Thy crest of sunlight and thy depths of shade,
Boiling and seething like a Phlegethon
Amid the wind-swept and convolving spray,
Steady as Faith and beautiful as Hope.
There, of beam and cloud the fair creation,
The rainbow arches its ethereal hues.
From flint and granite in compacture strong,
Not with steel thrice harden'd—but with the wave
Soft and translucent—did the new-born Time
Chisel thy altars. Here hast thou ever poured