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It keeps
eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with
its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns,
till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old
shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper
found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When
last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who
have your eye-balls vexed and tired,
Feast them upon
the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinned
with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying
melody, -
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and
brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs choired!
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