The sea assumes her most mysterious dress, And vainly homing ships her films explore For castled ports upon familiar shore. Lost now, Atlantis-like, beyond all guess. Hearken the eerie bugles of distress That wail across a wilderness of hoar Where mighty squadrons have become no more Than phantoms on a tide of nothingness. It is as if the unconquerable sea, Weary of ships, and weary of man's boast That he had tamed her tide and chained her coast And bound her tempests to his sovereignty, Bade Mist, her frailest servitor, efface The ramparts and armadas of his race. |