Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Bai?'s bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.

Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might.

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea A vision came o'er me Of thundering hooves and beating wings In clouds above.

Across the silent stream Where the dream-shadows go, From the dim blue Hill of Dream I have heard the west wind blow.

Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with a peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or th…