Till echoing far and sounding deep,
I hear old Ocean's hoarse voice sweep
O'er this enchanted ground.
'The sea! Wild fancy! Many a mile
Of changeful Nature's frown and smile,
Ere stand we on the shore;
And yet that murmur, hoarse and deep,
None save the ocean surges keep—
It is the cradles' roar!
'Onward! I pass the grassy hill