I stand upon the wild sea-shore

I see the screaming eagle soar

I hear the hungry billows roar,

      And all around

The hollow answering caves out-pour

      Their stores of sound.

The wind, which moaneth on the waves,

Delights me, and the surge that raves,

Loud-talking of a thousand graves —

      A watery theme!

But oh! those voices from the caves

      Speak like a dream!

They seem long hoarded, — cavern-hung, —

First uttered ere the world was young,

Talking some strange eternal tongue

      Old as the skies!

Their words unto all earth are flung:

      Yet who replies?

Large answer when the thunders speak

Are blown from every bay and creek,

And when the fire-tongued tempests speak

      The bright seas cry,

And when the seas their answer seek

      The shores replay.

But Echo from the rock and stone

And seas earns back no second tone;

And Silence pale, who hears aloe

      Her voice divine,

Absorbs it, like the sponge that’s thrown

      On glorious wine!

— Nimph Echo, — elder than the world,

Who wast from out deep chaos hurl’d,

When beauty first her flag unfurl’d

      And the bright sun

Laugh’d on her, and the blue waves curl’d

      And voices run.

Like spirits on the new-born air,

Lone Nymph, whom poets though so fair,

And great Pan wooed from his green lair,

      How love will flee!

Thou answeredst all; but none now care

      To answer thee!

None, — none: Old age has sear’d thy brow;

No power, no shrine, no gold hast thou:

So Fame, the harlot, leaves thee now,

      A frail, false friend!

And thus, like all things here below,

      Thy fortunes end!