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 And while we tremble, glory—proud in fear.

So ends the prose of life: and so shall be Unlock'd her poetry's magnific store. And so, thou pathless and perpetual sea, So, o'er thy deeps, I brooded and must brood, Whether I view thee in thy dreadful peace, Like a spent warrior hanging in the sun His glittering arms, and meditating death; Or whether thy wild visage gath'reth shades, What time thou marshall'st forth thy waves who hold A covenant of storms, then roar and wind Under the racking rocks; as martyrs lie Wheel-bound; and, dying, utter lofty words! Whether the strength of day is young and high, Or whether, weary of the watch, he sits Pale on thy wave, and weeps himself to death;— In storm and calm, at morn and eventide, Still have I stood beside thee, and out-thrown