Thou the brave north-country's very glory of glories, Grace.

Loud and dark about the lighthouse rings and glares the night;

Glares with foam-lit gloom and darkling fire of storm and spray,

Rings with roar of winds in chase and rage of waves in flight,

Howls and hisses as with mouths of snakes and wolves at bay.

Scarce the cliffs of the islets, scarce the walls of Joyous Gard,

Flash to sight between the deadlier lightnings of the sea:

Storm is lord and master of a midnight evil-starred,

Nor may sight or fear discern what evil stars may be.

[Pg 165]

Dark as death and white as snow the sea-swell scowls and shines,

Heaves and yearns and pants for prey, from ravening lip to lip,

Strong in rage of rapturous anguish, lines on hurtling lines,

Ranks on charging ranks, that break and rend the battling ship.

All the night is mad and murderous: who shall front the night?

Not the prow that labours, helpless as a storm-blown leaf,

Where the rocks and waters, darkling depth and beetling height,

Rage with wave on shattering wave and thundering reef on reef.

Death is fallen upon the prisoners there of darkness, bound

Like as thralls with links of iron fast in bonds of doom;

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