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And there in hallowed vision,
When the awakened soul receives
What magic shall the muse employ
Those smiling days, when with fresh roses crowned
She flies with youth, and leaves to age
'Vain insects of a summer day' (The power of nature seems to say) 'Expect not long unclouded hours Soon rushing winds and breaking showers Your pastime ends—and fortune still at strife, Ware in vicissitudes through human life.'
Friendship remains—thro' changing time Remains superior and sublime; Pure and unmixed her joys we share, No selfish passions rankle there— Balm for the wounded heart's corroding woes, Peace for the wounded spirit's final solemn close'
In recollection's pensive hour,
When tender thoughts the past restore;
Then friendship reunites again The scattered traces that remain; Delights the fond remembrance still to save, And pluck the envious thorn from soft affection's grave.
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
O thou vast Ocean \ ever-sounding sea!
Thou symbol of a drear immensity!
Thou thing that windest round the solid world
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone.
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep
Is like a giant's slumber, loud and deep.
Thou speakest in the east and in the west
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life
Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife.
The earth hath nought of this; nor chance nor change
Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare
Give answer to the tempest-waken air;
But o'er its wastes, the weekly tenants range
VOL. II. B
At will, and wound his bosom as they go.
Ever the same it hath no ebb, no flow;
But in their stated round the seasons come
And pass like visions to their viewless home,
And come again and vanish: the young Spring
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming,
And Winter always winds his sullen horn,
And the wild Autumn with a look forlorn
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies
Weep, and flowers sicken when the Summer flies.
—Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven
Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind,
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind,
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven!
Thou trackless and immeasurable main!
And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent.
ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
Why dost thou build the hall? Son of the winged days! Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty halls.
Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds