The Sea-Bird sleeps upon yon hoary Cliff, Unconscious of the Surge that grates below The frozen Shore; and Icy Friendship binds, As Danger Wretches Destitute of Soul, 190 The wave-worn pebbles, which the ebbing Tide, Left with the Salt-Flood shining; dark is now The awfull Deep, and o'er the Seaman's Grave Rolls pouring, and forbids the lucid Stream, That silvers oft the way, a shining Vest, Sprung from the scaly people's putrid Dead, Hanging unhers'd upon the Coral Bough; Or, as the Sage explains, from Stores of Light Imprizon'd in the Bowels of the Deep, And now escaping, when the parent Sun 200 Flings [out] his fiery Noon with Beam direct, Upon the Glossy Surface of the wave. Cold Vapour, falling on the putrid Fen, Condenses grey, and wraps with glassy net The wintry Fern, and throws along the Heath A Hoary Garment, nor less fair than Spring Drops on the Sod, of Texture near as frail. The icy Atoms thro' the burden'd Air Shed Languor, and enwrap with double Fleece The Slumbering Fold; they cloathe the knotted oak, 210 Stretching its naked arms, as if to chide, With [age's] stern and touching Eloquence The ruthless Skies for Summer's slow return. The winds that in converging Furrows plough The freezing pool, and shake the [rattling] Wood, Are arm'd with pain, and vitrified their Wings. In Winter's Livery sleeps this earthly Scene-- And, save where Ocean rolls his restless Flood, The horizontal Eye grasps all things grey.-- Eugenio, see--for thou shalt bear His Name 220 Who sleeps beneath yon Sod, and was my Friend-- The Grave o'er which I weep; and give not thou A Glance contemptuous to the grassy Tomb; For oft the vaulted Chambers of the Dead, Where Vanity amid the Mouldring Scrolls Of Genealogy and mingled Bones Moves in a formal join'd Solemnity, House wretched Remnants of degenerate Man; And oft the Green Turf's temporary swell, Sepulchring all that Virtue leaves the Earth, 230 Stirs busy Memory to con o'er Deeds Of high Renown in Heaven, the Deeds of Love; Which in th' eternal Records of the Just, Are written with an Angels pen, and sung With [Symphony] of Harp, and there is Joy And Gratulation with the Sons of God.-- Alas! how chang'd the Verdure of this [Scene], How lost the Flowers, how winter-struck the Blade! No more the wild Thyme wings the passing Gale With Fragrance, nor invites the roving Bee 240 To taste its Sweets--and why this direful waste Of Verdure? why this Vegetable Death? Did all with Man commit mysterious Sin? All in rebellion rise?--and tepid Meads, And Lawns irriguous, and the blooming field, And Hills, and Vallies, and intangling Woods, Spurn GOD'S Command and drink forbidden Dew?--