Speaking in thunders;—but their warning strain
Wakes no stern echo here—in safety still
The fisherman may guide his bark at will,
And smile to hear the billows’ angry roar,
Chafing in rage upon the neighboring shore.
Farewell! I found, and leave thee, calm and bright,
And changeless still!—and thus, when starless night
Has closed on eyes which loved to look on thee,
Wilt thou smile on—then, too, as quietly
Yon towering banks will look into thy face