Beheld but the likeness of this that is fallen on the faithful, the friends of God.

[Pg 204]

Northward, and northward, and northward they stagger and shudder and swerve and flit,

Dismantled of masts and of yards, with sails by the fangs of the storm-wind split.

But north of the headland whose name is Wrath, by the wrath or the ruth of the sea,

They are swept or sustained to the westward, and drive through the rollers aloof to the lee.

Some strive yet northward for Iceland, and perish: but some through the storm-hewn straits

That sunder the Shetlands and Orkneys are borne of the breath which is God's or fate's:

And some, by the dawn of September, at last give thanks as for stars that smile,

For the winds have swept them to shelter and sight of the cliffs of a Catholic isle.

Though many the fierce rocks feed on, and many the merciless heretic slays,

Yet some that have laboured to land with their treasure are trustful, and give God praise.

And the kernes of murderous Ireland, athirst with a greed everlasting of blood,

Unslakable ever with slaughter and spoil, rage down as a ravening flood,

To slay and to flay of their shining apparel their brethren whom shipwreck spares;

Such faith and such mercy, such love and such manhood, such hands and such hearts are theirs.

Short shrift to her foes gives England, but shorter doth Ireland to friends; and worse

Fare they that came with a blessing on treason than they that come with a curse.

[Pg 205]

Hacked, harried, and mangled of axes and skenes, three thousand naked and dead

 Prev. P 39/134 next