And I have loved thee, Ocean!
There is a glorious City in the Sea.
Sorgono altiere e minacciose l'onde: Mugghiando sopra il mar va il gregge bianco.
THOU great and glorious Ocean!-how I love
Thy depths of blue, that mock the heavens above;-
Thy mountain-waves, that foam, and swell, and roar,
As they would burst their bonds, and claim once more
Dominion o'er the earth.-Thy ruffled breast,
By the storm's desolating hand imprest,
Is fraught with awful beauty unto me;-
I love its thrilling, wild sublimity.
Aye, I do love thee, when the tempests ride,
On mighty whirlwinds, o'er thy chafing tide,
Urging thy strength to madness, then abate,
As fearful of the passion they create;
And gentlest zephyrs waft along the deep,
With soothing wings, to fan thee into sleep;
And thou liest smiling, slumbering, and bright,
Clothed by the moonbeams in a robe of light,-
That e'en the pilot, o'er his tranquil path,
Gazes in wonder that thou hast been wrath:
In storm or calm, thou'rt glorious to me,
Thou restless, deep, illimitable Sea!
I love to sit upon the rocky verge
Of some high crag, whose foot thy angry surge
Hath bathed in snowy foam;-the feathery spray
Flings up bright sparkles in the sunny ray,
Like moving hoar-frost, glancing here and there—
A flying fairy-land, in giddy air,
Mimicking winter's attributes so well,
We gaze, and wonder what could raise the spell, And lend such wizard power to earthly things, That now seem launched upon a thousand wings, And plunge aloft, in wild essays to rise,
And join their fleecy kindred of the skies.
How various thy garb!—and, oh! how fair— Who, that looks on thee, feels not God is there?
Oft, as thy waves exultingly roll by, Methinks I hear, amid the wind's low sigh,
A gentle murmur, a soft thrilling tone,
Of those loved, lost ones, that are now all flown
Scattered afar through many a distant clime,-
Their very names but records of the time
When, young in years, and yet unscathed in heart,
We e never dared to think that we should part.
How my fond spirit clings to every spot
Our steps then traced!—and, oh! have they forgot?—
Though now 'mid brighter, sunnier scenes they roam,
Can such true hearts forget their childhood's home?-
No-no-thy waves still whisper me a strain
Of their loved voices' music o'er the main;
And sometimes when, my pleased eyes before,
A bright shell leaps upon the sandy shore,
I think they bade thee bring it me, to greet
My lonely hour with mem'ries passing sweet-
And, listening to its own dim, distant song,
I hear, in fancy, each familiar tongue
Still breathing fondness, gladness unto me-
And in my joy I bless thee, oh, thou Sea!
For forms borne hence across thy stormy tide Around me rise, in all their beauty's pride;
|