40. The Haven
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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.