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 | Poems |  |
And thou hast much of mine—yet oh!
What is that little store,
Loved—lost—and once lamented so,
To all thou hadst before?
To all the mighty wrecks of old,
O'er which thy dull, dark waves have rolled?
What is that little store,
Loved—lost—and once lamented so,
To all thou hadst before?
To all the mighty wrecks of old,
O'er which thy dull, dark waves have rolled?
15
And wilt thou not, Insatiate Power!
Enriched with trophies vast,
Withhold thy claim one little hour,
Since all is thine at last?
Enriched with trophies vast,
Withhold thy claim one little hour,
Since all is thine at last?
All—all of nobleness and worth,
That mortal mould can vaunt—
All the fond witchery of earth
Can offer to enchant.
That mortal mould can vaunt—
All the fond witchery of earth
Can offer to enchant.
What vanished Ones of ancient might,
Thy mightier arms entwine!
What Forms of loveliness and light
Are now forever thine!
Thy mightier arms entwine!
What Forms of loveliness and light
Are now forever thine!
The charnel earth—the wandering air—
The wave—the restless fire—
Each element hath claimed its share
Of all that could expire.
Yet what are all their spoils to thee
And thine, oh dark and sullen sea!
The wave—the restless fire—
Each element hath claimed its share
Of all that could expire.
Yet what are all their spoils to thee
And thine, oh dark and sullen sea!
16
Thou sleepest—yet what storms have swept
Across that waveless flood!
What centuries on centuries leapt
In surges dyed with blood!
Across that waveless flood!
What centuries on centuries leapt
In surges dyed with blood!
A thousand victims lie concealed
Amid thy sunless caves—
A thousand wonders unrevealed
Have perished in thy waves.
Amid thy sunless caves—
A thousand wonders unrevealed
Have perished in thy waves.
And there the deep Historian's line
Hath many an age been cast—
In vain—to sound a depth like thine,
Unfathomable Past!
Hath many an age been cast—
In vain—to sound a depth like thine,
Unfathomable Past!
A flood, whose tide forever goes
O'er hill, and mound, and plain—
All slow and sullenly it flows,
But never ebbs again.
O'er hill, and mound, and plain—
All slow and sullenly it flows,
But never ebbs again.
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