'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old the curlews' call,
Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall;
Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
* * * * * *
Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might;
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships,