Emblem of mortal mind and evil power,
Of seething sorrow and of man's deceit,
Though passing fair in thine unangered hour,
When the pale moon has paced with wanderings sweet
Her pathway o'er thee: or when thy soft beat,
Sifting the sand beneath thy lisping wave,
Whispers of innocence—ah, wanton cheat!
The morn will hear thee sing a different stave,
When the wild north wind blows from Norway's blustering cave.
Unsated tomb of earth's unhallowed hope
And uncontrolled desire! thy plumbless deeps
In their untried recesses give good scope
To dreams of th' infinite: the plummet creeps
To meads all marvel stored, where darkness keeps
Thy hoarded lumber house, and leads us then
To grottos where the treasure-galleon sleeps
In ooze and slime, afar from earthly ken,
And stored with gold and guns, and memories stark of men.
Home of abysmal rage and void unrest,
Of vain vindictive purpose, alternate
With balmy hours of slumber, when thy breast
Would seem the silken playing-field of fate!
How can I reconcile thy rancorous hate
With thy soft moments? If I had not seen
Deep in my heart the same contentious state,
The same revengeful and rebellious spleen,
Thy changing moods to me a mystery still had been.
