It resembles thee; pacific yet dread,
A level under the Infinite spread;
It moves, 'tis immense, 'tis soothed by a ray,
And kindled to wrath by Zephyr at play;
'Tis music or discord: sweet is its song,
Or hoarse its shriek as complaining of wrong;
Monsters at ease sleep in its depths dark-green;
The water-spout germinates there unseen;
It has gulfs unknown, 'neath its surface plain,
And those who visit them come not again;
It lifts ships colossal and hurls them down
As thou hurlest despots. Black is its frown;
The beacon above it shines like the light
Thou hast from heaven, thy steps to guide right;
It caresses and chides if soft its mood
Or angry, but by no man understood
Is its humour. Like the terrible shock
Of armour clangs its wave on the rock;
Night listens with awe to the portentous sound
As it feels that, like thee, the depth profound
Having roared at eve, shall destroy at morn,
For the wave is a sword. Venus when born
Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/126
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IN FRENCH FIELDS.
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