Page:The Five Nations.djvu/25

Rh When the smoking scud is blown,

When the greasy wind-rack lowers,

Apart and at peace and alone,

He counts the changeless hours.

He wars with darkling Powers

(I war with a darkling sea);

Would he stoop to my work in the gusty mirk?

(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not he!

There was never a priest to pray,

There was never a hand to toll,

When they made me guard of the bay,

And moored me over the shoal.

I rock, I reel, and I roll—

My four great hammers ply—

Could I speak or be still at the Church's will?

(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!

The landward marks have failed,

The fog-bank glides unguessed,

The seaward lights are veiled,

The spent deep feigns her rest:

But my ear is laid to her breast,