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The mighty serpent, in his ire,
Slides on with glittering, deadly trail. No torch the Ghebers need - so well
They know each mystery of the dell,
So oft have, in their wanderings,
Look out, and let them pass, as things
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW
This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow
There's nothing true but heaven!
And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even;
And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
From wave to wave we 're driven, And fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, Serve but to light the troubled way There's nothing calm but heaven!
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.
THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan — Without a grave, unknelled, unconffined, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths—thy fields
Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray,
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
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play. Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime
The image of Eternity - the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane
as I do here.
I see before me the gladiator lie:
And his drooped head sinks gradually low:
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now
The arena swims around him; he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch
He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes
There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,
All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire,
There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one Was more robust and hardy to the view;
But he died early: and when he was gone,
His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw
One glance on him, and said, "Heaven's will be done!
I can do nothing;" and he saw him thrown
The other father had a weaklier child,
He saw increasing on his father's heart,
And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised
His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed:
And when the wished-for shower at length was come, And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,