And stakes and stones are ready for goring

Your Rob-Roy’s timbers as down you fly.

And beyond the Bridge, in the deep sea-current,

Where the rope-maze crosses from quay to quay,

You’ll need your head and your arm I warrant,

To fight the eddies and find your way.

There lifts your prow with the long pulsation

[8]

That tells how near us the glad seas are!

There lifts the heart with the old elation,

To meet the surf at the harbour-bar!

The North wind marshals the ranks of ocean,

And on they sweep with a strength serene,

Till the tide-race ruffles the mighty motion

And curls the crests of the rollers green.

The breakers flash on the sand-bank yonder,

And the cavern’d curve of the rock-walled bay

Is loud with clamour of hoarse sea-thunder

As the wave recoils in a blast of spray.

And I know a cleft among grim rock-masses,

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