Classic Poem

Again upon the sounding shore,
And oh how blest, again alone!
I could not bear to hear thy roar,
Thy deep, thy long majestic tone;
I could not bear to think that one
Could view with me thy swelling might,
And like a very stock or stone,
Turn coldly from the glorious sight,
And seek the idle world, to hate and fear and fight.

Thou art the same, eternal sea!
The earth hath many shapes and forms,
Of hill and valley, flower and tree;
Fields that the fervid noontide warms,
Or winter's rugged grasp deforms,
Or bright with autumn's golden store;
Thou coverest up thy face with storms,
Or smil'st serene,—but still thy roar
And dashing foam go up to vex the sea-beat shore.

I see thy heaving waters roll,
I hear thy stern uplifted voice,
And trumpet-like upon my soul
Falls the deep music of that noise
Wherewith thou dost thyself rejoice;
The ships, that on thy bosom play,
Thou dashest them about like toys,
And stranded navies are thy prey,
Strown on thy rock-bound coast, torn by the whirling spray.

As summer twilight soft and calm,
Or when in stormy grandeur drest,
Peals up to heaven the eternal psalm,
That swells within thy boundless breast;
Thy curling waters have no rest,
But day and night, the ceaseless throng
Of waves that wait thy high behest,
Speak out in utterance deep and strong,
And loud the craggy beach howls back their savage song.

Terrible art thou in thy wrath,—
Terrible in thine hour of glee,
When the strong winds, upon their path,
Bound o'er thy breast tumultuously,
And shout their chorus loud and free
To the sad sea-bird's mournful wail,
As heaving with the heaving sea,
The broken mast and shattered sail,
Tell of thy cruel strength the lamentable tale.

Ay, 'tis indeed a glorious sight
To gaze upon thine ample face;
An awful joy,—a deep delight!
I see thy laughing waves embrace
Each other in their frolic race;
I sit above the flashing spray,
That foams around this rocky base,
And, as the bright blue waters play,
Feel that my thoughts, my life, perchance are vain as they.

This is thy lesson, mighty sea!
Man calls the dimpled earth his own,
The flowery vale, the golden lea.;
And on the wild gray mountain-stone
Claims nature's temple for his throne!
But where thy many voices sing
Their endless song, the deep, deep tone
Calls back his spirit's airy wing,
He shrinks into himself, where God alone is king!