Cornish ballads & other poems . glide, a seething orb of doom, Bristling with penal fires, and thick with souls—? The severed ghosts that throng thy peopled womb,Whom Azrael, warder of the dead, controls ? Throne of some lost archangel, dost thou glare,After long battle, on that conquering height ? Vaunt of a victory that is still despair,A trophied horror on the arch of night ? But lo ! another dream : thou starry god, Art thou the mystic seedsman of the sky ?To shed new worlds along thy radiant road, That flow in floods of billowy hair on high ? Roll on ! yet not almighty: in thy wrathThou b
Cornish ballads & other poems . glide, a seething orb of doom, Bristling with penal fires, and thick with souls—? The severed ghosts that throng thy peopled womb,Whom Azrael, warder of the dead, controls ? Throne of some lost archangel, dost thou glare,After long battle, on that conquering height ? Vaunt of a victory that is still despair,A trophied horror on the arch of night ? But lo ! another dream : thou starry god, Art thou the mystic seedsman of the sky ?To shed new worlds along thy radiant road, That flow in floods of billowy hair on high ? Roll on ! yet not almighty: in thy wrathThou bendest like a vassal to his king ; Thou darest not oerstep thy graven path,Nor yet one wanton smile of brightness fling. Slave of a Mighty Master ! be thy browA parable of night, in radiance poured : Amid thy haughtiest courses, what art thou ?A lamp to lead some pathway of the Lord ! Morwenstow, July, 1861. [Printed, as Appendix B, in the first edition of The Quest of theSangraal, 1864, and in Cornish Ballads, 1869.—Ed.]. HENNACLIFF, OR RAVENS CRAGTHE IIIGHES1 CLIFF IN CORNWALL 169 A CROON ON HENNACLIFF. THUS said the rushing raven,Unto his hungry mate : Ho ! gossip ! for Bude Haven : There be corpses six or ! cawk ! the crew and skipper Are wallowing in the sea :So theres a savoury supperFor my old dame and me. 11 Cawk ! gaffer ! thou art dreaming, The shore hath wreckers bold ;Would rend the yelling seamen From the clutching billows ! cawk ! theyd bound for booty Into the dragons den :And shout, for death or duty, If the prey were drowning men. Loud laughed the listening surges, At the guess our grandame gave:You might call them Boanerges, From the thunder of their mockery followed after The sea-birds jeering brood :That filled the skies with laughter, From Lundy Light to Bude. 170 A CROON ON HENNACLIFF. Cawk ! cawk ! then said the raven, I am fourscore years and ten:Yet never in Bude Haven Did I croak for rescued men.—They will save the C
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