Page:Where the Dead Men Lie.djvu/44

22 Of ghostly, glimmering, silver rays that struggle 'neath an inky ledge Of driving cloud, and fill deep bays rent in the shadow's ragged edge— Sprung from the gloomy depths of Time, faint shapes patrol the spectral sea, Primeval phantom-forms that climb the lifeless billows silently, Trailing along their slimy length in thirst for one another's blood, Writhing in ponderous trials of strength, as once they did before the flood.



They sink, as, driven from the North by straining oar and favouring gale, A misty barge repels the froth which hides her with a sparkling veil: