Stops with the shore: upon the watery plain,
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin’d, and unknown.
TO THE SIERRAS
By J. J. Owen
Ye snow-capped mountains, basking in the sun,
Like fleecy clouds that deck the summer skies,