The Reliquary By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets |
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WRITTEN AT FELIXSTOW,
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 | The Reliquary |  |
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WRITTEN AT FELIXSTOW,
May 31st, 1835.
Once more, once more, thou glorious sea,
Upon thy breast I gaze;
Not as when first I looked on thee
In boyhood's by-gone days.
Upon thy breast I gaze;
Not as when first I looked on thee
In boyhood's by-gone days.
Then every varying light and shade,
And every thrilling tone,
Thy bosom echo'd or display'd
Found answers in my own.
And every thrilling tone,
Thy bosom echo'd or display'd
Found answers in my own.
But now thy lights and shadows seem
Like those which chequer life;
The tumult of thy waves a dream
Of human care and strife.
Like those which chequer life;
The tumult of thy waves a dream
Of human care and strife.
It is not that my heart is dead
To nature's potent spell;
But years have o'er my spirit shed
Thoughts which far deeper dwell.
To nature's potent spell;
But years have o'er my spirit shed
Thoughts which far deeper dwell.
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Thoughts which no line can ever sound
Their silent depths to show;
Feelings surpassing far the bound
Which even thou must know.
Their silent depths to show;
Feelings surpassing far the bound
Which even thou must know.
Vast as Thou art, from thee I learn
But lore allied to time:
Mine are imaginings that yearn
For knowledge more sublime.
But lore allied to time:
Mine are imaginings that yearn
For knowledge more sublime.
Before my spirit's eagle eye,
In meditative mood,
The ocean of eternity
Unfolds its awful flood.
In meditative mood,
The ocean of eternity
Unfolds its awful flood.
Might faith of vict'ry rob the grave,
Its sting from death but tear;—
Glad would I plunge beneath its wave,
And grow immortal there.
Its sting from death but tear;—
Glad would I plunge beneath its wave,
And grow immortal there.
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