 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Mansoul still cávilling thus, there fell on us;
Being yet amazed, in óur empassioned mood;
New Impulse and increased. Shows soon our glass,
Wide wind-scourged flood; Midland-Seas ancient Face,
Which laps Old Nations' Coasts. Were fewer here,
In Underworld, dim gálleries of the Dead.
122
New Impulse and increased. Shows soon our glass,
Wide wind-scourged flood; Midland-Seas ancient Face,
Which laps Old Nations' Coasts. Were fewer here,
In Underworld, dim gálleries of the Dead.
Therein glide spirits, ah! drípping from sea-deaths!
Engulfed were those, in foundered gallant ships;
Neath waters' weight, where no breath is, alas!
Engulfed were those, in foundered gallant ships;
Neath waters' weight, where no breath is, alas!
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |