William Caldwell Roscoe (1823–1859)

THE BUBBLE of the silver-springing waves,

Castalian music, and that flattering sound,

Low rustle of the loved Apollian leaves

With which my youthful hair was to be crown’d.

Grow dimmer in my ears; while Beauty grieves

Over her votary less frequent found;

And, not untouch’d by storms, my life-boat heaves

Thro’ the splash’d ocean-waters, outward bound.

And as the leaning mariner, his hand

Clasp’d on his oar, strives trembling to reclaim

Some loved lost echo from the fleeting strand,

So lean I back to the poetic land;

And in my heart a sound, a voice, a name

Hangs, as above the lamp hangs the expiring flame.