The shivering column of the moonlight lies
Upon the crumbling sea;
Down the lone shore the flying curlew cries
Half humanly.
With hoarse, dull wash the backward dragging surge
Its raucid pebbles rakes,
Or swelling dark runs down with toppling verge,
And flashing breaks.
The light-house flares and darkens from the cliff,
And stares with lurid eye
Fiercely along the sea and shore as if
Some foe to spy.
What knowing thought, oh, ever moaning sea,
Haunts thy perturbed breast —
What dark crime weighs upon thy memory
And spoils thy rest?
Thy soft swell lifts and swings the new-launched yacht
With polished spars and deck,
But crawls and grovels where the bare ribs rot
Of the old wreck.
Oh, treacherous courtier! thy deceitful lie
To youth is gayly told,
But in remorse I see thee cringingly
Crouch to the old.