VENGEFUL thy motion,
O shivering Ocean,
Troubled and gray with the storms that are past,
As some cynic sage,
Hoary with age,
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Cheers not, but chills e'en the love found at last.
Mock not and rail not,
Moan not and wail not,
The rocks thou art lashing will ever be fast.
They tenderly wondered,
No more to be sundered; -
Betrothed, they looked forth on a vista of love;
Soft beam her eyes on him,
Deep as her trust in him, -
Eyes of the color that comes from above.
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