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186 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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The sunbeams on thy bosom wake,
Yet never light thy gloom ; The tempests burst, yet never shake
Thy depths, thou mighty tomb !
Thou thing of mystery, stern and drear,
Thy secrets who hath told ? — The warrior and his sword are there,
The merchant and his gold.
There lie their myriads in thy pall,
Secure from steel and storm; And he, the feaster of them all,
The canker-worm.
Yet on this wave the mountain's brow Once glowed in morning's beam ;
And, like an arrow from the bow, Out sprang the stream:
And on its bank the olive grove,
And the peach's luxury, And the damask rose—the night-bird's love —
Perfumed the sky.
Where art thou, proud Atlantis, now ?
Where are thy bright and brave ? Priest, people, warriors' living flow ?
Look on that wave.
Crime deepened on the recreant land,
Long guilty, long forgiven; There power upreared the bloody hand,
There scoffed at Heaven. |
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