With fevered gaze doth watch the sinking tide,
Whose ebb will give to conquer or to die—
Oh, cruel use of Man’s unerring guide,
Which Nature’s hand hath stretched so fair and wide,
The throbbing pulse of Ocean! Father Time
Seems heavily on leaden wing to ride,
And hours seem days, and hour-like minutes climb
I’ the anxious nervous pause of that suspense sublime.
XVIII.