Oceanus

Sometimes I stand upon the shore

Where ocean vaults their effluence pour,

And troubled waters sigh and shriek

Of secrets that they dare not speak.

From nameless valleys far below,

And hills and plains no man may know,

The mystic swells and sullen surges

Hint like accursed thaumaturges

A thousand horrors, big with awe,

That long-forgotten ages saw.

O salt, salt winds, that bleakly sweep

Across the barren heaving deep:

O wild, wan waves, that call to mind

The chaos Earth hath left behind:

Of you I ask one thing alone—

Leave, leave your ancient lore unknown!

Clouds

Of late I climb d a lonely height

And watch’d the moon-streak’d clouds in flight,

Whose forms fantastic reel’d and whirl’d

Like genii of a spectral world.

Thin cirri veil’d the silv’ry dome

And waver’d like the ocean foam,

While shapes of darker, heavier kind

Scudded before a daemon wind.

Methought the churning vapours took

Now and anon a fearsome look,

As if amidst the fog and blur

March’d figures known and sinister.

Frorn west to east the things advanc’d—

A mocking train that leap’d and danc’d

Like Bacchanals with joined hands

In endless file thro airy lands.

Aerial mutt’rings, dimly heard,

The comfort of my spirit stirr’d

With hideous thoughts, that bade me screen

My sight from the portentous scene.

“Yon fleeting mists,” the murmurs said,

“Are ghosts of hopes, deny’d and dead.”

Mother Earth

One night I wander’d down the bank

Of a deep valley, hush’d and dank,

Whose stagnant air possess’d a taint

And chill that made me sick and faint.

The frequent trees on ev’ry hand

Loom’d like a ghastly goblin band,

And branches ‘gainst the narrowing sky

Took shapes I fear’d—I knew not why.

Deeper I plung’d, and seem’d to grope

For some lost thing as joy or hope,

Yet found, for all my searchings there,

Naught save the phantoms of despair.

The walls contracted as I went

Still farther in my mad descent,

Till soon, of moon and stars bereft,

I crouch’d within a rocky cleft

So deep and ancient that the stone

Breath’d things primordial and unknown.

My hands, exploring, strove to trace

The features of the valley’s face,

When midst the gloom they seem’d to find

An outline frightful to my mind.

Not any shape my straining eyes,

Could they have seen, might recognise;

For what I touch’d bespoke a day

Too old for man’s fugacious sway.

The clinging lichens moist and hoary

Forbade me read the antique story;

But hidden water, trickling low,

Whisper’d the tales I should not know.

“Mortal, ephemeral and bold,

In mercy keep what I have told,

Yet think sometimes of what hath been,

And sights these crumbling rocks have seen;

Of sentience old ere thy weak brood

Appear’d in lesser magnitude,

And living things that yet survive,

Tho’ not to human ken alive.

I AM THE VOICE OF MOTHER EARTH,

FROM WHENCE ALL HORRORS HAVE THEIR BIRTH.”