 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
ANOTHER SONG OF GWYTHNO.
I love the green and tranquil shore;
I hate the ocean's dizzy roar,
Whose devastating spray has flown
High o'er the monarch's barrier-stone.
I hate the ocean's dizzy roar,
Whose devastating spray has flown
High o'er the monarch's barrier-stone.
42
Sad was the feast, which he who spread
Is numbered with the inglorious dead;
The feast within the torch-lit hall,
While stormy breakers mined the wall.
Is numbered with the inglorious dead;
The feast within the torch-lit hall,
While stormy breakers mined the wall.
To him repentance came too late:
In cups the chatterer met his fate:
Sudden and sad the doom that burst
On him and me, but mine the worst.
In cups the chatterer met his fate:
Sudden and sad the doom that burst
On him and me, but mine the worst.
I love the shore, and hate the deep:
The wave has robbed my nights of sleep:
The heart of man is cheered by wine;
But now the wine-cup cheers not mine.
The wave has robbed my nights of sleep:
The heart of man is cheered by wine;
But now the wine-cup cheers not mine.
The feast, which bounteous hands dispense,
Makes glad the soul, and charms the sense:
But in the circling feast I know
The coming of my deadliest foe.
Makes glad the soul, and charms the sense:
But in the circling feast I know
The coming of my deadliest foe.
Blest be the rock, whose foot supplied
A step to them that fled the tide;
The rock of bards, on whose rude steep
I bless the shore, and hate the deep.
A step to them that fled the tide;
The rock of bards, on whose rude steep
I bless the shore, and hate the deep.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |