[A fragment, in] The Rhode-Island book selections in prose and verse, from the writings of Rhode-Island Citizens |
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 | [A fragment, in] The Rhode-Island book |  |
265
A FRAGMENT.
BY THE REV. CHARLES T. BROOKS.
“There is a rapture on the lonely shore
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:”
Thus sung the Bard; and yet he ne'er had stood
By “Purgatory,” where its crystal flood
All green and glassy murmurs evermore,—
He ne'er had heard the music of that roar,
Nor had he heard the deep and sullen shock
Of bellowing billows at the “Sounding Rock.”
He ne'er had heard the gently rippling wave
Moan o'er the pebbly flood of “Conrad's Cave.”
Would he had heard these tones that he might tell
What music lingers in the solemn swell
Of the wild waves along our rock-bound coast;
How like some stern and ever mustering host,
Old ocean's billows roll and murmur here,
And greet with trumpet tones the enchanted ear.
Solemn and stately now the gathering throng
Of waves on waves deep-sounding sweep along
In measured march, far as the eye can reach
Onward they come, still onward to the beach,
Lo! in the van, with manes of flying foam,
Rank upon rank like fierce war-steeds they come,
As up the beach the snow-white lines advance
Their curling manes in the gay sunlight glance.
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:”
Thus sung the Bard; and yet he ne'er had stood
By “Purgatory,” where its crystal flood
266
He ne'er had heard the music of that roar,
Nor had he heard the deep and sullen shock
Of bellowing billows at the “Sounding Rock.”
He ne'er had heard the gently rippling wave
Moan o'er the pebbly flood of “Conrad's Cave.”
Would he had heard these tones that he might tell
What music lingers in the solemn swell
Of the wild waves along our rock-bound coast;
How like some stern and ever mustering host,
Old ocean's billows roll and murmur here,
And greet with trumpet tones the enchanted ear.
Solemn and stately now the gathering throng
Of waves on waves deep-sounding sweep along
In measured march, far as the eye can reach
Onward they come, still onward to the beach,
Lo! in the van, with manes of flying foam,
Rank upon rank like fierce war-steeds they come,
As up the beach the snow-white lines advance
Their curling manes in the gay sunlight glance.
But ah! these words are feeble—lovely isle!
Whether the summer waves serenely smile,
Or wintry breakers dash with solemn roar
Around thy stern and wild—thy noble shore—
Thou hast a charm no pen or tongue can tell.
Whether the summer waves serenely smile,
Or wintry breakers dash with solemn roar
Around thy stern and wild—thy noble shore—
Thou hast a charm no pen or tongue can tell.
| [A fragment, in] The Rhode-Island book | |