Oh! melting on the ear,
What solemn chords are there!
The torrent's thunder sunk into a sigh;
And thine, majestic main!
Great Nature's organ strain,
Deep pealing through the temple of the sky.
And songs unsung by day—
The nightingale's lone lay.
From lady's bower, the lover's serenade;
And dirge of hermit-bird
From haunts of ruin heard,
The only voice that wails above the dead.
To them that sail the deep,
When winds have sunk to sleep,
The dreamy murmurs of the night steal on;
Say, does their mystic hum,
So vague and varied, come
From distant shores unseen, and lands unknown?
In them might fancy's ear
Earth's dying echoes hear,
Our home's sweet voices swooning on the floods;
Or songs of festal halls,
Or sound of waterfalls,
Or Indian's dismal war-whoop through the woods.
Joy breathes in morning song,
And happy things among
Her choral bowers wake matins of delight;
But dearer unto me
The dirge-like harmony
Of vesper voices, and of wailing night.
THE SEA.
The sea—the deep, deep sea—
That awful mystery!
Was there a time of old ere it was born,
Or e'er the dawn of light,
Coeval with the night—
Say, slept it on, for ever and forlorn?
Till the Great Spirit's word
Its sullen waters heard,
And their wild voices, through the void profound,
Gave deep responsive roar;
But silent never more
Shall be their solemn, drear, and dirge-like sound!
Earth's echoes faint and die;
Sunk down into a sigh,
Scamander's voice scarce whispers on its way;
And desert silence reigns
Upon the mighty plains
Where battles' thunders peal'd—and where are they?