It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often `tis in such gentle temper found That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be mov`d for days from whence it sometime fell, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vex`d and tir`d, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; Oh ye! whose ears are dinn`d with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody,-- Sit ye near some old cavern`s mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quir`d!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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