Page:The Five Nations.djvu/32

12 Nearer the up-flung beams that spell

The council of our foes;

Clearer the barking guns that tell

Their scattered flank to close.

Sheer to the trap they crowd their way

From ports for this unbarred.

Quiet, and count our laden prey

The convoy and her guard!

On shoal with scarce a foot below,

Where rock and islet throng,

Hidden and hushed we watch them throw

Their anxious lights along.

Not here, not here your danger lies—

(Stare hard, O hooded eyne!)

Save where the dazed rock-pigeons rise

The lit cliffs give no sign.

Therefore—to break the rest ye seek,

The Narrow Seas to clear—

Hark to the syren's whimpering shriek—

The driven death is here!