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 ’tis in such gentle temper found,     That scarcely will the very smallest shell     Be moved for days from where it sometime fell. When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. Oh, ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired,     Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;         Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,     Or fed too much with cloying melody—         Sit ye near some old Cavern’s Mouth and brood, Until ye start, as if the sea nymphs quired!