Art thou not charmed by the dead-working deep

Not woo’d, by the land-lymning shore.

That thou longest to leave, thy sea-gladdened Hall,

That resounds with the Ocean’s roar!

 

Stay, stay, is roll’d on the hoarse breakers’ voice –

The deep-mutt’ring caves bid thee stay.

And the shell-skirted rocks thy stay invite,

As they drink the fish-feeding spray!

 

For who would exchange the wild shout of waves,

For the city’s incessant din, —

The sparkle of spray, and the foam wrapt rocks,

For the house where the Plague has been?

 

Thine eye can descry the peaked martial land

Where the wild-voiced Ossian raves

Whence the song yet streams from his awful Harp

Charioted on its kindred waves!

 

‘Tis sweet to behold the dark, spangled sea,

How, lit up the Polar Blaze,

And to hear the song that they sang of old,

Mid’ the Chants of ancient days.

 

Thy lullaby is sung by a white-capt Band

By ten thousand blue-skinned waves

That embalming the ear, soft Call to sleep

As they turn in their brethren’s graves!

 

Jane, this spot might be a much-cherished home —

Here, thy wing-fluttering soul might soar,

Mid sea foaming rocks, and echoing Caves,

Mid the surge and the torrents’ roar

 

Stay, stay, is rolled on the hoarse breakers’ voice —

The deep-muttering caves bid thee stay,

And the shell-skirted rocks thy stay invite

As they drink the fish-feeding spray!