Pressed by the moon，mute arbitress of tides，

    While the loud equinox its power combines，

    The sea no more the swelling¹ surge confines，

    But o'er the shrinking land sublimely² rides.

    The wild blast，rising from the western cave，

    Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed；

    Tears from their grassy³ tomb the village dead，

    And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave！

    With shells and sea－weed mingled⁵， on the shore，

    Lo！their bones whiten in the frequent wave，

    But vain to them the winds and waters rave⁴；

    They hear the warring elements no more：

    While I am doomed－by life's long storm oppressed，

    To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.

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