40. The Haven

Whence is this awe, by stillness spread O'er the world-fretted soul?
Wave rear'd on wave its godless head,
While my keen bark, by breezes sped,
Dash'd fiercely through the ocean bed,
And chafed towards its goal.

But now there reigns so deep a rest,
That I could almost weep.
Sinner! thou hast in this rare guest
Of Adam's peace a figure blest;
'Tis Eden neared, though not possess'd,
Which cherub-flames still keep.

Gibraltar.
December 16, 1832.