A. L. B. M. D.
From the Southern Literary Messenger (February 1835)
There's silent grandeur in the boundless waste
Of Ocean's bosom when the winds are still,
And quiet beauty, like the moonbeam traced
In lengthened shadows on some snow-clad hill;
There's fiercer grandeur in the chainless sea,
When the storm-spirit wakes it from its rest,
And the high waves are dashing wild and free,
As the white foam they bear upon their breast.
The thunder's voice is louder on the sea,
The lightning flashes with a wilder glare,
And landsmen know not of the dangers, he,
Whose home is on the Ocean's wave, must dare;
Yet it is pictured in its mighty roar,
And in the wrecks which strew the rock-bound shore.