208 CONCHOLOGIST’S COMPANION. 
is not till they have been received on earth’s dull 
bosom, that they partake of her nature, and begin to 
fade ! 
«« The sea! the sea! its lonely shore, 
The billows crested white ; 
The clouds that flit its bosom o’er, 
Or sun-beams dancing bright : 
The breakers bursting on the strand, 
In thunders on the ear ; 
The frowning cliff, the silvery sand, 
Each, all to me are dear. 
«« The sea! the sea! Oh tell me not 
Of art’s triumphant power ! 
The proudest trophies are forgot 
In one lone sea-side hour. 
Yon giant bark, that breasts the tide, 
Though beautiful and brave, 
Beats not the curlew in its pride, 
Which mounts the stormiest wave. 
«‘ The sea! the sea! the moonlit sea! 
How calm its slumbering tides ! 
A weather-shore upon its lee, 
The bark in safety glides : 
The steersman keeps his watch alone, 
What time his messmates sleep, 
While to the strand, in gentlest tone, 
The murmuring billows creep. 
