XXXII. It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea: And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; XXXIII. WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Festively she puts forth in trim array; As vigorous as a Lark at break of day: Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? What boots the inquiry?—Neither friend nor foe She cares for; let her travel where she may, Ever before her, and a wind to blow. Yet still I ask, what Haven is her mark? And, almost as it was when ships were rare, (From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark, Of the old Sea some reverential fear, Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark! XXXIV. WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. Come like a Giant from a haven broad; When will she turn, and whither? She will brook XXXV. THE world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. XXXVI. A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye; While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye |