Press'd by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blast, rising from the Western cave,
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave!
With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore
Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave;
But vain to them the winds and waters rave;
They hear the warring elements no more:
While I am doom'd—by life's long storm opprest,
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think that this peom is very magical and it gives me goose bumps whenever i hear it. Smith is an amazing poet and i wish she were still alive today, so i could just ask her all about life back then. She is my hero, and i want to be just like her when i grow up. I love poetry and want to write some that will be just as precious as hers. Here is a sample of some of mine. Roses are red Violets are green I like monkies that are not very mean. I have a lot more where that came from, so if you guys want some more samples just give me a hollar. Thnxs for your time, and thank you Miss Smith for being my hero.