hymn to the sea.
33
That Joy and Beauty shall be earth's as they are thine!
O old consoler, that dost tenderly
In thy great longing merge my day-born pain,
Uplift me to the stature of your strain,
And bid all lower aspiration flee!
The nobler earth is built of stubborn good—
Who brings his little vanity, his grave
Appeal to men's applause and wonder,
Warn him away with thy hoarse thunder,
Flash o'er the graven sands a liberal wave,
And let us know no more name, memory, or blood!
In thy great longing merge my day-born pain,
Uplift me to the stature of your strain,
And bid all lower aspiration flee!
The nobler earth is built of stubborn good—
Who brings his little vanity, his grave
Appeal to men's applause and wonder,
Warn him away with thy hoarse thunder,
Flash o'er the graven sands a liberal wave,
And let us know no more name, memory, or blood!
And call the regal shadows, 'mid the roar
Of charging waves, the tumult and the smoke,—
That fine old Grecian in his threadbare cloak;
The banner pastor by blue Zurich, o'er
Whose vine-clad summits Alps looked not in vain;
England's blind seer; Toussaint, the kingly heart
Of charging waves, the tumult and the smoke,—
That fine old Grecian in his threadbare cloak;
The banner pastor by blue Zurich, o'er
Whose vine-clad summits Alps looked not in vain;
England's blind seer; Toussaint, the kingly heart
