An ode to the sea

It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often in such gentle temper found,
That scarely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from where it sometime fell,
When the last winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eyes vex´d and tir´d,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinn´d with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody-
Sit near some old Cavern´s Mouth and brood,
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quir´d!