Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

Can ye fathom the ocean, dark and deep, where the mighty waves and the grandeur sweep?

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Fare thee well! and if for ever, / Still for ever, fare thee well.

There is a temple in ruins stands, Fashion'd by long forgotten hands: Two or three columns, and many a stone, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers. . . . . And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.