Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 17 1826.pdf/15



art sounding on, thou mighty Sea, For ever and the same! The ancient rocks yet ring to thee, Whose thunders nought can tame.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone From the rich bowers of earth, And hush'd is many a lovely one Of mournfulness or mirth.

The Dorian flute, that sigh'd of yore Along thy wave, is still; The harp of Judah peals no more On Zion's awful hill:

And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord That breathed the mystic tone, And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pour'd,    Are with her eagles flown:

And mute the Moorish horn, that rang O'er stream and mountain free, And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang Hath died in Galilee.

But thou art swelling on, thou Deep! Through many an olden clime, Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep Until the close of Time.

Thou liftest up thy solemn voice To every wind and sky, And all our Earth's green shores rejoice In that one harmony!

It fills the noontide's calm profound, The sunset's heaven of gold; And the still midnight hears the sound Ev'n as when first it roll'd.

Let there be silence, deep and strange, Where crowning cities rose! Thou speak'st of one that doth not change— So may our hearts repose. F. H.