XVII.

I left at morn that blissful shore O'er which the fruit-bloom fluttered free; And sailed the wildering waters o'er, Till sunset streaked with blood the sea.

My sleep the hoarse sea-thunders broke, And sudden chill. Their feet foam-hid, Huge cliffs leaned out, through vapour-smoke, Like tower, and tomb, and pyramid.

In the black shadow, ghostly white The breaker raced o'er foaming shoals: From caverns of eternal night Came wailings, as of suffering souls.

Sudden, through clearing mists, the star Of ocean o'er the billow rose: Down dropped the elemental war; Tormented chaos found repose.

Star of the ocean! dear art thou, Ah! not to earth and heaven alone: The suffering Church, when shines thy brow Upon her penance, stays her moan.

The Holy Souls draw in their breath; The sea of anguish rests in peace; And, from beyond the gates of death, Up swell the anthems of release.