone mourner’s on the night-winds borne;— | |
| |
| To see the infant wave on yon blue verge, | |
| Like a young eagle, breast the sinking sun, | |
| And twilight dying on the crimson surge, | 35 |
| Till, down the deep dark zenith, one by one, | |
| The lights of heaven were streaming;—or to weep, | |
| The lost, the beautiful, that calmly rest | |
| Beneath the eternal wave—then sink to sleep, | |
| Hush’d by the beating of the Ocean’s breast. | 40 |
| |
| Oh it were joy to wander wild and free | |
| Where southern billows in the sunlight flash, | |
| Or Night sits brooding o’er the northern sea, | |
| And all is still, save the o’erwhelming dash | |
| Of that dark world of waters;—there to view | 45 |
| The meteor hanging from its cloud on high, | |
| Or see the northern fires, with blood-red hue, | |
| Shake their wild tresses o’er the startled sky! | |
| |
| ’T is sweet, ’t is sweet to gaze upon the deep, | |
| And muse upon its mysteries.—There it roll’d, | 50 |
| Ere yet that glorious sun had learn’d to sweep | |
| The blue profound, and bathe the heavens in gold;— | |
| The morning stars, as up the skies they came, | |
| Heard their first music o’er the ocean rung, | |
| And saw the first flash of their new-born flame | 55 |
| Back from its depths in softer brightness flung! | |
| |
| And there it rolls!—Age after age has swept | |
| Down, down the eternal cataract of Time, | |
| Men after men on earth’s cold bosom slept, | |
| Still there it rolls, unfading and sublime! | 60 |
| As bright those waves their sunny sparkles fling, | |
| As sweetly now the bending heaven they kiss, | |
| As when the Holy Spirit’s boding wing | |
| Moved o’er the waters of the vast abyss! | |
| |
| There, there it rolls.—I ’ve seen the clouds unfurl | 65 |
| Their raven banner from the stormy west— | |
| I ’ve seen the wrathful Tempest Spirit hurl | |
| His blue fork’d lightnings at the Ocean’s breast; | |
| The storm-cloud pass’d—the sinking wave was hush’d— | |
| Those budding isles were glittering fresh and fair— | 70 |
| Serenely bright the peaceful waters blush’d, | |
| And heaven seem’d painting its own beauties there! * * * * | |
| Ocean farewell!—Upon thy mighty shore, | |
| I loved in childhood’s fairy hours to dwell!— | |
| But I am wasting—life will soon be o’er, | 75 |
| And I shall cease to gaze on thee—farewell!— | |
| Thou still wilt glow as fair as now—the sky | |
| Still arch as proudly o’er thee—Evening steal | |
| Along thy bosom with as soft a dye— | |
| All be as now—but I shall cease to feel. | 80 |
| |
| The evening mists are on their silent way, | |
| And thou art fading;—faint thy colors blend | |
| With the last tinges of the dying day, | |
| And deeper shadows up the skies ascend;— | |
| Farewell!—farewell!—the night is coming fast— | 85 |
| In deeper tones thy wild notes seem to swell | |
| Upon the cold wings of the rising blast— | |
| I go—I go—dear Ocean, fare thee well! | |
