And his brother, Charles Tennyson Turner, has a sonnet, amended by S. T. Coleridge, which runs thus on the concordant voices of sea and tree:—
“O leave me here to rove,
Mute listener to that sound [19] so grand and lone,—
And yet a sound of commune strongly thrown,—
That meets the pine-grove on the cliffs above.”
Hear certain words of O. W. Holmes again, in conclusion: words set to music and sung daily by the North Sea’s pleasant voice. “Have you a grief that gnaws at your heartstrings? Come with it to my shore, as of old the priest of far-darting Apollo carried his rage and anguish to the margin of the loud-roaring sea. There, if anywhere, you will forget your shortlived woe.”
BY THE SUMMERY SEA.
A Sunset Sketch at Cromer.
Here ends the journey on a plateau high,
Broad-belted with a golden zone of broom;
And many a grassy hill, with lofty plume
Of close-ranked pine-trees, sits in silence by.About their knees nestles the quaint old town,
And round their naked feet the wavelets play,
Now wreathing them with flowers of pearly spray,
Now laying on the sands their chaplets down.Upon the jutting cliffs, the stately tower,
The high-reared Pharos and the sea sail-flown,
The flaming mantle of the sun is thrown
At his translation, in the evening hour.Naught breaks the reigning stillness, far or near,
Save, as the glowing scene the eye admires,
A mellow murmur when the deep suspires
Falls on the rapt spectator’s hearing ear.Nor to conception’s gaze, nor memory,
Did a more blissful prospect e’er appear,
Since the sad searching eye of Pisgah’s seer
Swept Jordan’s palm-plains “to the utmost sea.”
AGAS H. GOOSE, PRINTER, NORWICH.
FOOTNOTES.
[19] “The gentle murmur of the seething foam.”