Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean--Roll!
ten thousand fleets sweep over thes 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 shadow 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 grace, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee--
Assyria, greece, rome, carthage, what are they?
thy waters washed them power while they were free,
and many a tyrant since; their shores obey
the stranger, slave or savage; their decay
has dried up realsms 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.
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
unknown to glory, but uphelf by birht,
the scupltor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
and storied urns record who rest below:
when all is done, unpon the tomb is seen,
not what he was, but what he should have been:
but the porr dog, in life the firmest friend,
the first to welcome, foremost to defent,
whose honest heart is still his master's own,
who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
unhonoure'd falls, unnoticed all his worth
denied in heaent eh sould he held of earth:
While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven,
and claims himslef a sole exclusive heaven.
Heard melodies are swett, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
pipe to the spirit of ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
thy song, nore ever can those tress be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning neat the goal--yet, do not grieve;
she cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
for ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
and, happy melodist, unwearied,
for ever piping songs for ever new;
more happy love! more happy, happy love!
for ever warm and still to be enjoyed,
for ever pantin, and for ever young;
all breathing human passion far above,
that leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cly'd,
a burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
O attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
of marble men and maidens overwrought,
with forest branches and the trodden weed;
thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
as doth eternity: cold pastoral!
when old age shall this generation wast,
thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"beauty is truth, truth beauty, --that is all
ye know on earht, and all ye need to know."