Always hurried
To be buried
In the bitter, moon-mad sea.
In thy crystal deeps inverted
Swings a picture of the sky.
Like those wavering hopes of Aidenn,
Dimly in our dreams that lie;
Clouded often, drowned in turmoil,
Faint and lovely, far away
Wreathing sunshine on the morrow,
Breathing fragrance round to-day.
Love would wander
Here and ponder,
Hither poetry would dream;
Life's old questions,
Sad suggestions,
"Whence and whither?" throng thy streams.
On the roaring waste of ocean
Soon thy scattered waves shall toss,
'Mid the surges' rhythmic thunder
Shall thy silver tongues; be lost.
Oh! thy glimmering rush of gladness
Mocks this turbid life of mine,
Racing to the wild Forever
Down the sloping paths of Time.
Onward ever,
Lovely river,
Softly calling to the sea;
