Page:Poems Cook.djvu/383

Eloquent Ocean, how I worshipp'd thee,
 Ere my young breath knew what it was to sigh;
Ere I had proved one cherish'd flower to be
 A thing of brightness, nurtured but to die.

Years have gone by since those light-footed days,
 And done their work, as years will ever do;
Setting their thorny barriers in Life's maze,
 And burying Hope's gems of rarest hue.

I have endured the pangs that all endure,
 Whose pulses quicken at the world's rude touch:
Who dream that all they trust in must be sure,
 Though sadly taught that they may trust too much.

The cypress branch has trail'd upon my way,
 Leaving the darkest shadow Death can fling;
My lips have quiver'd while they strove to pray;
 Draining the deepest cup that Grief can bring.

I have conn'd o'er the lessons hard to learn—
 I have pluck'd Autumn leaves in fair Spring-time:
I have seen loved ones go and ne'er return;
 And rear'd high shrines for ivy-stalks to climb.

My chords of Feeling have been sorely swept;
 Rousing the strain whose echo ever floats;
And mournful measures, one by one, have crept
 After the sweet and merry prelude notes.

Yet, noble Ocean, do I hail thee now,
 With the exulting spirit-gush of old;
The same warm glory lights my breast and brow,
 Spreading unbidden-gleaming uncontroll'd.

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