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Up Channel steer. The cape with awful brow
Looks down vindictive on the sea below,
Shrouded in clouds-while at his feet,
With granițe bound, the waves unwearied beat.
And oft in darkness his deep groan resounds 3985
When the hoarse surges lash the rocky mounds,
And the pale ghosts of mariners deplore
Their shatter'd wrecks that blacken all the shore,
Mingling their wailings with the cormorant's shriek
That o'er the floating corse directs his'ravenous beak.
Rounding the point, our ship the headland nears,
And every object more defined appears.
High over head the straying herds that graze,
Cropping the shrubby lierbage, stop to gaze,
Or, looking down the promontory's steep, 3995
in startled posture listen to the deep.
Close by the main, we mark with glad surprize
The azure smoke in spiral columns rise
From the sea-cottage (fram'd of drifted wood,
Or stranded planks, the refuse of the food) 4000
Bleak and expos’d upon the rocky shore,
Where the surge flings the salt-weed to the door,
From whose quaint casement, full of ruddy health,
The peeping children view our ship by stealth,
Now obvious to the crew on deck, and then 4005
Hiding their heads with laughing eye again.
More bold the coast, we come so near the beach,
That fancy with her arm can almost reach
The heron standing listless and alone,
With laggard pinions on the mass-wreath'd stone,
By the sea's verge : anon, as strains our sail,
It flutters, screams, and floats upon the gale.
Saint Michael's Mount who does not know,
That wards the western coast?
SPENCER'S SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.
Far on our left, Penzance,* thy turrets rise,
Beneath a climate mild as Lisboa's skies,
And Marazion t beetles o'er the steep,
Where in the cliff the choughs I their eyrie keep,
Oft winging in mid-air their circling flight,
To mock below the boatman's aching sight.
Now as day's orb ascending gilds the main,
An argent scene-the Chersonese" we gain; 4020
Smooth flow the waves, and, as our vessel glides,
A silver-pinion'd swan, the Mount + presides.
Incumbent frowns the tier along the steep,
Whose brandish'd cannon interdict the deep,
No stranger may the winding bay explore, 4025
Nor moor his bark along the guarded shore.
Broad on the surge the dark isle's base extends,
And, shooting to the sky, the summit ends
A pointed pyramid, whose waving wood,
In cloud-capt height, surveys the rolling flood. 4030
Once o'er its brow Earl, Baron, Vavasor,
Display'd the banner, and defy'd to war
The feudal tyrant, who, with ruthless hand,
Bore high the sovereign ensign of command.
And see the fane aërial once ador'd
By thronging pilgrims, and with awe explor'd,
Now, mouldering in decay, on memory calls
To breathe a soul into its silent walls.
Hail to the chapel, hail the fane forlorn,
And moss-grown stones by tears of vot'ries worn,
Where once, as mid the shrines the soft dew fell,
To solemn pray'r slow tolld the vesper bell.
And hail the turret from whose rocky height
The monk compassionate held out the light,
Blest if his aid in midnight storms could save 4045
The lab'ring bark, and guide her o'er the wave.
Now all that meets the eye some symbol shows
How man decays, whilst time unceasing flows,
How wave on wave impels the human tide,
How ages sink forgotten as they glide.
Beneath the cloister's consecrated gloom
The monk and mariner have found a tomb,
They who the aisles were chaunting wont to tread,
And they who to the gale their canvass spread.
And now no more upon his staff reclin’d, 4054
The pilgrim, who no length of way declin'd,
Finds a reward for all his wandering toil
To view the mount, and tread its sacred soil.
Oh! call this superstition, and revile
The cross, and at the bead and relick smile, 4060
But when these o'er the bosom lost their sway,
Devotion shriek’d, and fanes fell in decay.
SUNRISE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.
CAPTAIN AND OFFICERS ON DECK.
Good morrow, Randolph, long on billows tost,
Yon sun beholds our tall bark on the coast
Where our forefathers dwelt-a glorious gale-
A nobler breeze ne'er fillid a frigate's sail.
Where boldly swelling, as our course we shape,
The Lizard throws its full, projecting cape,
Abreast the point, methinks, a ship I see-
She looks a strait's man-some rich argosy- 4070
Stretching, with easy sail, her lingering way
Beyond the forkings of the far-off bay.
Make her the private signal
Red, or white ?
Avast! a gun will better bring to light 4075
Her country's flag.--All ready!-Fire away!
Sprats on a gridiron !* they bear all the sway.