Yet oft the sound Of sea-conch through the night from some rude rock Is heard, to warn the wandering passenger Of fiends that lurk for blood! 240 These dangers past, The sea puts on new beauties: Italy, Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar, Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulph Is past; the Baetic rocks, and ramparts high, That CLOSE THE WORLD, appear.

The dashing bark Bursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is now One boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved wave Beneath the keel turns more intensely blue; And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores 250 Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides, And long-renowned Atlantis,[172] whether sunk Now to the bottom of the "monstrous world;" Or was it but a shadow of the mind, Vapoury and baseless, like the distant clouds That seem the promise of an unknown land To the pale-eyed and wasted mariner, Cold on the rocking mast.

The pilot plies, Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge, High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs 260 Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calm And white, and Marazion's woody mount Lifting its dark romantic point between.
So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed, O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautiful In that thy day of glory.

Carthage rose, Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame, Upon the sands of Lybia; princes were Thy merchants; on thy golden throne thy state Shone, like the orient sun.

Dark Lebanon 270 Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaks Of Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut, Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners, On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails, That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars, That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung; The multitude of isles did shout for thee, And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said-- Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee! So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st, 280 _I am a God_, and there is none like me.
But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:-- Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes! Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitude Of sins and dark abominations cry Against her, saith the LORD; in the mid seas Her beauty shall be broken; I will bring Her pride to ashes; she shall be no more, The distant isles shall tremble at the sound When thou dost fall; the princes of the sea 290 Shall from their thrones come down, and cast away Their gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take up A bitter lamentation, and shall say-- How art thou fallen, renowned city! THOU, Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas, To rise no more! So visible, O GOD, Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where Tyre In gold and purple glittered o'er the scene, Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks 300 How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose! Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure, Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds, From all the world cut off, that wondering marked Her stately sails approach, now in her turn Rises a star of glory in the West-- Albion, the wonder of the illumined world! See there a Newton wing the highest heavens; See there a Herschell's daring hand withdraw The luminous pavilion, and the throne 310 Of the bright SUN reveal; there hear the voice Of holy truth amid her cloistered fane, As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adorn Her palaces; and Painting's fervid touch, That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains, When Handel, or melodious Purcell, pours His sweetest harmonies; see Poesy Open her vales romantic, and the scenes Where Fancy, an enraptured votary, roves At eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits 320 Upon a high and charmed rock alone, And, like the genius of the mountain, gives The rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps, Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones, As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause, For the wild billows answer--Lycidas Is dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime, Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades, Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount, BELERUS holds." 330 Nor skies, nor earth, confine The march of England's glory; on she speeds-- The unknown barriers of the utmost deep Her prow has burst, where the dread genius slept For ages undisturbed, save when he walked Amid the darkness of the storm! Her fleet Even now along the East rides terrible, Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene! Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll, As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze 340 Aloft upon the burning prow directs, Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash, Shall burst unquenchable, while from the grave Osiris ampler seems to rise?
Where thou, O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore, Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hears The cry of conquest.