I love thee, dark blue sea!
When sleeping tranquilly,
When winds blow shrill,
And foaming surges rise,
That seem to dare the skies—
I love thee still!
And when the morning sleeps
Upon thy silent deeps,
I love the hour!
Or when the star of night
Bathes thee in silver light,
I own thy power.
I love thy golden strand,
When on the shell-strewn sand
Thy billows break;
When, soft as infant's sleep,
Thy gentle ripplings creep,
Nor echo wake.
And when thy thunders roar,
And lash the trembling shore,
Deep, foaming, strong,
And high thy breakers roll,
I feel thee stir my soul,
And love thy song!
Yes, thou art dear to me,
Thou ever-flowing sea!
Where'er thy waters roll;
In every varied mood,
Or mild, or gay, or rude,
From pole to pole!
Philadelphia, August 28, 1837.L. E. W.
[THAPTOPSIS.]
Not in the marble tomb—
Lay me not there to rest,
With the dim charnel gloom
Damply around my breast:
Bind me not there to lie,
Cold, mouldering lone,
Unmoved by the rain, as it falleth nigh,
Or the winds of varied tone:
No!—lay me under the sod—
'Neath the green turf, lay me low,
Where the sweet spring flowers may nod,
In dews which wet my brow.
Ay! then I'll mount the flowers,
And be worn on fairest breast,
And go up in vines which deck the bowers,
Where beauty loves to rest:
I shall rise, perchance, in the laurel leaf,
And be worn in the conqueror's hall;
In the grape, I'll be the foe of grief,
And the joy of the festival;
This is the way which I would rest—
Not in the charnel gloom:
Then lay me under the earth's green vest,
And I'll seek me out my tomb.