APPROACH TO ENGLAND. 25
A glorious thought therein, pointing to Him Who counts thy thunder as an infant s sigh. And when thy mountain-waves, with solemn night Upon their crests, went rushing on, to do The secret bidding of the Invisible, Oft hath their terrible beauty waked a thrill Of rapturous awe, as if a spirit spake From their dark depths of God.
And thou didst spare
Our trembling vessel mid the breakers hoarse, What time, by urgent winds propelled, she went Down toward unpitying Bardsey s frightful reef.
What did I say ? Thou spar dst us !
No. His hand
Who heareth prayer sustained us, as we ran O er wreck-paved Cardigan such fearful course, As turned the proudest pale.
And so, farewell !
I give thee thanks, but most of all rejoice At our leave-taking.
Lo ! the pilot boat
Speeds like a dancing feather o er the surge, And the dim outline of the shore grows green, Lifting its spires and turrets to the cloud.
O England, Mother-Land ! how oft my heart In its young musings, hath gone out to thee With filial love. For thou didst tell me tales Of ancient times, and of the steel-clad knights,
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