Δαιμων, ος ταυτ’ επεκρανεν.
SOPH.
Farewell thy printless sands and pebbly shore!
I hear the white surge beat thy coast no more,
Pure, gentle source of the high, rapturous mood!—
—Where’er, like the great Flood, by thy dread force
Propell’d—shape Thou my calm, my blameless course,
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean’s Lord!—and Father of the Good!
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A CORRECTED AND MUCH ENLARGED EDITION, WITH NOTES.