THE CHILDREN OF HENRY THE FIRST. 251
And hollow winds, careering high,
Rushed on like armed foes. Loud thunders roll, wild tempests rave,
Red lightnings cleave the sky, What is yon wreck amid the wave ?
And whence that fearful cry ?
See ! see ! amid the foaming surge
There seems a speck to float, And, with such speed as oars can urge,
Toils on the labouring boat. The Prince is safe but to his ear
There came a distant shriek, Which to his strained eye brought the tear,
And paleness to his cheek.
That voice ! 'twas by his cradle side,
When with sweet dream he slept, It ruled his wrath, it soothed his pride,
When moody boyhood wept. 'Twas with him in his hour of glee,
Gay sports, and pastimes rare ; And at his sainted mother's knee,
Amid the evening prayer.
Plunging, he dared the breakers hoarse, None might the deed restrain,
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