Hark, once more Atlantic rolls,
Far out a fog-bell tolls,
God keep all bewildered souls
Here and for ever!
V
TO A HURRYING STREAMLET
Nay, little stream, why so swiftly go?
Past flowery clefts your hurrying waters flow
Past birch and hawthorn, shimmering in the sun,
Past fern-filled tracts; on and on you run,
To yon verge unseen. Ah, slower go!