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From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue oceal---roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin---his control
Stops with the shore;---upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shaddow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown
His steps are not upon thy paths,---thy fields
Are not a spoil for him,---thou dost arise
And shake him from; the vile strength he wields
For earth's destruction thou doest all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him shivering in thy playful spra
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth:---there let him lay.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarches tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which man
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
