Ye rocks sublime, whose tops depending o'er
The restless main, form my rude lonely seat,
Where oft I listen to the solemn roar
Of foaming billows, breaking at my feet;
In your retreats can peace of mind be found,
Contented bliss, serenely sweet repose ?
Ah, yes ! the gales that whisper soft around,
Seem like meek Pity's voice to heal my woes.
Now, while I watch the waves as on they roll,
And mark their white heads at a distance rise,
Peace once again returns unto my soul,
And pale despair far from my bosom flies.
Sweet, soothing Nature ! on thy friendly breast
Reposing, all my griefs are lull'd to rest.
Susan Evance (1808)
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