THE CITY IN THE SEA. I. Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West; Where the good and the bad, and the worst and the best, Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. The melancholy waters lie. II. No rays from the holy heaven come down But light from out the lurid sea Gleams up the pinnacles far and free Up domes-up spires-up kingly halls- The viol, the violet, and the vine. So blend the turrets and shadows there III. There open fanes, and gaping graves Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass; No swellings tell that winds may be No heaving hints that winds have been On seas less hideously serene, IV. But, lo, a stir is in the air! The wave-there is a movement there Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, TO ONE IN PARADISE. I. THOU wast that all to me, love, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, II. Ah, dream, too bright to last! A voice from out the future cries, "On! on!"-but o'er the past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, Mute, motionless, aghast! III. For, alas, alas, with me The light of life is o'er ! "No more-no more-no more-' (Such language holds the solemn sea IV. And all my days are trances, In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams. |