Page:Poems Blind.djvu/12

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8
the torrent.
Oh, what a storm of waters! Oh, what chasms
Of foam! what seething hills! what whirling rain!
Billows on billows press, though torn by spasms;
Wounded and bleeding, yet defying pain!
They grapple with the stones, that gnash in vain
Their cruel teeth, for smarting wounds they brave,
And toss in scorn their wildly flowing mane,
When with exulting cries big wave on wave
Rolls with a mighty sweep o'er a slain foeman's grave.

Roll on, great torrent, with triumphal song,
Through caverned cliff, through rock and mountain roll;
Force all the barriers that around thee throng,
Thou know'st th' eternal ocean for thy goal.
Hence thine impetuous rush, and roar, and roll;
Hence thy wild heavings as thou flow'st amain;
Hence thy far-reaching and tempestuous call
For stream and river, brook and rill and rain,
Thou on thy Titan breast would'st carry to the main.