Page:The Five Nations.djvu/91

Rh And here the sea-fogs lap and cling,

And here, each warning each,

The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring

Along the hidden beach.

We have no waters to delight

Our broad and brookless vales—

Only the dewpond on the height

Unfed, that never fails,

Whereby no tattered herbage tells

Which way the season flies—

Only our close-bit thyme that smells

Like dawn in Paradise.

Here through the strong unhampered days

The tinkling silence thrills;

Or little, lost, Down churches praise

The Lord who made the hills:

But here the Old Gods guard their round,

And, in her secret heart,

The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found

Dreams, as she dwells, apart.