Poems (Angier)/The Ocean's Dead
THE OCEAN'S DEAD.
Who with a careless hand would rend The veil of mystery;And have unfolded to his view The secrets of the sea?
The waters foam and dash, then rest As calmly as before;And leave no shadow of a wreck Of what they proudly bore.
But precious things we know are hid Beneath the ocean wave;And costly pearls and gems bedeck The mermaid's shining cave;
But treasures richer far than these Are buried in the sea;Loved ones, whose names we fondly keep Green in our memory.
There, in one cradle-bed are rocked The mother and her child: They heed no more the tempest's shock Or billows dashing wild.
There sleeps the sire whose head was bowed Beneath the weight of years,Whose furrowed cheek the traces wore Of cares, and griefs, and tears.
The blooming maiden lately decked For bridal and for ball;A blue wave is her winding-sheet, The rolling surf her pall.
And manhood, to whose beaming eye The future brightly shone,There lies in dreamless slumber locked, Hope's fairy visions flown.
The haughty monarch and his slave, They sleep there, side by side;One has his sorrows all forgot, The other all his pride.
The noble from his princely hall, The peasant from his cot,On the same pillow rest their heads, And share one common lot.
The pen of man may freely trace The story of the land;But who thy mystery, O Sea, Can fully understand?
O Deep! thy fearful history Will never all be read,Till He who sees thy darkest caves Shall wake thy countless dead.