Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits of mortality! 5 And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea? 10 _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ CCXLIX _SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND._ She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, 5 Every note which he loved awaking;-- Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him; 10 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his Love stay behind him. Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; 14 They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own loved island of sorrow. _Thomas Moore._ CCL _THE LAST MAN._ All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its immortality! I saw a vision in my sleep, 5 That gave my spirit strength to sweep Adown the gulf of Time! I saw the last of human mould, That shall Creation’s death behold, As Adam saw her prime! 10 The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, The earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were Around that lonely man! Some had expired in fight,--the brands 15 Still rusted in their bony hands; In plague and famine some! Earth’s cities had no sound nor tread; And ships were drifting with the dead To shores where all was dumb! 20 Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood, As if a storm passed by-- Saying, We’ are twins in death, proud Sun, 25 Thy face is cold, thy race is run, ’Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. 30