The low dash of the wave with startled ear,
“Like the death music of his coming doom,
And clings to the green turf with desperate force,
As the heart clings to life; and when resume
The currents in his veins their wonted course
There lingers a deep feeling, like the moan
Of wearied ocean when the storm is gone.
“In such an hour he turns, and on his view
Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him;
Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue