To dust they wither in our hearts, alas!
More swiftly than beneath the cruel stone.
THE OCEAN OF THE PAST.
My wistful eyes still sweep thy sullen breast,
Dead sea, whose waves, once, following stroke on stroke,
Have swallowed mast and sail and hull of oak.
Now all thy cruel billows are at rest;
Hushed is thy roar, and stilled each raging crest;