Sonnet XXX: O'er the Tall Cliff
O'er the tall cliff that bounds the billowy mainShad'wing the surge that sweeps the lonely strand,While the thin vapours break along the sand,Day's harbinger unfolds the liquid plain.The rude Sea murmurs, mournful as the strainThat love-lorn minstrels strike with trembling hand,While from their green beds rise the Syren bandWith tongues aerial to repeat my pain!The vessel rocks beside the pebbly shore,The foamy curls its gaudy trappings lave;Oh! Bark propitious! bear me gently o'er,Breathe soft, ye winds; rise slow, O! swelling wave!Lesbos; these eyes shall meet thy sands no more:I fly, to seek my Lover, or my Grave!
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