And this huge castle, standing here sublime,
I love to see the look with which it braves,
Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time,
The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.
Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone,
Housed in a dream at distance from the kind!
Such happiness, wherever it be known,
Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind.
But welcome, fortitude and patient cheer,
And frequent sights of what is to be borne,
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
William Wordsworth.
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!—
Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain!—
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more!—what wealth untold,
Far down and shining through their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies!—
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
Earth claims not these again.
Yet more, the depths have more!—thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.—
Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.
Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.—
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!