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ATLANTIS.
Each sobbing wave the grievous burden bore,—"And shall they perish, they who long did reign? Shall ocean-kings nor heavenly powers restore?Lo! where Athena triumphs o'er the slain—'Their god shall aid them not—herein his might is vain!'
XVII."And hark! the people answer,—'Who shall save? From Acta's fields up-gather ye the dead;Let proud Atlantis haste to build their grave, And weave her linens white to deck their bed. How is her hope despoiled, her greatness fled,Her beauty faded, and her strength waxed old! How are her vessels freighted—in the steadOf silks and precious things, and slaves and gold!They shall return, nor long their merchandise withhold.'"
XVIII.O'er Acta's strand are tidal surges tossed; The keel-rent swards each golden frigate spurn:
